Page 69 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
Now, though, Ruth blanched. She sighed and hung her head. “You’re right. It’s over.”
And these words lit within Maleen a hidden flame she didn’t know she possessed. Fire burned low in her belly, and her voice was hot when she grasped Ruth’s shoulders. “No. Look at me.”
Ruth raised her head, tears shining in her eyes. “Your prince has forgotten you. Your father is most likely dead. If anyone remembers we’re here, they no longer care. Nobody’s coming to save us, Maleen.”
Maleen dropped her hands from Ruth’s shoulders and covered her face with her hands, the fire doused.
But Ruth scanned the dim interior of the round room, falling at last on the dull bread knives resting on the empty, dusty platter. She snatched up the utensils and pressed one into her friend’s hand, which hung limply at her side.
“What am I to do with this?” Maleen scoffed, laughing without humor.
“You’re right. Nobody’s coming.”
“So we save ourselves.” Maleen straightened her shoulders, gathered her skirts with her free hand, and knelt before the wall. She ran her fingers over the smooth, cold surface until she felt a seam. Then she took her silver knife and began to dig.
I lift my head and give Alex a fierce look.
“No. We’re not going down like this. We can’t. We haven’t survived all the shit we’ve survived to sit here waiting to die in an attic.”
I grab the knife off the floor, pull myself to my feet, and cross the small attic to stand in front of her. I take her by the shoulders and give her a gentle shake. “There are two of us and only one of him. Come on, Alex. You have a bucket list to work through. I’m pretty sure this isn’t on it.”
Alex holds my gaze for a moment, or maybe an hour. It feels interminable. Then a slow smile spreads across her lips. “Actually, killing the bastard who attacked me is on my bucket list.”
She grabs the poker that she rested against the wall when she tried to get a signal and grabs my free hand. We raise our interlocked hands overhead.
There’s so much to say, but none of it matters. Or maybe I don’t know how to word it. Before I can settle on an appropriate final statement, Alex drops her hand.
“Come on,” she says, suddenly reinvigorated. “Push everything you can against the door.” She points to a large rubber bin. “It’s full of books. It’s heavy. Help me.”
Grunting, we lay down our meager weapons and drag the bin full of books across the floor and against the door. We pile boxes, a rocking chair, an old set of blinds, snow shoes, everything we can think of, against the door. As we do, the taunts continue. The voice grows louder, coming closer, and then we hear the footsteps on the attic stairs.
My heart flutters so rapidly it feels like there’s a bird trapped in my chest. Alex picks up the knife and the poker and thrusts them both toward me.
“What are you doing? Keep that.” I try to push the poker back toward her.
“I’m going to go out on the roof.”
“No, you can’t. We’re going to fend him off—together.”
She hesitates, and I read in her expression what she won’t say. She doesn’t think I have the will to do it.
But what she says is, “Three digits, Emily. If I can grab the phone and call 911, we can take him down while help is on the way. Just in case.”
She definitely thinks I’ll freeze or fold in the face of danger. Sadly, she may not be wrong about that—but she is wrong about this plan of hers.
“You’ll fall,” I protest. “The roof is slick.”
“I won’t,” she promises.
“Alex, don’t,” I say.
Alex grips me by the shoulders and stares hard into my face. “I have to.”
“We have a plan.” I gesture with the weapons.
“We have to try everything. Now, come on, I need you to boost me out the window. I’ll be back in a flash and we can kick this guy’s ass.”
I don’t like it, but I do it. I set the poker and knife aside as she gets a running start, grabs the rounded window frame, and hoists herself up so that her head and torso hang out the porthole-shaped window.
