Page 67 of Up In Smoke

Sure enough, it was the edge of a door set into the flooring. Could it possibly be …?

Her friend Maggie had an older home in the area that had internal access to the space under the house.

Smoke went up. So Ivy—if she could—would go down.

Making an excited circuit around the floor, she felt for the edges of the door, but there were no exposed hinges. It was designed so no one would trip. The house, though uncared for in recent years, appeared to have been well crafted when it was built.

Her brain raced as her fingers worked, Ivy knew to stay low, keep her breathing down near the floor, and she thought through what she knew about old Nebraska homes.

The door should lift and allow her under the house, but her fingers couldn't find the edge. She traced the entire square and never found a way to lift the door.

She sat back, defeated and let her head fall against the floor.

Now what?

Chapter Forty-Nine

Frustrated and angry, Ivy felt tears leaking at the edge of her eyes. But, honestly, it was the best feeling she'd had since she'd woken up.

Had she not been crying before? Had she been too frustrated that she managed to keep her eyes closed enough that they hadn't teared on their own?

She wanted to take a deep fortifying breath and tell herself she could do this. But only the second part was an option.

Pulling her wetted shirt up over her face, she breathed through it for whatever filtering it offered. She could still smell and taste the smoke, but she wasn't going to give up.

She peeked through squinted eyelids, moved her hands along the floor again, felt the edge of the door, and this time moved her hand in soft arcs flat against the surface of the floor.

That was when she found it.

A small indentation that had maybe once held a ring that would lift the door. The ring was no longer there, and Ivy was about to swear every word she knew.

But she crawled away as the smoke continued to filter into the room and her vision got hazier. She felt her way over to the cabinets and pulled out the drawers, dropping them in a clatter on the floor. Let someone hear her!

Sure enough, each had a few items in it, left behind like the table and chairs, like the old shelf against the one wall. She grabbed a huge serving spoon, hoping that if need be she could dig with it. Next she grabbed a knife. There were only a few things here, but she would use them to the best of her ability.

Though the missing ring wouldn't help lift the door, it did tell her which side lifted. Ivy shuffled her way back awkwardly, now scooting forward on only her knees, her face low to the floor. Her movements were as fast as they could be, her bound hands each clutching a utensil that she'd found.

When she found the edge again, she jammed the knife down in. She worked until she pried enough of a gap to get her fingers in. Ivy could not recall ever being so excited in her life and she'd had far more than one close call.

With her two hands tied so closely together, the work was even more awkward and, as she lifted the door, it slipped shut, frustrating her further. But now she knew shecouldget it open.

The second time it went smoother. She was ready with one hand on the knife and the other twisted around to jam her fingers into the space as it appeared. She moved her head lower now that the door was open, breathing air from the crawlspace and noticing a difference.

She thought about flipping the door wide but realized it might be better to shut it behind her. Then again,would they find her?

She stopped, the door held high, firmly in her hand now revealing almost two feet of space. She should be dropping down into the dark opening she'd created, but again she listened.

No sirens yet.

Surely Carlos would have called this in if no one else did. He wouldn't want them to find the burned-out shell of the building after the fact. He would want them to rush in. In fact, he might be nearby, waiting.

Ivy turned her head one way and then the other as though she would be able to see through the smoke and the walls out beyond to the tall grass and know if he was standing there. If he had a thermal detector, he might be watching her do this. Once again, Carlos could thwart every move she made.

She didn’t care. If she died, she would die fighting.

She didn't know what waited below her--crawlspaces were not known for being the cleanest. She told herself rats, bugs, snakes, who knew? But she was ready and grateful that as soon as the door was open, she'd reached down and felt the staircase. Old and wooden, it might not hold her. But it didn't matter. It was the only thing she could do. So she turned around and crawled feet first down into the dark space.

The only light now seemed to be coming from the crackling of the flames around the house. Very little filtered through the heavy smoke and even less shone down into the crawlspace. But there seemed to be something coming from her right, and she had to take that as a good sign.

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