The Prince of Survival

Five Years Earlier

“If you touch that again, I’m breaking your finger.”

Emma pulled her hand back from the radio knob with an offended look, but kept staring at the dashboard.

“I just wanted to change the station.”

“That’s what you said the last four times.”

“Because the music was bad four times.”

Sam glanced over. Emma sat in the passenger seat with one leg tucked beneath her, wearing a gray sweatshirt at least two sizes too big. Her brown hair blew halfway across her face in the air coming through the open window, and she stared outside with the wounded expression she somehow reserved exclusively for Sam.

She was twelve. Sam was twenty.

Eight years was just enough of an age gap for Emma to treat him like her father one minute and like an especially annoying classmate five minutes later.

“Sarah likes this song.”

Emma grimaced.

“Sarah’s twenty-one. That means she’s already old.”

Sam laughed and shifted gears with a quick movement.

“Make sure you tell her that. I want to see her face.”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

“I know you will.”

The phone buzzed in the cup holder. Emma was already reaching for it.

“Read it to me.”

Emma picked up the phone and looked at the screen.

“Sarah. She wants to know if seven tonight works.”

“Tell her yes.”

Emma typed the reply.

Yes.

A few seconds later, another message arrived.

And this time, don’t be late.

Emma read it, then looked at Sam.

“You were late again, weren’t you?”

“No,” Sam said immediately.

“Then why did she write that?”

“Because she likes to lie.”

“Sarah doesn’t lie. She just knows you.”

“Thanks for the family support.”

Emma leaned back, satisfied. They left it there and let the steady hum of the engine fill the car.

A few miles later, the highway left the last small houses behind. The landscape grew drier around them: low brush, dusty ground, and long straight stretches of road reaching toward the horizon.

The hotel appeared beyond a gentle rise.

Sam had been there several times over the past few weeks, but he still didn’t like it. Not because it was old—there were plenty of old buildings in the area—but because the place was unusually, almost unnaturally quiet.

The wind rolled pebbles along the edge of the parking lot, stirred the dried-out shrubs, and occasionally rattled a loose metal sign, yet the long two-story building stood among it all as if some of the sound simply vanished around its walls.

One wing of the hotel was still operating; the other had been closed ahead of a planned renovation. Sam and the other workers were allowed inside. They had been told the wing was out of use but safe to work in. Above the main entrance, one of the old metal letters hung crooked, barely held by a rusted screw. Of the outdoor air-conditioning units lined up along the facade, two produced the same deep, irregular hum: a few seconds of monotonous vibration, a brief silence, then the cycle began again.

Emma looked out the window.

“I still say people get murdered here.”

“Then stay in the car.”

Emma was already shaking her head.

“Definitely not.”

Sam parked near the side entrance, killed the engine, and gave his sister a serious look.

“Then you don’t go anywhere without me.”

Emma was already opening the door.

“I know.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

The air outside was hot. Sam opened the side entrance, and after the heat outdoors, the cold air spilling from inside felt almost damp against his skin.

He stopped on the threshold because the place smelled different from the last time.

Old carpet, fine dust, and some overly sweet cleaning product hung in the air, but underneath it was a faint, sharp metallic smell.

Emma stopped directly behind him and began twisting the hem of her sweatshirt between her fingers.

“Do you smell that?”

“What?”

“Like iron.”

Sam breathed in again.

“Probably the workers.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it usually is the workers. Come on. Don’t fall behind.”

The reception area was completely empty. A round clock on the wall behind the desk showed exactly 11:23. Sam knew perfectly well it had been stuck there for days. He had mentioned it the first time, but nobody cared enough to replace the battery.

They crossed the dark lobby and headed for the rear staircase.

A thick sheet of plastic separated the closed second-floor wing from the part still in use. Its lower edge lifted now and then when the central air-conditioning unit at the end of the corridor switched on.

Emma ducked under it close behind Sam and immediately coughed at the stale air.

“This is awful.”

“Five minutes. That’s all.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Then we’re already at minus five.”

Emma gave him the look she usually reserved for moments when she considered him particularly stupid.

“You really would’ve failed math without me.”

Sam smiled.

In several places along the closed corridor, the carpet had been pulled up. Sections of the ceiling were open, with cables and thin pipes hanging down. Against one wall, old faded door panels had been propped together.

Sam had noticed them before. There seemed to be too many considering that most of the rooms along the corridor still had their own doors, but he had seen stranger things during renovations and hadn’t given them much thought.

The storage room was a few doors farther down. Sam pushed the handle and opened it onto a room crowded with old light fixtures, cardboard boxes, removed switches, and furniture shoved aside. Emma found an empty plastic crate and sat on it.

“You stay right next to me,” Sam said as he put down his tool bag.

“I promise.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“I know.”

