XOM-B

by Jeremy Robinson

  I spot the hatch’s thin outline ahead. “Almost there.”

  We slow, which should have changed the tempo of the drum-beat booming from the city cap, but the thunder continues unabated. For a moment, I think the sound is echoing below, resonating through the ruins beneath our feet, but the volume is increasing.

  Someone else is beating the drum, I realize, and spin around.

  The horde.

  Hundreds of them.

  They flow down the hillside like a flood, spilling over each other, clambering with mad hunger.

  “Here!” Heap says, stopping by the hatch, which is easy to see up close. He kneels down beside the door’s outline, reaches out through the layer of rainwater and pushes. A circular portion of the door sinks in and slides away, revealing a handle.

  “I’ve seen one of these,” Luscious says. “But they used a large machine to open it.”

  Heap nods. “They’re not locked. Just really heavy.”

  “Your hand won’t fit,” Harry observes, looking over his shoulder at the door, shotgun raised toward the approaching undead mob.

  “No,” Heap says and then points at me. “But his will. And I’m not strong enough.”

  Despite the oncoming wave of death, Harry and Luscious take a moment to shoot doubt-filled glances in my direction.

  Heap stands and draws his weapon. “There isn’t time for doubt, Freeman.” With that, he takes aim and fires, dropping the closest undead. Luscious takes the shot as permission to engage and fires several rails into the mob, each shot cutting holes through several zombies, but only rarely actually striking one in the head. Harry manages to control himself, holding his fire.

  While the others continue their losing battle, I bend down, take hold of the handle and pull.

  The hatch resists, or perhaps it’s gravity, or both. But it doesn’t open.

  “Heap…” This is impossible. “I don’t—”

  “Open it now,” Heap says.

  I yank hard, but the door only shudders.

  Heap stops firing, turns fully toward me and leans down. He speaks in a harsh whisper. “If you don’t open that door right now, Harry will never paint again. We will never sit on another rooftop and look at the stars. And while you believe in some kind of energy afterlife, or maybe even God, you will never, not ever, feel her touch again, or look into her eyes.”

  He doesn’t say who “her” is, but he doesn’t have to. I glance to the side, seeing Luscious’s curvy form and her wavy red hair fighting the wind and rain. More than anything in this world I’ve experienced, she is life to me.

  My grip tightens. Teeth grind. A surge of power ripples through my body and I pull.

  The hatch lifts an inch. Water sloshes through the opening.

  I remember her foot on my leg.

  The two-foot-thick, solid metal door moves steadily upward.

  Her lips on mine.

  I shout with exertion, pulling the hatch ever higher. I feel strands of muscle stretch and pop within my arms, but my strength never wavers.

  The word love, as spoken by her lips, replays in my ears.

  I fall back as the weight diminishes and the hatch falls toward me, bouncing to a stop at a 90-degree angle, held in place by Heap. Water roars into the hole.

  “In!” Heap shouts, all but shoving Harry and Luscious into a rectangular black hole in the vast city cap. They fall quickly, shouting in surprise. I hear them land a moment later.

  Heap is poised by the Hatch, ready to jump through. “Freeman! Hurry!”

  The horde is behind him, rushing closer, just seconds away.

  I dive forward, sliding over the smooth surface of the cap, slick with water, and slip right over the edge. I land on my back a moment later, having dropped ten feet. A rectangle of light overhead is suddenly blocked out by Heap’s bulk. His giant feet drop down toward me and I roll to the side to avoid being crushed. I look up again in time to see the rectangle shrink to a sliver. Heap has clung to the bottom of the hatch, pulling it down with his girth. A resounding boom echoes around us as the hatch slams shut.

  Something strikes my leg and I look down to see a twitching arm, severed from an unlucky undead as the door dropped. I kick it away and scramble to my feet thinking that zombies need to be more careful with their limbs.

  Heap’s large hands envelop my shoulders. “How do your arms feel?”

