Resilience | ✔

Chapter Eight

"That's cool," Beck said. "How did you even find it?"

Marley flicked on her phone flashlight, shining it into the expanse of darkness. "I dunno, I was just messing around." She pressed her weight onto the top stair, then started down, trotting, leaning against the rail, counting steps. Behind her, she could hear Beck muttering under her breath.

At forty-five, the stairs ended, coming to a halt at a door with one of those giant wheels on them. She gave the door an experimental shove, then tugged on the wheel. Neither moved. She put her phone on the stair behind her and braced herself and tested the wheel again, pulling one way and then the other. After several attempts of increasing fervor, Beck assisting, and the same result, she finally just hung on the wheel, picking her feet up off the floor. When that didn't work, she jumped, throwing her weight on it.

Then it moved, budging at first and then moving smoothly. She twirled it until there was a large thunking noise, then tested the door again. This time it opened, swinging in on silent hinges.

"Finally," Beck said.

As they stepped through the doorway, lights flicked on, blinding them both momentarily. Blinking, Marley surveyed. They were in a large room that looked like it could have been on the surface of the earth, save a few things. A kitchen in one corner bled into a bedroom in another bled into a large living space bled into a library on either side of the room. A door near the bed was slightly ajar, showing off a small bathroom.

"What the hell is this?" Beck crossed to the coffee table and picked up a stack of coasters.

Marley wasn't sure if she was talking about the coasters or the room. She assumed, however, that Beck knew what coasters were and said, "It's a bunker."

Beck turned the coaster towards her. "No, I mean this." She pointed at the picture on the coaster.

Marley joined her and took the coaster. "It's a duck . . . in ninja clothes."

"What kind of a—" Beck shook her head, snatching the coaster back and plopping it down on the table. "Sure, why not."

Marley wandered over to the bookshelves that lined the walls. All of them were that fancy old-looking embossed leather, but she saw a few Percy Jackson titles and even 50 Shades of Gray. Two opposite ends of the literature scale, she thought, pulling out a book called An Ocean of Minutes. When she flipped to the middle, a small cloud of dust puffed off the top.

"Non-perishables," Beck said, now in the kitchen. When Marley looked over at her, she waved a can of soup. "Stocked pretty recently, judging by the expiration date."

Marley made a hm face and turned back to the books. Shouldn't non-perishable foods not have expiration dates? She voiced the question to Beck, trading An Ocean Of Minutes for an excellent copy of Moby Dick.

"I think it has something to do with the can expiring, not the food," Beck said. "Dude—potato chips. I am starving, do you think I could eat them?"

"No," Marley said shortly. She pulled Burn For Burn off the shelf—or tried to. It stuck, just tipping like a lever. Her heart leapt—secret door!

But then it came off the shelf without resistance, apparently having just caught on a part of the shelf. Disappointed, Marley put it back and went over to Beck.

Who was getting started on the potato chips.

"I told you not to eat those," Marley said.

Beck shrugged, holding out the bag. "I didn't have dinner."

"It's probably not healthy for you to eat so soon after working out." Marley took a chip. They were the good kind, nice and salty and oily.

"Nothing I do is healthy," Beck said, passing her the chips. "Do you think they have chocolate sauce in the fridge?"