“You have a lovely dog, Marshal,” she said. “He’s so gentle with the kids.”
“Bowie’s a good dog, all right.”
“Have you had him since he was a puppy?”
Before Mason could answer, Zeb turned to Carolyn.
“Go inside and get everyone ready for bed.”
“Ah, just a little longer? Please, Pa.”
“Go on now.”
She frowned but didn’t argue further.
“All right, Pa,” she said, getting up. “It was nice to meet you, Marshal.”
He smiled. “You too, Carolyn.”
She turned and hurried into to the house.
“Carolyn sort of took over after her mother passed,” said Mose. “Even at thirteen, she’s growin’ up real fast.”
“She seems like a sweet girl.”
Zeb cut his eyes at Mason like he had made some kind of inappropriate remark.
Mason ignored him. Some people were always spoiling for a fight.
“She and the other youngins will be happy to make you and Bowie some breakfast in the mornin’,” said Mose. “The truth is we don’t get many visitors.”
“We don’t want to be any trouble,” said Mason. “Bowie and I are happy to sleep out in the truck and be gone at first light.”
“Don’t be silly. We got plenty of room in the cabin. The girls all sleep in one room, and the boys in the other. You can take the couch. Besides,” he said with a grin, “it’s less likely you’ll be carried off by the rats that way.”
Mason thought that his truck was sounding better and better, but he didn’t dare refuse the offer. Rejecting a kindness extended by a stranger was not only rude—it could be dangerous.
The cabin was dark, and filled with the pungent odor of cooked cabbage on account of their dinner. The only sounds were those of the children rustling in their beds and the scratching of mice scouring the floor for scraps. Mason lay on a lumpy couch, replaying the events of the day. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Connie was in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling. She’d had her revenge, but that was going to be the easy part. There would be more dangers to come along, and she would need to align herself with the right folks if she was to have any hope of surviving.
He draped his arm across his eyes. Connie was behind him. He needed to let that situation go. No doubt more trouble lay ahead for both of them. She would make her way, just as he would make his.
A dog barked. It was followed by the sound of a man cursing.
Mason sat up, grabbed his Supergrade, and raced out the front door. He ran barefoot across the old porch, picking up a couple of splinters for his trouble. He could see that Bowie had someone pinned up against the bed of his truck. The dog’s back was hunched as it slowly moved in.
Mason whistled and Bowie stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.
As he came closer, Mason saw that it was Zeb leaning back against the truck. His hands were out in front of him, as if that would in any way ward off an Irish wolfhound.
“Get this damn dog away from me,” he hissed.
Mason saw that the tarp over his supplies had been folded back.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“Don’t,” he said, holding up his hand. “It’s been a long day, and I’m in no mood for lies.”
“You’re staying at my house. I figure I got a right to some kind of payment.”
“Bullshit. You’re a thief, plain and simple. What was it you took?” Mason strained to see what was in the man’s hands.
Zeb didn’t answer.
“If you don’t feel like talking, I’m going back to bed. Bowie, however, will probably be up with you all night long.”
Bowie growled and took a step toward him.
“Fine,” he said, holding up a small bottle of medication. “It’s just a few pills. That’s it.”
“Is that Percocet?” Ava had given him a bottle of the powerful pain medication in case he should ever be wounded.
“I need it,” he pleaded. “I’m suffering real bad. You saw that already.”
Mason held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
“I’ll trade you. Anything you want.” His voice was desperate, like that of every addict.
“I don’t need anything. Now hand it over.”
Zeb hesitated, his mind racing to come up with anything that might allow him to keep the drug.
“You can have Carolyn.”
“What?”
“My daughter, Carolyn. You can take her with you. Do anything you want with her. She’s pretty and about the right age for—”
Mason stepped forward and pistol whipped Zeb across the face. He toppled sideways, the bottle of pills falling into the dirt.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Zeb cried, holding his mouth. “You broke my goddamn tooth.”