  Remembering the snapping feeling in my arms, I move them around, flexing muscles. No pain. No injuries. “Fine,” I say, surprised.

  He nods. “Good.”

  Harry appears at my side. “How did you do that? The weight of that door! The strength!”

  “I don’t know,” I say, and it’s true. I don’t know how someone my size could be stronger than someone like Heap. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “Upgrades,” Heap says.

  “Upgrades,” Harry repeats, but says the word in a way that makes it seem like he’s actually just said, “Ridiculous.”

  It occurs to me that Heap is just guessing. He doesn’t really understand it, either. In fact … “You did know I could open the hatch, right?”

  He just looks down at me for a moment.

  I raise my eyebrows to let him know I expect a truthful answer.

  He shrugs. “I hoped.”

  “You hoped?” Harry says, sounding outraged. “We could have been killed!”

  “I had faith in Councilman Mohr, that he did not exaggerate when he first described you to me. He said you would be the strongest of us.”

  “He could have been talking about Freeman’s moral compass,” Luscious says.

  “Or his willpower,” Harry adds.

  “I was under the impression that he was referring to everything,” Heap explains. “And I knew he was stronger than me.”

  Luscious shakes the wetness from her hair and it bounces back to its perfect form. “We’re alive, so thanks, I guess. And, hurray, we can see.”

  The observation is so painfully obvious that Heap and I both grunt as we turn our heads up toward the glowing sphere above our heads—a lightbulb, one of many lining the ceiling of the long hallway.

  “Are city caps typically powered?” Harry asks.

  “I’m not sure,” Heap says. “But I don’t see why they would be.”

  “Well, where are we?” Luscious asks.

  Heap shakes his head. “I’m not a maintenance worker. It’s an access tunnel. That’s all I know.”

  “Then we’ll just have to see where it leads.” I pick a direction and strike out, leading with my railgun.

  Despite the overhead lights recessed into the ceiling, the hallway is quite dark as the walls and floor are composed of the same solid black metal as the cap. It seems to suck in light and not let it go. The air in the hall smells old and full of rot, but not like the forest. It’s drier. Brittle.

  I walk slowly, trying to stay quiet, though it’s probably unnecessary. The horde, now above us, sounds like thunder as they wander over the cap, perhaps looking for us, or just dumbfounded by our sudden disappearance. Who’s to say what a dead person is thinking, or even if they’re capable of thought beyond violent instinct.

  The hallway ends in a staircase. I take the first two steps down and then lean over the rail, looking down. The perfectly square spiral of stairs descends straight down thirty-five flights.

  “That’s a long way down,” Harry says, peeking over my shoulder.

  Luscious walks past us. “Let’s get started.”

  We take the stairs in silence. The path is lit by dim yellow LED lights mounted in the walls at the top of each flight. The rumble of undead feet above fades with each flight until it’s almost unnoticeable. If our unknown adversary is down deep, perhaps our run across the cap went unheard. I decide that to believe such a thing could be dangerous. We’re in enemy territory now. Danger is everywhere, except maybe the staircase. I’ve looked all the way to the bottom and seen no signs of life or anything else.

  The door at the bottom is very simil
ar to the hatch that allowed us access to the cap’s interior. It’s a large rectangle, tall enough for Heap to pass through, but nearly seamless. I run my hand over its surface until I detect a subtle circular outline. I push and a handle is revealed, popping out of the smooth door. “Ready?” I ask, gripping the handle.

  Heap nods. The others agree. I give the door a tug and it swings open easily and noiselessly. The six-inch-thick door is far lighter than the hatch above and operates smoothly. Expertly hinged.

  Light spills into the dark stairwell.

  Twin gasps behind me are cut short. I glance back. Heap has clamped his hands over Harry’s and Luscious’s mouths.

  I step forward, into the light, and crane my head slowly from one side to the other. I’ve seen the ruins of the Masters’ world, but never like this, never in such pristine condition.

  Or with power.

