"What are you watching?" I ask Harry, even though I don't want to know the answer. I'm just so shocked by his response–or rather, his lack of a response–that I don't know what else to say.

But before Harry can respond, there is a loud explosion in the distance. Followed by another. And another.

Harry remains placid, but next to me, Eli shifts.

"The fireworks have started," Eli comments.

I look over at him and notice that he's glancing around. Thinking.

"I didn't realize how long we were in that closet," I say.

"We're running out of time," he mutters, more to himself than to me. Then he steps forward, grasping his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Harry. Stop playing."

Harry shrugs out Eli's grasp, his eyes locked on the screen in his hands.

"I mean it," Eli says, trying again.

"You shouldn't be here," Harry says without looking up.

Eli turns his head towards me. "It's like he's hypnotized."

I jut my chin in Harry's direction. "The screen?"

Then, with lightning speed, Eli lunges forward and swats the screen. There's a crack as it lands on the cell floor and then spins away across the cement.

Harry jumps to his feet, pushing his brother back with both hands. "Hey!"

But instead of taking a swing at Eli, Harry's eyes dart to the floor, trying to locate the device.

Without hesitation, Eli jumps forward and wraps his arms tightly around his brother. "Help me," he says through gritted teeth as Harry bucks and kicks out.

I jump into the fray. My cheek presses against Harry's shoulder as my arms try to pin him down. We're about the same height, but Harry is stronger, wider, a decade further into his transition than me.

At least Eli is larger, his muscular arms and back forged from years of farm labor.

But Harry doesn't relent. He writhes, twisting and turning.

"What are we gonna do?" I grunt as his elbow catches me in the stomach.

"Just... one... second..." Eli loosens his grip on Harry and slips one of his hands in his pocket. Then he brings something up to his mouth, bites and tugs. A plastic cap skitters across the floor and Eli jabs something into Harry's shoulder.

A second later, Harry goes limp in my arms.

His full body weight falls against me, and I stumble back. Eli catches Harry by the armpits, allowing me to get my feet under me. Harry's neck lolls over as Eli gently lowers him to the ground, slumping him against the bed.

"How the fuck are we going to get him out of here now?" I moan, looking down at Harry.

"I'll think of something," Eli says, cracking his neck and then leaning down to grab Harry's arms again. "But first, let's drag him out of here."

Shaking my head, I walk over and grab Harry's ankles. He's wearing slip-on canvas shoes without socks and as I lift, his loose pants slip mid-calf, revealing something plastic around his leg.

"What do you think this is?" I ask as Eli steps backwards through the cell door, stepping into the corridor.

"Huh?" he asks.

But with a blaring alarm, I get my answer.

The plastic ring flashes a bright red as soon as I step past the cell's threshold. Blinding strobe lights flash into my eyes, disorienting me.

But Eli doesn't freeze. Instead, he hustles, pulling Harry–and by default me–down to the maintenance room where we were hiding out earlier. He drops Harry, grabs a broom, and then sprints away.

For a moment, I'm alone. Just me and a tranquilized Harry.

Terror seizes my chest and my mind goes blank.

Then I hear footsteps pounding towards us. I clench my eyes shut and adjust my halo-mask back to the guard's face. Maybe that will buy me some time.

"The broomstick will only hold a few minutes. Come on, we've gotta hurry," Eli says, running up to me and then using the key card to unlock the door.

With relief, I drop the mask.

As soon as we are back in the closet, Eli flips on the light switch, then starts pushing boxes in front of the door, barricading it.

Immediately, I help. But it feels fruitless. "We're trapped," I state the obvious.

But Eli shakes his head. "See that?" he says, jutting his chin at a large access panel screwed into the wall. "That's the elevator shaft."

"We're fifteen floors up! How's that going to help us?" I ask, sweat beading on my brow.

"Lucky for us," Eli says, grabbing a screwdriver from an open toolbox on a shelf and working to remove the cover. "I've done this before."

"Wh–you have?" I ask, dumbfounded. The way Eli acted when we boarded the tram, I thought he hadn't been back in the city since he ran away.

"Well," Eli says with a shrug as he removes the last screw and then shimmies off the panel, "It might've been twenty years ago, but I still did it."

"Did you have an unconscious man with you when you did it?" I ask, looking down at Harry.

"No," he admits. "We're going to need to get creative. Look around. We need something to help us rappel down the shaft."

Several minutes have already passed, and I know we are running out of time. I run my hands over the shelves as I scan for anything useful. "Extension cord?" I call out.

"No. It'll snap before we get down one story." Eli is grabbing some mop handles and taping them together with duct tape.

There are rolls of trash bags, and for a moment I wonder if they'd be useful, but I move on. My hands brush across squirt-bottles filled with cleaning solution, gallon jugs of bleach, and a stack of folded towels, but nothing looks helpful.

"What if we twist extension cords together? Use that duct tape to strengthen it?" I ask, desperation filling my voice.

Eli looks up at me and shakes his head. "Too risky."

"We're not exactly flush with options," I mutter, right as my eyes fall on a spool of nylon rope. "Fuck yeah," I say, holding it up.

"Give it here," Eli says, extending his hand. When I pass it to him, he turns it over, examining it. "Quarter-inch gauge is perfect. I'll tie a bowline knot to secure it. But first..."

Eli stands and grabs a box cutter off the shelf. Then he takes several yards of rope and slices it off.

"Why'd you do that?" I ask.

"For him," he answers, nodding at Harry, still crumpled on the floor.

Then, his hands moving quickly and surely, Eli attaches the rope to the doubled-up mop handles. Then he wedges the mop handle horizontally across the shaft opening and drops the spool down into the darkness.

"Ever rappelled before?" he asks, picking up the roll of duct tape. He reaches for my hands and wraps the tape around my left palm several times.

"No," I admit. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't see any gloves. This will protect you from rope burn." Then he grabs my right hand and does the same. "Don't dangle, you'll lose control. Keep your feet on the wall, about a shoulder's length apart."

"Don't dangle. Feet on wall," I repeat.

"And don't go too fast. Slow and steady, okay?" Eli finishes with my hands and then looks down at Harry.

"Okay," I say. "Now what?"

"Now you help me tie my brother to me."

A few minutes later, we've cut off Harry's ankle bracelet and harnessed him up. We then tie him to Eli like an oversized toddler strapped to his father's chest.

There is a loud bang in the distance.

We're out of time.

Eli hands me a flashlight, then flicks off the light switch, plunging us into darkness. Only a faint red glow emits from the open panel in the wall.

"Ready?" he asks.

"No," I answer as I pick up the rope and sit on the ledge. Then I ease myself off, gripping the rope to my chest as my feet find purchase on the wall.

"Slow and steady," Eli reminds me from above.

"Slow and steady," I echo back.

After only a few minutes, my biceps burn. I'm grateful for the strength I've built up over the past few weeks, but I'm worried that it's not enough. There's no way I can descend fifteen stories without my arms giving out.

When I pass the set of doors marking the fourteenth floor, the rope jostles, and I freeze.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Just me," Eli answers from above. "Slow and steady," he repeats.

We continue our controlled descent in near silence. Only the sounds of our feet and the occasional grunt echo around us. I follow Eli's advice and keep my feet along the wall, my back avoiding the thick cables and steel poles that run up the sides and rear of the shaft.

Then suddenly, there is a whirring. A mechanical staccato that is piercing and ominous.

A vibration fills the air, making the hairs on my arms stand on edge.

The elevator is moving.

This can't be good.