by Ike Hamill
Jackson shuddered. “You moved all those corpses?”
“Like I said, the place is haunted. I had to move the corpses to make sure that none of them would sneak up on me, you know?”
Jackson shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to take your word for it, since you can’t find the entrance?”
“No, I found it,” Merle said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “But I’m not going first.”
They followed him back to what looked like a manhole cover in the middle of the grass. The edges of the round plate had been overgrown with grass. Merle must have chopped it back around the edges on a previous trip. Putting his fingers carefully into the holes, Merle grunted as he lifted it. The steel rang against the edge as he flopped it over.
Jackson pulled out a flashlight and pointed it down the hole. There was no ladder in the circular shaft. About ten feet down, it ended at a gray floor.
“Looks like nothing more than a dry well,” Jackson said.
Merle snatched the light from his hand and dropped it in the hole. When it hit the grate at the bottom, the light flickered, but stayed on. Liam blinked and tried to understand what he was seeing. There was a passage that led away from the shaft. It could only be seen when lit from below.
“You have a rope or something?” Jackson asked.
“No. You just slide down. Brace yourself against the sides. There’s another way out.”
Jackson shrugged. He moved his pack around to his chest and began to lower himself down to the edge.
“Wait, there has…” Liam started to say.
He didn’t get a chance to finish his objection. Jackson pressed out against the sides of the shaft and dropped in, falling way too fast toward the bottom and blocking out the light. Liam only saw him again when he landed on the grate and picked up the light.
“Cool,” he said, moving down the side shaft and out of sight.
“Wait!” Liam yelled. “I have to be able to see.” Again, his fear was overcome by his desire to see the underground installation. He carefully got down to the lip of the vertical shaft and pressed his feet against the opposite side.
“Here,” Merle said, moving to the other side of the shaft. “Take my hand and I’ll lower you down most of the way.”
Liam gripped his hand and inched forward until most of his weight was suspended over the drop.
“You sure?” Liam asked.
“There’s nowhere to go but down.”
“Comforting.”
Everything was fine until his foot slipped off the side of the shaft, into empty space. Liam thought his heart would stop. Something grabbed his legs. Liam fought before he realized that it had to be Jackson.
“Little farther,” Jackson said.
Liam’s hands slid down the wall. His feet touched the grate and his fear was forgotten. From the flashlight tucked under Jackson’s arm, Liam saw down the passage to a ramp that led even lower. Liam took the light from Jackson and pressed ahead while Merle made the descent behind him. It was subtle, but the hall opened up as it went deeper. Liam realized that he could raise his hand above his head and no longer have any hope of brushing the ceiling. Likewise, three or four people could have walked abreast.
Under here, with all the dirt and rocks above him, Liam didn’t mind the open space.
He reached the place where the ramp ended and the hall opened up into a strangely shaped room. The side walls swept off either direction and were broken by rectangular slits and small walls. Behind him, he heard Jackson and Merle running to catch up.
“I wouldn’t stand there,” Merle said, breathing heavily. He produced his own flashlight and used it to trace a line in the floor that made a big square where the ramp spilled into the bigger room.
“Why?” Liam asked.
Merle reached out and dragged him backwards.
“This room is supposed to be used as a kill box, to prevent attacks. They would post soldiers at all those spy points and, when it’s primed, there’s a trapdoor that opens up right under you. Beneath, there’s a pit.”
“Get out of here,” Jackson said.
Merle gave his father an earnest look and nodded slowly.
“Wow,” Jackson said.
“Who is going to prime it though?” Liam asked.
Merle only shrugged. He moved to the corner of the ramp and leaned out so he could step past the trapdoor. Jackson and Liam followed carefully. They made a slow sweep of the room. Merle pointed out the places where a soldier could sit with a gun and pick off anyone who tried to get by. He showed them doors that were disguised to look like part of an unbroken wall.
“I’m guessing that they would spill out here and take the intruder by surprise,” Merle said. He pushed on an unremarkable piece of concrete and it sunk at his touch. Next to the hidden trigger, one of the secret doors opened.
“How do you find these things?” Liam asked.
“It’s his talent,” Jackson said, smiling. He slapped his son on the back.
Both father and son waited for Liam to lead the way. As long as it meant going deeper into the bunker, Liam was ready to oblige. The secret door led to a narrow passage that wound through tight turns. There were multiple places to hide along the way. Liam could almost imagine a soldier still in there, ready to jump out and attack. When the passage opened up into another room, Liam breathed a little easier. It was nice to have a little space after the tight squeeze.
“Are you sure the air is okay?” Liam asked, thinking about how still and quiet it felt down there.
“Better than any air you breathed down in the city,” Merle said. “This is one of the forward control rooms. We can get a lot of the stuff running from here. I had it on before, but it turns off automatically if you don’t keep on top of everything at least once a day. I think it’s so the place wouldn’t just run out of juice if everyone died. It gives the next guy a chance, you know?”
Liam wasn’t quite sure of the logic, but he understood what Merle was trying to say. The installation was a living thing, and it required prodding to keep it moving.
Merle moved to a panel that extended from one of the walls.