  38.

  We step through the door, one at a time, staring at what should have been ruins. But there is no rot, no debris, and no sign of past turmoil. Nor are there any signs of life. The streetlights blaze. Many of the buildings glow from within. But there is no movement. No breeze. The massive cap overhead, like a black sky, prevents airflow from the world above. While the city looks almost new, the air tastes old.

  “Smells like books,” Harry says.

  “Books?” I ask.

  Harry turns his head to me, but takes a moment to pull his eyes from the pristine downtown. “Information in text form printed on paper.”

  Paper, I think. Thin sheets formed of wood pulp, straw or other fibrous material, for writing and printing. “How inefficient,” I conclude.

  “They bound vast quantities of paper into books,” Harry says. “At one time, it was the only form of communicating ideas and history to large numbers of people. There was even a time before books, when all information was passed between people orally.”

  This strikes me as less strange for some reason, perhaps because it’s what we’re doing now. “I would like to see a book,” I say.

  “Later,” Heap says. The city has him tense and on guard. Luscious, too. “Stay in the shadows and keep an eye out for security cameras—they might be functional.”

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “First, find someplace safe to hide.” He gives me a look that says, don’t argue, and adds, “And then I’m going to look around, on my own.”

  “You seem nervous,” I say.

  “I am nervous,” Heap replies.

  And now I’m nervous, too. Because Heap doesn’t get nervous. He gets serious. Or angry. Maybe cautious. But nervous? Something is wrong. I begin to ask, but he cuts me off with a terse, “Later.”

  A fifty-foot stretch of dead earth lies ahead. It’s followed by a street with a bright double yellow line running down the middle, like a divide between us and the maze of buildings beyond. Some are constructed from brick, others from wood that’s been coated in horizontal strips of vinyl and aluminum, like Harry’s house. They’re packed together in clumps with streets running between them at awkward angles. Unlike the ruins I’ve visited, or the Lowers, this city’s planning seems almost haphazard, like it evolved over time, and maybe it did.

  “Remember your way back to this door,” Heap says, stepping forward. “If something goes wrong…” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. This door could be our only means of escape.

  We make it across the clearing and street without incident and squeeze into an alley between the backs of two buildings. Heap has to turn sideways to fit and only then manages it because his chest armor had been dented when we crashed back in Liberty.

  We navigate through a maze of buildings, none of which resembles another. “Why are they like this?” I ask. I don’t need to specify what I’m talking about. We’re all feeling frustrated by the obstacle course.

  “Many of the Masters’ cities were built over time,” Harry says, confirming my suspicion.

  “But still, you’d think they would have planned better,” I gripe.

  “Some of these buildings are four hundred years old,” Heap says, and I suddenly realize that this place is like a time capsule. It doesn’t just contain facts about the Masters as they were thirty years ago, it holds secrets going back hundreds of years!

  “Would it be possible,” I say, “to not destroy this place if we don’t have to?”

  Heap just pauses and looks at me for a moment. I know he has no desire to destroy this old city, but he’s not going to promise anything. Stopping the undead plague is our first priority. Our only priority. This city, perhaps even our lives, are secondary concerns. Then again, maybe he’s already concocted a way to destroy this city and everything in it. If the source of the undead virus is actually here, and destruction is the only way to stop the radio signal, I suppose any amount of violence would be justified, as long as we’re not killing the living.

  The alley widens toward the center of town where the buildings are almost all brick, several stories high, and I suspect a great deal older than the surrounding area. Black fire escapes rise up the backs of the buildings with small platforms positioned under a set of windows. Heap reaches up, takes hold of the lowest ladder rung and gives it a tug.

  It comes free with a clunk that makes us all freeze in place, listening as the sound carries up toward the expansive black ceiling and bounces back down, diffusing among the buildings. Heap eases the ladder down slowly, minimizing the shriek of metal that hasn’t moved in a very long time, but not silencing it entirely.

