The Sanctuary of 17B

Chapter 7: Saving Siti

The metal grate groaned, the screech of rusted screws protesting against Dimas’s frantic, desperate leverage. Behind the thin sheet of galvanized steel, the whimpering had died down into a hollow, rhythmic rasping that sounded far too much like a dying machine.

"Siti! Can you hear me?" Dimas yelled, his voice cracking. He didn't care about the noise anymore. If the monsters were already in the walls, silence was a luxury they’d long since traded for survival. "Look at the light! Keep looking at the beam!"

"Dimas, she’s slipping," Alina whispered, her hand trembling as she held the flashlight steady. "Look at her eyes in the reflection of the shaft. They’re turning milky again. We have to pull her now!"

"I'm trying! The screw is stuck!" Dimas cursed, sweat stinging his eyes. He jammed the flathead screwdriver into the slot, forcing it with his shoulder. With a sudden, violent pop, the metal tab sheared off.

Dimas didn't wait. He grabbed the edges of the grate with his bare fingers, ignoring the sharp, jagged edges that sliced into his palms, and wrenched the heavy cover aside. It clattered to the floor with a sound that seemed to ring through the entire apartment.

A wave of air colder than a winter grave rushed out, carrying the scent of metallic rot and stagnant dust.

"Siti! Grab my hand!" Dimas reached into the dark, narrow tunnel.

At first, there was no movement. Then, a pale, limp hand emerged from the gloom, fingers splayed and grasping at nothing. It was followed by a woman’s face, etched with a kind of profound, vegetative apathy that chilled Dimas to the bone. Her eyes were wide, vacant, and glazed over with the same grey film he had seen on Mr. Hendra.

"She’s almost gone," Alina breathed, her voice tight with panic. "Dimas, pull her! She’s not even trying to help herself!"

Dimas grabbed the woman’s wrists. They felt like dry twigs, fragile and deathly cold. He hauled back, his boots sliding against the linoleum. "Come on, Siti! Think! Think about your son! Think about Budi!"

He hauled her torso into the light, then shifted his grip to her shoulders, dragging her the rest of the way out of the narrow shaft. She collapsed onto the kitchen tiles in a heap. Behind her, a small, still bundle—the boy—lay slumped in the dark of the shaft.

"Budi!" Alina cried out, dropping the flashlight. She didn't hesitate, diving hands-first into the crawlspace. She snatched the small boy from the shadows, tucking him against her chest, and backed out with a grunt of exertion.

"Is he breathing?" Dimas scrambled toward them, grabbing the vent cover and slamming it back into the hole, desperately pinning it with the heavy pantry unit they had dragged over.

"He’s cold, Dimas. He’s so cold," Alina sobbed, kneeling on the floor. She pressed her ear to the boy’s chest. "I can hear a heartbeat. It’s faint, but it’s there."

Dimas turned his attention to the woman. Siti lay on her side, her chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow hitches. Her eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, unseeing, completely detached from the world.

"Siti? Hey, Siti, look at me," Dimas said, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hovered his hand in front of her face, waiting for a blink that didn't come. "Siti, your name is Siti. You live in this building. You have a son named Budi. Remember? You were in the vents because you were scared. You’re safe now."

"I... I..." her voice was a dry, rasping whisper, devoid of inflection. "Where is... the... bus?"

Dimas looked at Alina, his face pale. "She’s stuck. She’s gone back to a memory from before the fog. She doesn't even know she’s in a building."

"Talk to her!" Alina urged, frantic. "Don't let her drift! Keep her tethered!"

Dimas leaned in, gripping her shoulders, shaking her gently. "There is no bus, Siti! There hasn't been a bus for days! Look at Budi! Look at your boy!"

He gestured to the child in Alina’s arms. Budi had begun to shiver—a violent, spasming reaction to the sudden warmth of the room.