Mason bent over and picked up the bottle.
“You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck. What the hell were you thinking?”
Zeb pushed up on his elbows.
“Please, Marshal, I need those pills.” He cupped his bleeding mouth to emphasize his pain.
Mason leaned over and pulled Zeb to his feet. When he was stable, Mason slammed him back against the cab of the truck and pressed the muzzle of the gun under his chin.
“I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?”
Zeb nodded, his eyes wide with fear.
“I’m going to be stopping in here from time to time, and so help me, if Carolyn or any of your kids are missing or hurt in any way, I’ll put you down. You hear me?”
Zeb nodded again.
“Say it.”
“I hear you.”
He holstered the pistol.
“We’re all hurting. Your pain’s no worse than anyone else’s. You’ve got a cabin full of kids who need their father, and right now, you’re failing them. Mose is filling in for you, but he isn’t going to be around forever. You know that.”
Zeb looked down at his feet.
Mason reached up and straightened the man’s collar.
“You get yourself together. These kids deserve better.”
Zeb nodded, wiping at his eyes.
“I just hurt, that’s all.”
“So let that pain remind you of what it’s like to still be alive. And if that’s not enough to keep you straight, you put a shotgun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Better that than shaming your family the way you did tonight.”
Zeb nodded again. “I’ll try, Marshal. I will.”
Mason turned and started back toward the cabin.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
CHAPTER
20
Tanner swept the headlamp’s beam through the almost impenetrable darkness. Dozens of cubicles with computers, tables, and chairs filled a large bullpen measuring perhaps eighty feet on a side. There were no bodies in sight, and the only smell was that of damp stale air.
He leaned back and called up the ladder.
“It’s clear.”
Samantha carefully climbed the rest of the way down.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Tanner shined the light on a brass plaque mounted on the wall. Deep Underground Command Center.
“I think we found your duck.”
“What do you think it was used for?”
“I suppose to monitor dangerous events—a situation room of sorts.”
“Shouldn’t there still be people here? The country is definitely in the middle of a situation.”
“True, but with the loss of electricity, they wouldn’t be able to do much more than play shadow puppets on the wall.”
Samantha looked back up the ladder.
“I hope those men don’t find the trapdoor.”
“They won’t. But just to be safe, let’s get out of here. There mu
st be another exit somewhere.” He swept the light around the room.
“There’s a door over there,” she said, pointing to the left wall, “and another one over there.”
“And two more on the other walls.”
“It must be like a maze under here. How do we know which way to go?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
She furrowed her brow. “Blue. Why?”
“Because each of the doors is painted a different color. Blue is the one to our right.”
“We’re going to base our survival on my favorite color?”
“You got a better idea?”
“No, but—”
“But what?”
“Well, I kind of like red too.”
He laughed. “Just stay close.”
Samantha latched onto his arm, and he led the way through the darkness to the blue door. It had a keycard reader, but the door was partially ajar. He pushed it the rest of the way open and shined the headlamp down a long hallway. Surprisingly, the stone floor was dimly lit by a trail of faint lights.
“How can there be lights if power is out?” she asked, squatting down and touching one of the tiny LED bulbs.
“They must be on an emergency backup system. But from the looks of it, the batteries are about dead.” He clicked off the headlamp. “Still, better to save our light for when we really need it.”
Tanner started down the long hallway, and Samantha followed close behind, occasionally glancing back to make sure that no one was sneaking up behind them. A heavy metal door stood at the end of the hallway. There was no handle or knob, but a dark keypad hung on the wall beside it.
Samantha pressed a few buttons on the panel.
Nothing happened.
“I think the controls are dead,” she said.
He studied the panel to see whether there might be some way to get it open, not that he had any idea what he would do with the complex electronics if he did manage to get inside.
“The door feels solid,” she said, pushing against it with both hands.
Tanner stepped forward and tapped it with his knuckles. It was as sturdy as a bank vault. He squatted down and bumped on the floor panel directly in front of the door. It sounded hollow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for a manual override.”