  With the ladder resting on the crumbling pavement of the alleyway, Heap motions to the fire escape. “Go. To the top floor. Keep the lights off.”

  I look up and see that the lights in this building are already dark. We’ll be able to see out without being seen. But there is no hope of Heap climbing this fire escape, not without making a lot of noise and a high probability that his weight would pull it from the wall. I think about my own personal experience with fire escapes and wonder if it’s even safe for the rest of us. I look at the stairs for signs of rust and find none. The bolts in the wall look secure, too. While the ruins outside Liberty were exposed to the elements for thirty years, this city has been protected. That just leaves one question unanswered. “What are you going to do?”

  “Just have a quick look around,” Heap says.

  “Don’t you think someone … smaller should do that?” I ask.

  “If that smaller someone knew what to look for,” Heap says. “Yes. But you don’t know what to look for.”

  “I think I can figure it out. I’m—”

  “Protecting you is still my job.” Heap places his hand on my shoulder. “Let me do this. For you.” When I don’t immediately answer, he adds, “Unless you believe I’m not capable.”

  I sigh. If Heap had a middle name, it would be “capable.” “Fine. But how long should we wait?”

  “Four hours,” he says. “If I’m not back by then—”

  “If you’re not back by then, I’ll come and find you.”

  Heap grins. “You’re a good friend, Freeman. Your trust means a lot. Now, go.”

  He waits for us to climb the ladder and four stories of metal stairs and pry open a window before he starts away. While Luscious and Harry slip inside the building, I watch Heap move through the alley with surprising silence. He stops at a corner, looks back, gives me a nod.

  Feeling a strange sense of loss, I slip inside. But before I can slide the window shut, a noise catches my attention. A rhythmic thumping. Metal on pavement. I lean back out the window. Heap is quickly fading from view. All of his stealth is gone, replaced by a hurried run.

  Like he knows where he’s going.

  Your trust means a lot. Heap’s words hold me in place despite my strong urge to give chase. I do trust him, but I don’t like not knowing what he’s really doing. He wouldn’t put the world at risk just to protect me, I tell myself. And have no doubt. Whatever Heap is doing, it’s for the best. For everyone.

 
I watch the alley for another thirty seconds, hoping Heap will come back. It’s not until Luscious puts her hand on my back and says, “Are you coming?” that I look away and climb inside.

  The room on the other side of the window is furnished with a desk and chair, some drawers and a large, flat object that’s covered in fabric. Unlike the city outside, the room is dusty. I can see speckles of the stuff floating in the faint light streaming through from outside. I run my hand across the fabric. “It’s soft.” I push down. Despite the firm look, the large flat surface bends downward. “What is this?”

  “A bed,” Luscious says.

  “A bed?” I ask. “What were they used for?”

  Luscious seems taken aback by my question. She looks to the bed and her face sours almost imperceptibly. “I’m not sure if I should—”

  “Freeman!” Harry’s whispered voice carries an intensity that makes me forget all about the bed. I draw my weapon and step out of the bedroom into a darker hallway. A door at the end of the hall is cracked open. Two others are shut. I move forward with Luscious right behind me.

  A shadow bounds out of the room at the end of the hall and I nearly fire. Harry’s voice stops me a fraction of a second before I kill him. “Freeman!” He stumbles back upon seeing the raised gun. Raises his hands. “It’s me!”

  I lower my railgun in time with Harry’s raised hands. He points to the room from which he came. “You have to see.”

  He disappears back into the room. I share a curious look with Luscious and then start forward. Harry is rummaging through something and mumbling to himself. The first thing I notice about the room is that it is fairly well lit by the streetlights outside its two windows. Fearing being spotted, I enter the room in a crouch and am happy to find Harry doing the same. He’s got his back to me and is tracing his finger along the wall, which is peculiar. Upon closer inspection, I notice that the wall is uneven and multicolored. Every inch holds a new set of words. Names, and something else.

  “What are they?” I ask.