The door cracked open just slightly, held in place by a pale hand gripping the edge. From Jake's position below, looking up the slanted corridor-turned-wall, it was like staring up at someone on a higher floor looking down from a window.
The first thing he noticed was her hair. Long, black hair that cascaded downward—or what his scrambled brain had to remind himself was actually forward, given how she was positioned. Gravity pulled those dark strands toward him, creating a curtain that mostly obscured her face. Just glimpses showed through the gaps—flashes of pale skin, a hint of features, and then those eyes. Green eyes. Not hazel or brown with green flecks, but genuinely, startlingly green. The kind of color that looked almost artificial until you realized they were completely real.
She looked slender from what he could see, her frame outlined against the darkness of the apartment interior behind her. Her voice had suggested she was young, but seeing her confirmed it—early twenties, probably. Maybe twenty-three or twenty-four at most.
"I don't have any such things like that with me," she said, her voice steadier now than when she'd first called for help. Having someone actually respond, actually show up, seemed to have given her back some composure. "I have winter coats. Two. Mine and Mother's. Will these work? And a window curtain?"
Jake found himself staring longer than was probably appropriate. Even with her hair covering most of her face, even in this absurd situation where they were both clinging to slanted surfaces in a disaster zone, she was beautiful. Striking in a way that made his tired brain stumble over itself.
'Why didn't I see her here before?' he thought, almost angry at himself. How had he lived next to—well, near—someone like this and never noticed? But he knew the answer. He'd been stuck in his own mundane existence. Home to work, work to home. Takeout dinners and video games. His life had shrunk to a routine so small it left no room for noticing neighbors or making connections or doing anything except surviving the grind.
"Will these work?" She was holding up a winter jacket now, showing it to him through the gap in the door. Waiting for his response.
Jake snapped out of his daze, feeling heat creep up his neck despite the exhaustion. Get it together, he scolded himself. People are trapped. Her mother is stuck. This isn't the time for—
"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "Tie them both together by the sleeves. Make good knots. Then slowly put it down."
"Okay. One minute." She closed the door, and Jake was left staring at blank wood.
He called up after her, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry through, "Yeah, tie the other end to any of the heavy objects you have near you and hold it tight to support my body weight!"
No response, but he hoped she'd heard him. The last thing he needed was to start climbing and have the whole thing come loose because it wasn't anchored properly.
Jake used the waiting time to assess his condition. His hands were still swollen, the skin split and weeping in places. His feet throbbed with every heartbeat. The exhaustion sat on his shoulders like a physical weight. But he'd made it this far. Just had to keep going. Just had to—
The door suddenly pushed upward with force. The movement was awkward given the angle, the door swinging on its hinges in a way it was never designed to do. It made a wide curve and fell back against something on the other side—probably a wall or piece of furniture.
The makeshift rope appeared, slowly being lowered down. Two winter coats tied together by their sleeves, the knots looking surprisingly secure. Practical. The girl had done well.
Jake grabbed the end with his ruined hands, barely feeling the fabric through the numbness and pain. He tested it with a gentle pull. It held. He pulled harder. Still held.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, and began to climb.
It was harder than scaling his own apartment floor had been. At least there he'd had the footholds, small as they were. Here, he had to basically walk up the wall while gripping the coat-rope, his feet slipping with every other step. His arms burned. His shoulders screamed. Every muscle in his core engaged, trembling with the effort of keeping his body close to the wall.
But he climbed. Hand over hand. One agonizing pull after another.
When he finally reached the entrance and hauled himself up over the edge, collapsing into the apartment's central area, he lay there gasping like a fish out of water. His chest heaved. Spots danced in his vision.
"Are you okay?"
The young lady was beside him now, kneeling—or rather, crouching at an awkward angle given the slant of the floor. Concern etched across her features.
Jake could see her properly now. The hair was still a black waterfall, but with her positioned like this, he could actually see her face. She was shorter than him by a few inches—he'd guess she stood maybe five-three or five-four when standing normally. Her skin was that pale shade that suggested she either avoided the sun religiously or had naturally fair complexion. Paired with those vivid green eyes, she looked almost otherworldly. Like something out of a fantasy novel or a painting. A goddess temporarily trapped in human form and forced to deal with very mundane disasters.
Before Jake could respond, an older voice called out from deeper in the apartment.
"Christine! You go away from here! Don't worry about me! Go outside and request help from the military or government. They will be able to come up here no problem with a helicopter!"
The mother. Still stuck in that bedroom.
The older woman continued, her voice carrying a forced strength that couldn't quite hide the fear underneath. "Hey, young man! Take my daughter and go outside and get help from others!"
Christine's face hardened with determination. She turned toward the source of her mother's voice.
"Mom, I won't leave you here! We can reach the door now. We will get you out for sure. Just wait!"
Jake pushed himself into a sitting position, every part of his body protesting. "Yeah," he added, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "We will try. I too think it's reachable. Let us try a bit."
He looked around the apartment's central area, taking in the scene. Christine had been busy before he arrived. There was a makeshift stool constructed from stacked appliances—a microwave on a storage ottoman, topped with what looked like a small side table, and crowned with an overturned drawer. It was precarious and clearly didn't get her high enough to reach the bedroom door above them.
"Christine, right?" Jake asked, gesturing to the stack. "You did good, but will that bear the weight of more than a hundred kilograms?"
She followed his gaze and bit her lip. "Yeah, they would. These are all mostly made of premium materials, and the coffee table there"—she pointed to a piece of furniture off to the side—"is made with ironwood."
