Laughing, Sloane worked at the shirt knot to free the pipe, then used it to press into the weak spot in the boards, which were easier to bend now that she had made them give. Soon she had made a gap in the boards big enough for her body to fit through—but only just. She would have to crawl out.
Getting her head through was simple enough, though the broken wood scraped her scalp. It was still day, but the sun was getting low. The building had tiers, like a wedding cake, so she was above a lower level, the top covered in gravel. She wasn’t sure how she would get down from that roof, but at least she could drop to the gravel without cracking her skull.
She forced her way through the boards, biting her lip to keep from screaming when the wood dug into her shoulders on either side. She sucked in her stomach hard, wriggled the rest of the way through, then toppled to the gravel roof, aching.
She knew better than to celebrate. She stood, brushed gravel off her clothes, and limped along the edge of the roof as she looked for a fire escape. Freedom was so close—just seven stories down—but out of reach unless she wanted to break her back. The Sears Tower was in full view, a dark giant against the clouds, and the Warner Tower wasn’t far from it, the ripples of its western side reflecting gray back at her. She was facing the lake, and the building she was in sat on top of what would be Congress Parkway back home. She had driven beneath this building but didn’t know what it was called.
Sloane walked the perimeter of the lower roof, but there was no ladder to be found. If she was going to escape, she would need to go back through the building.
At the other end of the roof was what she assumed was a stairway bulkhead with a door. It would likely lead to a stairwell not dissimilar from the one she had discovered in the Camel. If she was lucky, she would be able to get all the way to the first floor of this building, and then she could make a desperate run for it.
Sloane forced the door open—either it had been left unlocked or the lock had broken—and stepped into a dark stairwell that smelled like rot. She felt her way to a railing and held it tightly as she descended. It had been a long time since she’d had food or water. Her mouth was so dry it was starting to feel fuzzy. But she kept going, holding the thought of a glass of water in front of her like a carrot on a string.
She had made it past five landings when a light came on. Sloane jumped back against the wall, letting her eyes adjust. She heard footsteps. People talking. Close, and getting closer, as whoever they were climbed up the stairs. She went carefully down the last few steps to the door and tried to tug it open without making too much noise, but it was too heavy for that; she would need to pull harder.
Sloane counted down in her head, then yanked the door open. The hinges screeched, and she sprinted into the hallway beyond, where the linoleum was buckling just as it had been in the laboratory that had served as her cell.
Huge chunks of plaster were pulling away from the walls and in broken bits on the floor, and half the ceiling tiles were missing or dangling precariously overhead. She passed doors that opened to old offices with maroon carpeting and fluorescent lights. Charts still hung on one office’s wall, tracking sick-leave trends in blue marker.
She looked out one of the few remaining windows to figure out which direction she was going. She spotted the Sears Tower, nearer now than it had been when she was on the roof, which meant she was moving north—closer to where she had first come in. Closer to the Resurrectionist’s army.
She heard something behind her and ducked into one of the offices to hide. Except it wasn’t quite an office—not anymore, at least. The walls that outlined cubicles and nooks were still there, but the debris had been cleared from the floor. In one corner was a mattress with a sheet patterned with faded flowers and a matching pillowcase. Stacked next to the pillow were a