The System Can’t See Me

The mortar gave way under the lunch box.

It was a small sound. A dry pop beneath the plastic. Kai felt the change through the back of his trapped hand before the box moved.

"Nia."

Her palm pressed harder over his knuckles. "I know."

The lower edge had been resting on the broken ridge. Now the ridge was becoming grit. A gray line appeared beneath the corner and spread along the floor in little bursts. The box did not lurch. It settled by degrees, taking more of Kai's hand with it.

Pain climbed from his fingers to his elbow.

The pressure was worst where the box crossed his knuckles. It came and went with each tiny crumble, enough to make his fingers twitch and then lock again. Dust worked under his palm. He smelled old plastic, wet concrete, and the sharp metal smell of his own blood before he could see any of it.

Kai kept his face against the wall and looked past the box as far as he could. The cracked lid remained on the far side, high and turned away. The blue light under it did not change. It only showed him the dust moving under the lower edge.

His right forearm shifted against his chest.

He felt the blue-bound wrist pull toward the wall, then stop. The concrete held it for the moment. His shoulder was already shaking. His left hand was the only thing he had to correct the arm, and his left hand was under the box.

"When it goes," he said, "move your hand. Don't lift it."

Nia did not answer.

The red pipe held her shoulder in place. He could feel her breath against the back of his jacket, quick and careful. The Archive copy was still under her other arm. There was nowhere for her to put it without dragging it through the damp grit between them.

"Kai."

"Just move your hand."

"Your fingers are under it."

"I know."

Another grain of mortar fell.

Nia's hand did not move yet. Her thumb rested near the side of his wrist, shaking against his skin. Kai knew what she was waiting for: a way to take some of the weight before she pulled free. There was none. The box was too close to the crack, and there was no room to get her shoulder behind it. If she tried to lift from where she lay, the pressure would only roll toward her fingers.

Kai lowered his breathing until the air barely moved in his chest. The first breath caught under his ribs. On the second, he tried to loosen his fingers without pulling them toward the box.

His little finger would not move.

The ring finger moved a fraction. Pain flashed through the knuckle and made his vision tighten. He waited for it to clear. There was no point in fighting the pain. He only needed to keep it from making him jerk at the wrong time.

The box settled again.

Nia's hand slid with it. Her palm stayed over the back of his for one more second, then she lifted it clear and drew her arm against her own chest.

Kai twisted his wrist.

The plastic corner caught the side of his index finger. It dragged across the nail, bent the finger sideways, and came down harder.

He pulled.

Skin tore across his palm. His hand came free so suddenly that his elbow struck the floor.

For one blank second, he thought he had pulled it clear in time. His palm was open, his wrist was no longer under the corner, and pain was only pain instead of weight.

The lunch box slid into the space he had made.

It struck his left shoulder first.

The impact drove his cheek into the wall. His breath disappeared. The box kept moving, its lower edge scraping across the top of his shoulder until the crawlspace narrowed around it. It stopped at an angle, one side hard against the wall, the other pressing into the muscle above his collarbone.

Kai made a sound into the concrete and could not stop it.

Nia caught the box with both hands for less than a heartbeat. Her fingers landed low, away from the cracked lid, then slipped on dust. She pulled them back before the weight folded them under the edge.

The plastic held at a diagonal. Its near lower edge bore into Kai's shoulder; its far side was hard against the narrowing wall. When his breath hitched, the box trembled against both.

His left hand lay open on the floor in front of him. Blood ran from the split across his palm and collected in the lines of concrete. Two fingers curled when he told them to. The others shook without finding a shape.

Nia had pulled her hands back to her chest. A shallow red line crossed the heel of one palm where the box had slipped over it. She turned that hand over once, checked that her fingers still closed, then tucked it beneath the edge of her jacket. The Archive copy stayed pressed between her forearm and ribs.

"Can you breathe?" Nia asked.

Kai tried. The box pressed every breath short before it reached the middle of his chest.

"Enough," he said.

It was not enough, but it was all he could give her.

The blue-bound forearm jerked once against his side.

The jolt pulled his injured shoulder under the box. White pain went through him. His right wrist slid lower along the wall until it was trapped beneath his ribs, turned palm-out against the concrete. He could feel its cold weight through his shirt. He could not reach it with his left hand without putting his fingers under the box again.

Nia saw the movement. Her eyes went to the blue line at his wrist, then back to the lunch box.

"I can't get to it," she said.

"Don't."

She looked as if she might argue. Then her heel scraped the floor behind him. The sound was quiet, but Kai felt the change in the tension of her body.

Blue water had reached the threshold.

It did not enter the crawlspace. It ran along the open floor outside, level with the lip, carrying thin ribbons of dust toward the drain. The light from the lunch box made a dull reflection on its surface. Nia kept both knees inside and shifted the Archive copy higher beneath her jacket.

The movement put the red pipe deeper into her shoulder. Her mouth tightened. She did not make a sound.

Her bare feet dragged closer to the inside wall. The cut heel left a dark smear where it crossed the grit. She stopped with her ankles folded beneath her, leaving as much space as she could between the water at the mouth and the papers under her jacket. It was not much space. Kai could see the blue reflection pulse along the wet floor outside whenever the runoff found another crack.

"Is it wet?" Kai asked.

"No."

"Your heel?"

"Not the copy."

He let that stand.

For a few breaths, neither of them tried to move. Kai listened to Nia keep her breathing small behind him. The box pressed against his shoulder with a hard, unchanging weight. His right wrist lay cold beneath his ribs. Each separate pain asked for attention. He let them come one at a time because there was no other way to keep from twisting under the box.

The box pressed down on his shoulder whenever he breathed. Its cracked lid was still beyond his face, high enough that he could see the yellow edge and nothing past it. The bend remained closed. Somewhere beyond the box, the `ALARM RESET` valve was still out of reach. There was no space to turn his head far enough to look for it.

Kai stared at the blood on his left palm.

He tried closing it.

His thumb met his index finger. His middle finger followed after a delay. The ring finger twitched and stopped. The little finger stayed flat against the concrete.

Nia watched without moving closer.

"Don't test it again," she said.

"I wasn't."

"You were."

The answer had no anger in it. That made it worse.

Kai rested his hand where it was. The floor was cold against the torn skin. He could still feel his fingertips, though not in the same place or with the same certainty. The fact did not help.

He bent his wrist a little instead. The motion pulled at the split in his palm, but the hand moved without changing the box. That was enough for now. He drew it back an inch from the blood in the concrete and held it against the floor beside his chest. He could not make a fist. He could not reach his right wrist. At least it was not under the plastic anymore.

The blue band at his right wrist stayed under his ribs. It did not pull far enough to free the arm, but the wall no longer held it at his sternum. Each shallow breath changed the pressure along his side. That was all.

Nia lay behind his legs with one shoulder under the red pipe and the Archive copy under her jacket. Her hands were empty now. She had drawn them back to keep them clear of the box. There was no position from which she could reach Kai's wrist without crossing the cracked lid or moving the box off his shoulder.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

Kai looked at the blood under his hand, then at the box pressing his shoulder into the wall.

"My hand?"

"All of it."

He almost smiled. The motion hurt too much to finish.

"Bad," he said.

Nia closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked toward the water at the threshold, not at the bend.

"Then we stop making it worse."

Kai listened to the water run outside and the faint scrape of plastic against concrete whenever his shoulder shook.

His left hand was free, but it would not close. The lunch box held his shoulder against the wall. His right wrist lay under his ribs, beyond the reach of his damaged hand.

There was no room left for another mistake.

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