“I haven’t figured everything out,” he said, running his flashlight over the surface.
Liam moved next to him and saw squares of colored plastic that were embedded in the concrete.
“Yellow is light, green is water, and blue is air,” Merle said, pressing the squares. When his finger touched the yellow one, the panels in the ceiling above began to glow softly and then warm up into full light. They didn’t make any buzzing or ticking sounds, like florescent lights, and when Liam raised his hand toward them he didn’t feel any heat coming off.
“These lights are chemical,” Merle said.
Jackson was over near a vent. “Air is on. Smells fine.”
Merle nodded.
“I think that the red is for the temperature control. I’m not sure what orange and gray are. And I haven’t seen anything happen when I hit the purple. There’s not even an indicator that I hit it, you know? I bet Mike could figure this all out. He’s really good with anything I bring him,” Merle said.
“Where do these doors go?” Liam asked, moving to the far wall. He shut off the flashlight and put it in his pocket, to save the battery.
“Everywhere,” Merle said. “Nothing is labeled and all the passages lead everywhere, eventually. It’s like a maze. I guess they expected everyone to know where they were going. I’ve been lost for hours, walking around in places like this. It’s really cool because there’s no such thing as a sense of direction down here. It doesn’t matter how careful you are—you will come out somewhere you never expected.”
“I don’t know,” Jackson said, folding his arms. “Now that I think about it, if you pulled the Hawaiian Government guys out of here, then doesn’t that mean that this place can’t be one of your ‘dry bunkers’? If it’s for the Hawaiian Government, then it’s not about nuclear blasts.”
“Yeah, but they weren’t here l
egitimately,” Merle said. “Those guys that I found were infiltrators, just like us. They were never meant to be in here. I think they just found the place and tried to wait it out.”
“So what happened to them?” Liam asked.
As if in response, they heard a deep thunk from behind one of the doors. Jackson turned to face it as he backed away.
Merle’s hand was shaking as he pointed. “I told you. The fucking ghosts got them.”
Chapter 51: Tim
Tim woke up before the sun had crested the hills. In that direction, the sky glowed pink. In the other direction, it was still deep blue, fading to black. He blinked and tried to focus his eyes.
The fire was almost out.
Compared to the jungle, the air felt crisp as he stood up and took in a deep breath. Tim arched his back, trying to stretch the sore muscles at the base of his spine. He turned his attention up the hill. That was the only thing he could think to do—climb higher to try to find a way around the cliffs so he could continue downstream. If Penny, Lisa, and Ashley were still alive, that’s where they would be.
His stomach rumbled and twisted in a knot. Each step brought fresh pain. His fingers grew numb in the cool air.
Tim paused and blew his breath into his cupped hands.
The sound of footsteps in the leaves drew his attention. Tim caught a glimpse of a squirrel before it bounded up a tree. He stopped and really listened. A woodpecker pounded out a quick rhythm. Crickets chirped. This really wasn’t the jungle anymore. Tim looked down the hill, trying to see through the trees, wondering if it was merely the elevation that had caused the change in the flora and fauna.
“I have to keep moving,” he told himself. The cool air was settling into his joints.
Tim climbed.
Eventually, the ground leveled off and then he began to descend the other side. He still didn’t have any kind of view. Putting the bright sky at his back, he moved what he hoped was west, staying with the ridge.
Tim fell into a trance of one foot in front of the other. Everything had fallen away from him except for his constant momentum. He forgot what he was walking toward and walking away from. As far as the landscape went, he might as well have been back in the woods of Pennsylvania. The air warmed up as the sun rose. Steam came up from the floor of leaves and pine needles. The trees were tall and the undergrowth was sparse. He paused on top of a tumble of loose rocks and then continued down the other side. Now that his joints were loosened up, the battering from the river was beginning to feel like it was far in the past.
When he swallowed, his throat clicked and his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. With a slow blink, he realized that if he waited until desperation drove him to water, it might be too late to find it. The only water he was sure of was down at the river. Down there, the vegetation was thick and the cliffs were tall and smooth. To get water, he would have to give up the ability to make any progress west. And that was only if he was somehow still following the river. There was really no way to tell.
Tim deferred the decision and kept walking.
The sun rose high above. Tiny biting flies swarmed around him in a part of the forest that was thick with ferns. When he crossed into rockier terrain, they left him alone again. Under an oak tree, he found some acorns that were too bitter to eat. He regretted the experiment immediately. The taste stuck with him no matter how many times he spat.
There was a patch of sun ahead and Tim hurried his step. Stumbling on a root, he cranked his ankle to the side. For some reason, that set off a cramp in his stomach and Tim was doubled over for several seconds, waiting for it to dissipate. When he straighten up again, the world spun and swam. For a moment, he thought he was back underwater and that all the hiking had been a dream.
His eyes opened on the quiet forest. His body wanted a rest, but he didn’t dare stop. He had a premonition that if he stopped, he would never start again.
Tim was stumbling by the time he finally reached the patch of sunlight. It was a clearing. The log cabin, sitting under the graceful limbs of giant trees, had to be an illusion. Still, Tim staggered toward it. The building and the protective trees were right on top of the highest point around.