"Budi?" Siti’s eyes shifted, the milky haze wavering for a fraction of a second. She turned her head, her movements slow and mechanical, until her gaze landed on the boy. "Budi... my... little one?"

"Yes! That’s him!" Dimas cried, relief washing over him. "He’s right there! He needs you, Siti! You have to be here for him!"

Siti’s eyes widened. A flicker of genuine human agony—raw, messy, and loud—crossed her face. She let out a sharp, gasping breath, and then, as if a dam had burst, she lunged toward Alina, her arms outstretched.

"Budi!" she shrieked, the sound tearing through the apartment. She scrambled across the floor, clutching the boy to her chest, rocking back and forth with a ferocity that made Alina stumble. "Oh god, oh god, Budi, I'm here! I’m here!"

"You're okay," Alina said, her voice shaking as she wrapped her arms around both of them. "You're both inside. You're safe."

Dimas sat back on his heels, his hands trembling. He looked at his palms, where the sharp metal of the vent had left thin, red lines. He stared at the pantry blocking the hole, listening intently. There was no sound from the other side. The entities were still out there, prowling the dark, but for now, they were held back.

"We did it," he whispered, though the words felt hollow.

Sarah—the nurse who had been their anchor—watched from the corner, her face tight with worry as she kept a hand on her own sleeping toddler.

"How long do you think they’ll stay like that?" Sarah asked quietly, nodding toward Siti and Budi.

"I don't know," Dimas replied, staring at the barricaded wall. "But they’re back. That’s all that matters."

Siti suddenly collapsed against the floor, her energy spent, her tears soaking into Budi’s small shirt. She looked up at Dimas, her eyes rimmed with red, the haze completely gone, replaced by a terrifying, lucid clarity.

"I remember," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I remember the fog. It was eating my thoughts. It was telling me to stop walking... to just sleep."

"Don't talk about it," Dimas said, his tone firm. "Don't focus on the fog. Focus on being here. You have to eat something. All of you."

Siti’s gaze drifted to the kitchen counter, where the single open can of peaches sat. Her stomach let out a long, hollow growl.

"Please," she choked out, her hands shaking as she pulled Budi tighter. "I... I haven't been able to think about anything but the cold for so long. Does anyone have... just a little bit of food? My boy... he hasn't eaten in so long."

Dimas looked at his dwindling supply—the twenty-four packs of noodles, the few cans of sardines. He looked at Budi, who was now staring at them with wide, hollow eyes, and then at Leo, curled up in Sarah’s lap.

He felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. They were four adults and two children now. The math was simple, and the math was lethal. If they rationed, they might survive a week. If they didn't, they would be starving within days.

"We have some," Dimas said, his voice level. He reached for a pack of noodles and the jar of peanut butter. "We share everything. That’s the rule. We don't eat until everyone has a portion."

Siti slumped forward, her forehead resting against the linoleum. "Thank you. God, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Dimas said, looking around the dark, cramped room. The apartment felt like a tomb, a tiny bubble of warmth in an ocean of freezing, memory-devouring mist. "We’re still here. And as long as we’re here, we aren't losing."

He looked at Alina, who was watching him with a mixture of fear and pride.

"We need a better plan than just waiting," Dimas muttered. "The roof is the only way out. We need to start prepping for the climb."

"The climb?" Sarah asked, her voice hushed. "Dimas, you don't know what’s waiting in those hallways. You saw what they did to Pak RT."

"I know," Dimas said, standing up and walking toward the window, peering through the sliver in the blinds. The fog outside was a solid, grey wall, indifferent to their survival. "But I’m not dying in this apartment, and I’m not letting these kids become part of the mist."

He turned back to the group. They were all looking at him now—the survivors, the anchors.

"Tonight, we rest," he said, his voice hardening into the cadence of a leader. "Tomorrow, we figure out how to get to the roof."

Siti let out a sob, burying her face in Budi’s hair, but she didn't let go. She held on, and for that one moment, in the middle of a world that was being erased, they were still whole.