Premium materials. Ironwood. Jake's tired brain registered the implications. These people had money. Real money. Not just comfortable, but wealthy. Living in the expensive two-bedroom unit with designer furniture made from exotic hardwoods.
'They're living their life,' Jake thought, then corrected himself with a grimace. 'Were living their life.'
Funny how disaster didn't care about your bank account. Rich or poor, everyone ended up in the same mess when buildings started falling.
"Okay," Jake said, forcing his mind back to the problem at hand. "Let's do this. I will first bend down a bit. You get on my shoulders. Then I will slowly stand up. I think with your height plus mine, you should be able to reach the door. But there's one problem." He paused, making sure she was following. "You have to hook the door knob with the rope we made and open it, and also push it. Can you do it?"
Christine nodded, her green eyes sharp with focus. "Yeah. I will."
They positioned themselves. Jake bent down, bracing himself against the slanted floor. His legs shook with fatigue, but he locked his knees and held steady.
"Okay, climb up. Use my back like a step, then get your feet on my shoulders."
Christine moved carefully, clearly afraid of hurting him but also knowing this was necessary. Her weight settled on his shoulders—lighter than he expected. She couldn't weigh more than fifty kilos.
"Ready?" Jake asked through gritted teeth.
"Ready."
He stood. Slowly. Every muscle fiber screaming. His legs nearly buckled twice, but he forced them straight. The world tilted dangerously, his exhausted body struggling with balance, but he steadied himself against the wall with one hand.
"Can you reach it?" His voice came out strained.
"Almost... yes! I got it!"
He felt her shifting above him, her movements making him sway like a tree in wind. She was doing something with the rope, hooking it around the doorknob, using the coat sleeves to create a loop that she could pull to turn the handle.
"It's opening!" Relief flooded her voice.
The door pushed inward—or rather, downward given the angle. Jake heard it swing on its hinges.
"Okay, I'm dropping the rope in now!"
Christine lowered the makeshift rope into the bedroom where her mother waited. Jake couldn't see what was happening above him, could only feel Christine's weight shifting as she moved.
"Tell your mom to hold it tight, and also if there are any blankets or any thing like that , Tell her to tie them to her " Jake said.
" Mom! Tie blankets to yourself and Grab the rope and hold on tight! We're going to pull you up!"
A muffled response came from the bedroom.
"Okay," Jake said. "I'm going to move now. Don't panic. I'll pull you down by holding your legs. Just bear with it."
"Wait, what—"
But Jake was already moving. He grabbed Christine's legs and began to lower her down, using his body as a counterweight. As Christine went down, the rope went taut, and physics did its work. On the other end, Christine's mother began to rise, pulled upward by the tension.
It was crude. It was improvised. It absolutely would not have passed any kind of safety inspection. But it worked.
Christine reached the floor—or rather, the slanted surface that used to be the the wall. She immediately grabbed the rope and began pulling hand over hand, adding her strength to the effort. Jake positioned himself and pulled too, though his hands were barely functional at this point.
Slowly, agonizingly, the mother emerged from the bedroom. First her hands gripping the edge of the doorway, then her head, then her shoulders. She pulled herself up with surprising strength for someone who'd been trapped all night, using the doorframe for leverage.
"Stop! Stay there a moment!" Jake called up. "Hold onto both sides of the doorframe!"
The mother did as instructed, wedging herself in the doorway entrance.
Jake and Christine worked quickly. They spread the coat-rope beneath the doorway like a blanket, creating a makeshift catcher. Not perfect, but better than nothing.
"Okay! Slide down now!"
The mother let go, sliding down the slanted surface. The coat-blanket caught her, the blankets tied around her slowing her momentum enough that the impact was jarring but not devastating. She tumbled to a stop near Jake and Christine, gasping but unharmed.
But they weren't done yet. Still had to get everyone out to the corridor.
The front door to the apartment was lower down—the exit to the tilted corridor. Both Christine and her mother gripped the makeshift rope while Jake positioned himself at the door, using it as an anchor point.
"Christine first," Jake decided. "You're lighter. Then we'll get your mom."
He lowered Christine down to the corridor, then followed himself, his body moving purely on muscle memory now because his brain had mostly checked out. Then came the same process again—spread the coat-rope, create the catcher, help the mother slide down safely.
When all three of them were finally in the corridor, Jake allowed himself to collapse against the wall. His body was done. Completely done. He'd used every last reserve of energy and then borrowed some from a future he wasn't sure he'd have.
'Well, this has been an adventure of my life,' he thought, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. 'Watching all those spy movies did help out. Who knew?'
He hadn't really observed the mother clearly during the rescue, with all the blankets rolled around her , too focused on getting her out. But now, in the relatively better light of the corridor, he could see her properly.
She didn't look old. Not at all. Jake had been expecting someone elderly—white hair, wrinkles, the works. But this woman looked like she was maybe in her mid-to-late forties at most. Still beautiful, with the same striking green eyes as her daughter. The resemblance was unmistakable. They could have been sisters if not for the subtle lines around the older woman's eyes and mouth.
Money and good genes, Jake thought distantly. One hell of a combination.
"Thank you," the mother said, her voice shaky with emotion and relief. "Thank you so much. I thought—I didn't think—"
"It's okay," Jake interrupted gently. "We're out. We're all out."
For now, at least. But they still had to reach those stairs. Still had to get down to ground level. Still had to survive whatever came next.
But that was a problem for the next five minutes. Right now, Jake was going to sit here and breathe and pretend his body wasn't falling apart.