“What makes you think there’s an override?”
“Whoever built this place obviously understood that power might be lost. It makes sense that they would have put in a way to open the doors without electricity.”
“Ah,” she said. “So that’s why they left the headlamp by the ladder.”
“And installed emergency floor lighting.”
She squatted down next to him and studied the floor. There was a small semicircular notch cut in the corner of one of the tiles.
“Is this it?” she asked, sliding her finger into the notch and pulling up.
The panel lifted out. Beneath it was an operator’s manual and a pneumatic valve with a bright red handle. A yellow tag hung from the handle that read “Pressure Release.”
He reached for the valve.
“Hey,” she said, “shouldn’t you read the book first?”
“Bah. What could possibly happen?”
She stood up and took a couple of steps back.
“If it explodes, I’m going to be very disappointed with you.”
He turned the valve ninety degrees clockwise, and a soft hissing sound came from underneath the door.
“What’s that?” she asked in a worried voice.
“Oh crap.”
“What?”
“I’ve let the snakes out.”
“Snakes!” she squealed, rising up on her toes.
He started laughing, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the victim of his twisted sense of humor.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Oh, it was a little funny.”
She squinted, sending imaginary death rays toward him.
The hissing quieted and then stopped. Tanner stood up and pressed lightly on the door. It opened with an ominous creaking sound. On the other side was a long set of stairs leading down. No emergency lighting lit the way.
She looked past him into the darkness.
“That looks incredibly spooky.”
“We either go this way or back to the control center to try another door.”
She turned and looked back over her shoulder.
“That way doesn’t feel so good either.”
“I suppose we could stand here until I grow a beard like Santa Claus,” he said, hoping to lighten her mood.
Samantha didn’t laugh. Instead, she turned back and stared into the darkness.
“What do you think is down there?”
“Other than zombies, you mean?”
“Yeah, other than zombies.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Tanner clicked on his headlamp and started down the long flight of stairs.
They stood on a stone landing, staring at a long dark tunnel that led in both directions.
“Where in the world are we?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. We’re too deep for the Metro.”
“Maybe this is the throat of a giant worm thingy, you know, like in Star Wars.”
He walked over to the edge of the landing and leaned out to feel the tunnel wall. The rock was painted with something black and shiny.
“It feels solid enough to me. Definitely not alive.”
Samantha nodded. “Better to check though, right?”
“Always.”
“Where do you think it leads?”
“Someplace safer than where we were ten minutes ago.”
She stared at him, still weighing options.
“The way I see it,” he said, thinking out loud, “is that they dug this as an escape route for the president and other important officials.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” she said. “That way they could escape if someone attacked the White House.”
“Or even all of Washington.”
“You think it leads out of the city?”
“I do.”
She moved up next to him.
“Okay, but which way takes us out?”
Tanner hopped down from the landing into the tunnel. Unlike the walls, the floor was paved and as flat as a racetrack. There was a single set of metal tracks in the middle. He held out his hands and helped Samantha down. Without explanation, she immediately knelt down and put her ear to one of the tracks.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh,” she said, holding up her hand. “I’ve seen this done in movies. It tells you how far away the train is.”
He waited quietly until she stood back up.
“Well?”
She shrugged. “Can’t tell. The metal is too cold.”
They both chuckled.
“Come on, let’s go this way,” he said, turning to the left.
“Are you sure?”
“No, but you got to decide on the blue door, so I get to pick the tunnel.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t pick anything,” she said, hurrying after him.
They walked for ten long minutes without hearing or seeing anything more than the black tunnel walls. It felt as if they were descending deep into an abandoned coal mine.
“Maybe we—” she started.
Someone screamed further up the tunnel. The cry was followed by several short bursts of automatic gunfire.
Tanner slipped his arm around Samantha and shut off the headlamp.
More gunfire and more screams sounded.
“Do you see anything?” she whispered.
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