Tim reached out and barely stayed upright as he reached the stairs up to the porch.
He pulled himself toward the door—it was open a crack.
It creaked as he swung it inside. The sun, directly overhead, barely seemed to shine into the dim oasis. Tim had to enter and swing the door shut before his eyes could adjust. Thin curtains made the outside world a blurry dream. Opposite the wood stove, shelves had clay jugs that tapered up to cork stoppers.
His tongue ran over his cracked lips as he staggered to the shelf. The jug sloshed as he pulled it down. The cork said, “Thoomp!” when he tugged it free.
Sniffing carefully before he put it to his lips, Tim couldn’t smell anything at all. The water was cool and clean. He let a little moisten his mouth and waited for his tongue to wake up before he trusted anything more than a sip. He couldn’t imagine that it had been more than a day since he had been bloated with river water. It seemed like he hadn’t tasted water in a century.
“This is a dream,” he croaked. His eyes widened as he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t seeing any of it. There were no cabins in the jungle. There were no magic shelves full of water out beyond civilization.
“Not the jungle,” he whispered, reminding himself. He had left the jungle behind. As far as he knew, this was a forest near Pittsburgh. Maybe he had hit his head while on a hike.
There was a mirror near the door. Its surface was pitted with corrosion. There was still enough silver for him to see his wrinkled reflection. If the last thirty years at the Outpost had been a dream, they had still managed to age him.
Under a window, Tim found a desk and a chair. He sat carefully, setting the jug on the desk, not trusting either his back or the chair beneath him. Both were fine and he relaxed into the seat. These curtains were pulled back, framing perfectly the view of the distant hills. The farthest were nothing more than foggy blue suggestions. Tim realized that this place reminded him more of the mountains of Virginia than Pittsburgh. When he had lived at the little airstrip, the view had been nearly this lovely.
He found a pad of paper on the desk. The lines written there, in faded blue pen, were no language that he recognized.
Tim sat up straight and glanced around—suddenly filled with the idea that he was being watched.
“Hello? Is someone here?”
The door had been ajar, but there was no sign that animals had invaded the place, was there? He hadn’t needed to sweep away any cobwebs as he had stumbled inside, had he? Someone had to have filled the water jug somewhat recently, or else it would have all dried up in the clay jar, right?
He realized that he didn’t know the answers to any of the questions that kept popping into his brain. He also realized that it didn’t matter. If someone was there, then they would find him. Otherwise, he would remain alone. At that moment, he needed a little rest and some water. That was what mattered.
Lifting the jug, he took his first deep swallow. He felt the water sliding down his throat, waking up his stomach as it hit. Food was the next thing that he needed. As quickly as the thought crossed his mind, his stomach rumbled and cramped. Tim pushed himself back to his feet and lurched for the shelves where the water had been. There was no food there. The jugs that were full contained nothing more than stores of fresh water. The others held only air.
He found firewood stacked a respectable distance from the iron stove. He found a thin blanket rolled up and propped against the pillow on the cot. Finally, he swept aside a curtain and found a closet that held two fishing poles and a bow. He had the means to get food, but no food.
Fishing seemed out of the question—he had a general sense which direction the river might sit, but no idea how far it might be. On the other hand, he had seen squirrels. Tim picked up the bow and strummed the string. It wasn’t a
s nice as the one he had left behind, but it felt taut enough. He took it and several arrows to head for the door.
After a couple of practice shots, Tim headed back into the woods. He was almost afraid to leave the cabin behind. Perhaps once he took his eyes off of it, the mirage would disappear again.
“So be it,” he finally whispered to himself as he turned his back on the place. But before he had taken two steps, he couldn’t help but turn and glance back at it.
The cabin was still there.
With two squirrels tucked into his belt—one fat and the other skinny—Tim returned to the cabin. After checking the chimney for nests, he lit a fire with the flint and steel from the shelf. The wood was so dry that it caught immediately. He hadn’t realized how chilly the air had become until the heat drove the chill away. Gutting the squirrels far away from the camp, he returned with the soiled knife and the two carcasses.
They cooked quickly, sputtering and sizzling over the fire. Tim tasted the stringy meat with the tip of his tongue. It was gamey, but he was too hungry to care. He was too desperate to care. Casual hunger was a luxury of people who had access to real food. What drove him to eat the squirrels was nothing more than desperation. A million years before, he had lived in an apartment where every piece of furniture and decoration was handpicked for its perfection. Now, he was sitting on the floor of a log cabin, eating squirrel that he had roasted on the end of a stick.
Once he had unraveled the knots in his stomach with the chewy meat, Tim got his legs under himself again and moved out to the porch. He held a jug by the neck and perched it on his knee as he sat down on the bench. The view wasn’t as nice as the desk window, but it would be as soon as the sun got a little lower in the sky.
His thoughts kept returning to the fishing pole. The lures had been hanging above the poles in the closet instead of in a tackle box. The river was somewhere at the bottom of the hill—it would be terribly inconvenient for the owner of the lures. They would have to choose one and then cart them all the way down there…
