Mercy 6

The word struck her, confused and clarified. It verified what he was doing — for her. But she could not see how any exit — any literal exit — could be way out there beyond south parking. She feared he was speaking metaphorically, something that would have hurt her, coming from him. But then she knew he couldn’t be. He was Mullich.

He offered her a view of his tablet. On it was an old-looking blueprint of Mercy General, a vertical cut showing only the two bottom floors and three basements. Another basement suddenly new to her. He circled his finger around the very bottom rectangle.

“This really isn’t a floor, technically. It’s airspace between terra firma and the building. Buildings do not rest on the ground, as most people believe. They are tied to the ground. For us — architects—

they are structures wont to float, to rise and shift. The pier posts are drilled deep into the earth. They don’t just stabilize and offer foundation. They fasten. Get it?”

She nodded, still wondering about exit.

“What I’m telling you is that it won’t be clean down there. It will be grim and unoccupied. An empty space, a vacuum. It will drain you.” He glided his finger along that bottom rectangle, settled on a smudge just outside the wall. “This,” he said. “This vague shading is a bomb shelter. Built later. You can guess when. Whoever built it marked the blueprint with this shading. And that’s all.”

“You know it’s there?”

He nodded. “Sure. Right when I saw this shading. It’s what I would have done if asked to build a bomb shelter.”

“But you verified?”

“Of course. I ventured into the airspace and found the metal door. I used penetrating oil to break the galvanization on the handle. It’s a submarine door. I went into the shelter. It’s small.

Good for maybe ten people. Maybe they had plans to construct more along the other walls.”

“So you went in,” she said. “It was okay.”

“But I’m used to such spaces. Given what I do. Reconstruction.

You’re not.”

She started to speak. He pressed his finger to her lips. The touch felt cool and pleasant.

“There’s more. Listen. The shelter has a sealed vent. The vent is also designed as an escape in the event the building collapses.

Obviously it opens from the inside. I didn’t crawl in, but I know that would have to be the case. I did go and find where the exit would be. I guessed the garden first thing and was right. But that door is now sealed from the outside as well. It’s grated over, and there is a bar and lock. And it would have to be dug out some. I left it pretty much intact.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I want to keep it hidden. My escape.

I always do that with my projects. Things like that. Gains in knowledge. Secret passages are the dreams of architects.”

Mendenhall closed her eyes. “So you would have to go over there and unseal it.”

“That’s not possible. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

She opened her eyes, looked at the city, which was gray and white and beginning to shimmer along its far edges. “I know how to do it. I know of someone. Someone who would want to get in.

Someone who might know how to be … clandestine. Someone who would swap. Him in, me out.”

“Who?”

“You’ll like this. It’s just right for you. Your desire for transparency or redemption — or whatever it is. Democracy?” She wanted to kiss his throat. Just that, just there. “He’s a journalist. For the Times. He wants to see, to be in here, to report.”

“You won’t be able to communicate with him without others knowing.”

“I’ll figure out a code. Doctors are great at speaking in code. To patients, to loved ones, to other doctors. We’re great at saying only exactly what needs to be said, to be suggested. And leaving it at that. Trusting that.”

He wouldn’t look at her. “I know you’re right. I know you won’t carry a virus out there. Because there is no virus. I know it better than you do.”

“I’m ER. An eternal carrier. I will sterilize myself and be careful out there. Just in case.”

They stood together, quiet for a moment, watching the horizon, a glance or two toward the ruins. They enjoyed the sunlight, the outside air, the intermittent breeze.

“I’ll help you as far as I can. You can’t take your phone, and even if you can get to your car, you won’t be able to drive it out.”

“Look, Mullich,” she said, “I’m a good doctor. I’m ER. I might be heading out there just to prove myself a fool. But I really believe I can help alleviate misery. Inform triage. I know you think I most want to get out there and run free for a while. But that’s not what I want most. I want to diagnose. I want to treat.”

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