Page 134 of The Reluctant Hero

Good enough?

“Thanks.” I pay him and get out. The further he drives away, the worse the doom feeling gets.

“This is ridiculous. It’ssand!”

I kick a small pile of it and sputter as the wind catches it to throw it in my face.

“Wow,” I rub my eyes. “So dangerous.”

With a shake of my head and a few pulls at my shirt to dislodge dirt, I start moving.

Sand. Sand. More sand.

There aren’t any signs for construction or taped-off areas. Little flags saying, hey, here’s the water line. Nothing.

The wind picks up, making the walk truly miserable. I hope that guy comes back quickly. The combination of the wind and the blazing sunlight was a horrible idea. This is what traveling through the desert must feel like.

The closer I get to the center of the area, the worse the feeling gets.

“What is there to be scared of out here!” I scream in frustration. My wild hand gesture of rage shifts me in the dirt, causing me to lose my balance. I stumble a step, my foot catches on something solid, and I pitch face-first onto the ground.

I lay there for a minute, more shocked than hurt.

The pressure on my chest is crushing now. If this is what a panic attack feels like, I’d like to skip it.

I roll to my back and uselessly spit out sand. A gust of wind comes up and sprays more in my face.

“Damn it,” I snap and sit up.

A gleam of metal catches my eye. Whatever I tripped over is a foot away from me. The wind rips through again and uncovers more of it while I sputter.

A handle?

Now that I’m looking around, I realize I’m in a tiny divot. The wind is coming down one side and pushing the dirt to the other. I stand and take it in from higher up. More metal sparkles at me. What the hell?

I brush some of the dirt aside and realize it’s a door. In the middle of the ground. What is this, a bomb shelter?

I scramble to get the sand out of the way, fighting the wind the entire time. I have so much caked on me that I feel like a piece of sandpaper just made out with me. I need to get out of here before it reaches third base.

When I stand back to take in the uncovered door, my chest feels like it’s caving in.

“I’m not listening to youorSouth’s belief in stupid superpowers. You and the Invisible Irritation can fuck off.”

I yank on the door, filled with stubborn determination, almost falling on my ass in surprise. It’s lightweight enough that the forceful tug was too much. And it’s unlocked. The genius of it all.

“There you have it. Unlocked. Stupid superpower. What’s next? Tripping down the stairs? Been there, done thatseveraltimes at the apartment.”

It’s dark. This door might be regular-sized but the stairs are wide enough a football team could walk down side by side. I can barely see a second door at the end of the stairs. They’re covered in red carpet.

“How swanky,” I mutter dryly in disgust. Now that it’s coated in a fine layer of dirt, it looks less posh.

I dig my phone out and turn on the flashlight.

The pressure increases on my chest. Out of peer pressure, I take the stairs slowly.

It leads down for a second. I can see where the lights are above me. Mini chandeliers. What the hell kind of prepper bunker is this?

The second set of doors is unlocked, which makes me roll my eyes hard enough to hurt.

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