Harold, in the opposite corner from the dismembered bodies, was fast enough to grab the lip of what remained of the floor with one hand, enough to give him the momentum to swing to one side and gain a more secure hold on the undercarriage of the lift where the guide wheels touched the vertical rails. Once secure with an arm wrapped around the strut, though secure was a relative matter since any movement of the elevator car would chop off his arm above the elbow, he looked for his companions.
“Gillian?” He couldn't see his partner. What light shone from the inside of the lift soon dissipated into the darkness of the shaft, and the bomb-bay type doors that a moment ago had felt like solid floor obscured his view of the opposite wall. His heart felt like a lump of ice in his chest. Gillian had been carrying their daughter in a blanket sling over her hip. How far up had they been? He recalled seeing a SEVEN written on the wall opposite the lift doors. That made them four floors up from the lowest level, plus the remainder of the lift shaft, say...forty five feet? Could a two year old survive a fall that long? She'd been in a sling on Gillian's hip. Gillian would do her best to protect her daughter and both the two dead bodies and Dill were heavier and would reach the bottom first. Would three dead bodies be the equivalent of a mattress on the floor?
“Lucy?” He called into the darkness. “Darling? Are you all right?”