“Emma, I mean it.”

“You’re working with a screwdriver, not handling uranium.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the job. For several minutes, the only sounds were the soft clink of screws and the deep hum of the air conditioning drifting in from the corridor as he got to work.

After a while, Emma swung her legs.

“Do you think this whole building will still be standing in five years?”

Sam was fighting with a rusted screw, leaning his full weight into the tool.

“I hope not, because that would mean I’m still coming here for work.”

“You’ll be twenty-five in five years.”

“Excellent math.”

“That’s really old.”

Sam looked up from his work.

“Get out.”

Emma laughed, but halfway through it, something cracked inside the wall with a dull, dry snap.

They both fell silent.

Sam slowly turned toward the sound.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know.”

They waited a few seconds, but nothing moved.

Sam was just about to turn back to his work when a small white piece of plaster struck the floor beside his foot.

Emma looked down at it, and every trace of playfulness vanished from her face.

“Is that normal?”

Sam wasn’t smiling anymore.

“We’re leaving.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just move.”

He stood, but before he could take a step, another crack came from behind the wall, much deeper this time. It didn’t stop immediately. It traveled somewhere through the structure of the building, as if an enormous zipper were being pulled through the inside of the wall.

An empty glass on a shelf gave a faint rattle, then tipped over.

Emma jumped to her feet.

“Sam, I’m scared.”

“Come on. Take my hand.”

They stepped into the corridor.

The hallway lights were still on, but along the route to the stairs, fine dust sifted down from one of the open sections of ceiling. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Silence.

So suffocating that Sam could hear his own heartbeat.

He grabbed Emma’s arm.

“Go ahead of me, but hurry.”

Emma took five or six steps when, at the end of the corridor, directly at the boundary of the occupied wing, a heavy door slowly began to move.

It didn’t slam.

There was no visible draft.

It simply closed.

Emma stopped and looked back.

“Sam, the door…”

A deep boom came from somewhere below them.

The floor moved.

Every light in the corridor went out at once.

Emma screamed.

“Sam!”

“I’m here! Don’t move!”

Sam reached into his pocket, but in his haste the phone slipped from his hand and struck the floor. He dropped to his knees in the dark, feeling along the edge of the carpet and the bare concrete until he finally found it.

The screen lit up.

No Service.

He tried an emergency call, but it wouldn’t even connect.

“Sam, I can’t see you!”

“I’m right beside you.”

He switched on the phone’s flashlight.

Millions of dust particles swirled in the narrow beam. Only then did the alarm begin somewhere deep inside the building. It wasn’t a clean siren, but a hoarse, low sound that roared for a few seconds, fell silent, then started again.

Emma moved closer and clutched the bottom of her sweatshirt in both hands.

“Please, let’s get out of here.”

“We are. Stay with me.”

Sam aimed the light toward the stairs. Small pieces of plaster fell to the floor, then a long strip of metal crashed down only a few yards ahead of them.

Emma instinctively jumped back.

Sam grabbed her sweatshirt and pulled her toward him.

Then the ceiling structure began to tear apart above them, first to the left, then to the right, and finally directly overhead.

“Run!”

Emma turned.

She took two steps.

The ceiling split open.

The crash swallowed everything.

Sam reached for Emma, but something struck his shoulder hard. His foot slipped in the dust, he lost his balance, and hit the floor.

He didn’t lose consciousness.

But he couldn’t see anything.

The dust was so thick that the phone’s light barely reached beyond his own hand. Sam coughed and choked, plaster dust coating his tongue while a sharp ringing filled his left ear.

He tried to push himself up, but his palm slid across the debris.

“Emma!”

No answer.

“Emma, say something!”

A weak voice came from somewhere ahead.

“Sam… I’m here.”

Sam crawled toward the sound on all fours, feeling the floor with one hand and holding the phone ahead of him with the other.

“Keep talking to me. I need to hear you.”

“I can’t move,” Emma whispered, her voice barely more than breath.

“I hear you, Emma. I’m almost there. Just keep talking.”

The dust slowly thinned, and in the beam of light he saw Emma’s shoe first, then her leg.

Sam crawled faster.

Emma lay on her side beside the wall. A collapsed structure of wood and metal lay across her, pressing over the lower part of her chest and her side.

Her eyes were open, but her gaze struggled to find Sam.

“Don’t try to move.”

“Sam, it hurts so bad.”

“I know, Emma. I’m getting you out.”

Sam first tried lifting the structure with both hands, but it didn’t move. He changed his grip and drove his shoulder into it, but the weight barely gave.

Emma’s breathing was shallow.

Sam looked around and spotted the thick metal mounting tube from one of the fallen light fixtures among the debris.

He grabbed it.

