Rise An Eve Novel

yelled, as she opened the closet in the back. Her voice startled the rest of the girls. They pressed against the walls, watching me. “It’s the wrong room.”
    A mattress was propped against the window, half blocking the view. I pulled back a small sliver of curtain, watching as the soldiers started into the motel’s entranceway, working their way down the row of rooms. I moved quickly, dragging the wood chest against the door.
    There were wet, muddy footprints all over the carpet, but it was impossible to say if they were ours or not. Another mattress sat at an angle on the floor, one corner of it bent against the wall. I checked the bathroom, the closets, the small space between the dressers. I wondered if I could’ve read the map incorrectly, or if this wasn’t the motel Moss had described.
    “They’re coming,” Beatrice said, her voice frayed by nerves. She let the curtain drop and began pulling at the mattress, maneuvering it so it covered more of the exposed window.
    I stared at the mattress on the floor. Bette was standing on it, her feet sinking down in the center. I watched as she shifted her weight, the thick padding giving beneath her. “Help me move this,” I said. “Quickly. And stack the dresser against the door.”
    I signaled to the girls beside me, and they grabbed the musty corners of the pad, sliding it back into the center of the room. A hole appeared in the floor, no more than three feet wide, the carpet cut away around the edges. Clara pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, a momentary relief, until the first soldier banged on the door. “Go,” I told her, nodding toward it. “I’ll meet you out on the other side.”
    The room was dark. The sound of rain filled the silence. We could see the soldiers outside, their shadows moving past the thin strip of window that wasn’t blocked. Clara lowered herself into the tunnel, her breath sucking in as she let go. “There’s water down here,” she said. She turned back, her hands gripping the rim. “It’s up to my knees.”
    I closed my eyes, wanting a minute to think, but the soldier pounded on the door again. Moss had never told me the exact distance of the tunnel, but I imagined it was the same length as the one in the hangar—no more than a mile. Many of the flood channels had been filled in with concrete after the plague because they were seen as a security threat. The rebels had followed their basic routes, extending them where necessary, but most were much narrower than the originals—no more than five feet across in places, with low ceilings. It was impossible to know how quickly this one would fill, but we’d be in more danger staying here, waiting for the soldiers to come through. “Go quickly,” I said, helping the next girl in. “Just keep moving until you reach the other side.”
    “I can’t swim,” the girl said, her face tensing as she splashed down into the murky water below. She pulled the hem of her jumper above her knees.
    “You don’t have to—just move quickly.” I peered into the tunnel, my eyes meeting Clara’s before she took off, trudging through the water and into the darkness ahead. One by one the girls lowered themselves into the earth. The soldiers outside worked at the knob, trying to free it. Sarah had moved the second mattress to the door, wedging it behind the wood chest, so it was flush against the wall.
    As she worked, pushing the dresser tightly behind it, I saw a flash of what Beatrice must have been like when she was younger. Her short, strong build, the straw-colored hair curled at the nape of her neck. “You should go,” Sarah said, pointing into the tunnel. The last girl lowered herself down, leaving only the three of us. “I’ll follow behind you.”
    “You will not,” Beatrice said. She put her hand on the girl’s arm, pulling her toward me. As she said it, the lock broke. The door pressed against the mattress. The soldier pushed into the room, straining against the stack of furniture. Within seconds the window gave, the shattered glass falling below the curtains.
    I leaned over the edge of the tunnel’s entrance, watching the last girl move forward, into the dark. I helped Beatrice into the water below. Her skirt bloomed around her, the thin gray fabric floating on the glassy surface. The water had risen—an inch, maybe two.
    Sarah lowered herself in behind her mother, gasping as she sank into the cold. “Just keep moving,” I said, calling over Sarah’s shoulder