He slid one end beneath the structure, then dragged a larger chunk of concrete into place as a fulcrum. He leaned his full weight onto the pipe. The metal bit into his palm, every muscle in his body tightening, but the pipe held the load.

The beam slowly rose.

Only a few inches.

With his foot, Sam pulled another flat piece of concrete closer and pushed it as far as he could beneath the raised structure. Slowly, he eased pressure off the pipe. The weight settled onto the wedge, and it held.

Only then did Sam release the lever completely.

“Emma, I’m going to try to pull you out now.”

He reached under both of Emma’s arms, gripping beneath her shoulders and the fabric of her sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled her toward him.

Emma screamed.

Sam pulled again. The sweatshirt stretched tight, and Emma’s body slid a few inches across the concrete.

Small debris crunched beneath the wedge.

“Just a little more.”

He pulled again.

Emma finally came free from beneath the structure.

Sam dragged her back as quickly as he could.

The wedge shifted.

The beam slammed back onto the floor with a heavy crash.

For a few seconds Sam knelt beside his sister, breathing hard, then lifted her into his arms.

Her head sagged weakly against him.

Another impact shook the corridor.

Sam turned toward the stairs. The flashlight illuminated an impassable pile of debris where the exit should have been.

“Help!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Is anyone there?!”

He waited a few seconds.

“HELP!”

Only the hoarse alarm and the distant cracking of the building answered.

Sam turned back and tried the handles of the rooms lining the other side of the corridor one after another. The first was locked, the second wouldn’t open either, but the third door gave.

He carried Emma inside, gently lowered her beside the wall, then rushed to the window and opened it.

“HELP! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!”

His voice carried across the empty courtyard.

No one answered.

He took out his phone, held it up near the window, and waited several seconds for even a single bar to appear, but the screen still read No Service.

He looked down.

Below them stretched a bare concrete service yard. There was no balcony, no fire escape, nothing he could use to get down safely while carrying an injured child.

Sam went back to Emma.

Her breathing seemed to be getting faster.

He picked her up.

“I’ll find another way.”

He didn’t know whether he was saying it to her or to himself.

He stepped back into the corridor.

The phone’s light fell on a door Sam had no memory of seeing before. He stopped.

It was made of dark wood and had no room number. The heavy brass handle reflected the phone’s light dully.

Sam glanced at the old door panels lying along the corridor. For a moment he tried to convince himself that the workers had simply leaned this one against the wall too.

Except this one had a frame.

Set into the wall.

The concrete and floor around it were coated in thick gray dust.

The door wasn’t.

A thin line of cold white light ran beneath the threshold.

Another section of ceiling cracked above them.

Sam looked toward the stairs, then at his phone, then down at Emma.

There was no option left that he understood.

He gripped the handle.

It was ice-cold.

He pressed it down.

The door opened without resistance.

For a moment, Sam could only stare.

There was no hotel room on the other side.

A painted concrete-block wall stood in front of him. Thick water and heating pipes ran beneath the ceiling, and a plain fluorescent fixture cast a cold white light over the corridor.

A red fire extinguisher hung on the wall a few yards away. Beside it stood a gray metal door with black letters:

MECHANICAL ROOM

Somewhere farther away came the dull, steady turning of a clothes dryer.

The smells of laundry detergent, heated pipes, and damp concrete mingled in the air.

It looked like the basement of an ordinary apartment building.

Except Sam was standing on the second floor of the hotel.

Another boom came from behind him.

Sam stopped thinking.

Holding Emma tightly in his arms, he turned sideways toward the doorway. He carried her upper body through first, then followed with a step of his own. Emma’s legs were still on the hotel side.

Sam continued turning, carrying his sister with him.

Emma’s shoe was the last part of her to pass over the threshold.

At that instant, her entire body was on the other side of the door.

The door suddenly began to move behind them.

Sam took one more step forward.

The door closed with a dull, heavy click.

The hotel alarm and the cracking walls vanished at once.

There was no dust in the basement air. Only the quiet buzz of the fluorescent light and the monotonous turning of the distant dryer remained.

Sam carefully laid Emma on the cold floor.

“Emma, can you hear me?”

He gently touched her face.

“Open your eyes, please.”

Emma didn’t respond.

Sam watched her chest. She was breathing, but quickly and shallowly. For several seconds he remained motionless, holding his breath as he watched her take another breath, then another.

She didn’t wake up.

She didn’t sit up.

Nothing dramatic happened.

And yet there was something Sam couldn’t ignore.

Emma was no longer fighting for every breath the way she had upstairs.

Sam didn’t understand it, and he didn’t have time to understand it now.

He stood and looked around.

“Help!”

His voice carried along the basement’s concrete walls.

No answer came.

Sam looked down at Emma one more time, then headed toward the monotonous hum of the dryer to find an exit—or someone who could help.

He had no idea where they were.