A Shrouded World (Book 2): Atlantis

by Tufo, Mark

  Pausing at the hall’s entry, I think about all of the times that I’ve had to go into situations like this. Was there anything from those experiences that I’m forgetting to throw into my bag of tricks? Going in alone is so much different than going with a team. Of course, I’ll only have to worry about myself, so that’s a plus. But, more eyes watching, more ears listening, and more guns shooting should it become necessary is a good thing. However, that’s not the case now. It’s just me, and I find myself rapidly adapting back to that mentality. The time spent with Mike and Trip seems like some kind of interlude, like I had a little recess time from my stroll down the highway. Now, if they only managed to take the whistlers and everything else with them, that would be cool.

  Well, Jack, if you’re going to do this, let’s get on with it, I think, staring down the gloomy hallway.

  Yeah, I’ve had to go into buildings before, but not with arms, legs, and various digits extending from the walls and floors. No, that will definitely make this a more interesting endeavor. I find myself really missing Red Team. Gonzalez would have some quip ready to make light of this situation.

  With a last look out of the windowed front, checking one last time to make sure that I’m alone, I step into the wide corridor. The dust on the floor hasn’t been disturbed as far as I can see down its length, but that doesn’t mean that I’m the only one here. It only means that the main entrance isn’t used—but there’s also the fact that night runners would have chewed on the limbs like they’ve apparently done elsewhere. Of course, the whistlers could also have been responsible for that. Who in the fuck knows?

  I’m not comfortable walking down the middle of the hall, preferring to stick close to the walls, but there is no way I’m going to brush up against the limbs. Yeah, fuck that noise. I’d prefer being silhouetted against the light pouring in through the front rather than feel fingers sticking out of a wall in my hair. My imagination would make them move and I’d call game over, leaving a warm puddle on the ground before exiting quickly.

  Looking for a bank of elevators and the accompanying stairwell, I step over fingers embedded into the floor. They look like some giant on a floor below lifted its hand skyward to poke through the ceiling. A leg from mid-thigh down clad in dark slacks bends at an angle from the wall. The bottoms of the once-shiny black shoes rests on the floor in such a manner that it looks like someone is about to walk out of the wall and into the hallway. Fucking freaky!

  One arm sticks out of a wall as if reaching for something, near a partially open office door. I pause next to the doorway, listening for any hint of sound. Nothing. Curiosity gets the best of me, even though I dread what I might find. With one hand holding my carbine, I swing the door slowly open with the other. A slight squeak notes that dust has settled into the hinges.

  Duly noted, I think, my heart racing and senses tuned for the slightest movement or sound.

  I peer around the corner and into the office, expecting to see the rest of the body attached to the arm extending through the wall. The fear of seeing something like that is nearly greater than that of being inside a building filled with night runners. My stomach clenches and feels watery. Inside, there is: nothing.

  What the fuck!

  I glance into the hallway to assure myself that I have the right perspective. Sure enough, the arm is positioned in such a way that there should be a body on the other side. Looking back into the office, it remains empty.

  Glancing both ways down the hall, I walk into the office and step close to where the body should be. Reaching out, I feel only air.

  This fucking can’t be right.

  I probe the wall where I think the arm on the other side should be. Expecting perhaps some kind of sensation, there’s nothing but wall.

  Fuck this place, I think, returning to the hall. Just, fuck this place all to hell.

  Standing in the hall, I debate whether I should continue. This place makes it hard to keep my focus, but where else would I go? I’m sure now that all of the buildings in this city are similar. I could just leave the city, but again, to where? The ‘where to go’ is what I’m looking for, and without that focus, I’d feel even more lost than I already do. Going back would be giving up; going forward, well, that will be about as fun as being in a blender at high speed.

  Gotta get your head on straight, Jack. Can’t go into this wandering around in a daze. These things are just furniture: nothing more, nothing less.

  I hear a faint scuffling sound behind me. Spinning around, I drop to my knees and bring my M-4 to bear, my finger tensing on the trigger. With my heart hammering in my chest, I am a mere pound away from sending a burst of projectiles down the corridor. There isn’t any threat immediately visible. I search along the walls and look for open doorways. Nothing, and the only door open is the one I’m next to. There’s only the soft glow of sunlight from the distant foyer. Keeping my carbine aimed down the hall, the red dot visible and moving with my eyes, I edge over to the nearest wall, mindless of any limbs that might be there. Still nothing in sight.

  I hear my own quick breathing and force myself into calm. I know I heard something, but the amphitheater-like foyer and wide hallway can allow sound to travel. Edging slowly along the wall back toward the foyer, I only come away from the wall to make my way around an arm or leg. Looking along the tiled floor, the only disturbances have been left by my own boots. Still, I check each door as I cautiously make my way back to the lobby. In this place, who knows? Maybe they can walk on walls or ceilings. Now, that’s a fucked up thought. That’s the one thing that always gets me in horror movies—ceiling walkers. Yep, no thanks!

  I’m tempted to call out, as it could have been Mike and Trip returning. From where? I have no idea. But, if they’re here, I’ll find out shortly. There’s no use in announcing myself if it’s not them.

  As I near the end of the hall, I slowly and carefully look over the lobby as it comes into view. There aren’t many places to hide, with only a few pieces of furniture for people to sit and wait. At the foyer’s edge, it remains as I left it: empty. However, there are other tracks leading in from the entrance. A trail is cut through the dust, angling toward another hallway. I can’t tell for sure how many from my vantage point, but I’m guessing there must be anywhere from six to ten; definitely not Mike or Trip, unless they brought company along with them.

  I withdraw the rearview mirror and, kneeling, angle it around the corner near ground level. The other hallway is lit for a small distance but then, like the one I’m in, vanishes quickly into deep gloom before disappearing entirely into darkness. I can’t see very far down it, as I have to look through the brightly lit lobby, but I can’t discern any movement within. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m not alone in the building anymore, if I ever was. Withdrawing the mirror, I edge back into the deepened shadows of the hall.

  Well, this certainly adds a new twist.

  I’m sure that whoever or whatever is now in the building also knows that I’m in here. Perhaps not exactly where, only that I’m inside. But, I know the same about them, which makes us even. From their stealthy attempt at entry, I’m thinking they may not know that I heard them. If it weren’t for my added ability to hear well, I wouldn’t have known. That means they watched and waited for me to progress further inside before following. That shows a high level of intelligence. So, small plus on my side—they don’t know that I know. It’s not much, but I’ll take any bonus at this point.

  Now, to continue or call it quits? This endeavor just became a little sportier. If it’s whistlers, then the confines of the building will be a minus, considering that they’re armed. They could just keep my head down with their staple projectiles and maneuver as they please. If I’m dealing with the smart zombies, then, considering my firepower, advantage: me—or so I hope.

  I just wish I could have glimpsed whoever it was. I hope it wasn’t Mike and Trip, because, if I continue, I can’t go in with anything that will cause the slightest hesitation. Besides, surel
y they would have called out. By the size of the disturbed area, I’m going with the assumption that it wasn’t them. Though I’ll feel fucking awful if I fire and hit one of them…worse if they fire and hit me. I think I’m more worried about Trip and his magic slingshot.

  Okay, so, even though I haven’t gone too far into the building, turning back isn’t really an option for me. The real question is whether to hunt down the intruders or press forward to the third floor. I’d set an ambush, but that isn’t really an option since I don’t know where they’re headed, or the direction from which they’d come. If I had a couple of claymores, or even grenades, that would be a different story. I’d set them up down intersecting hallways, make some noise, and wait for the fun to begin. If they have any degree of intelligence, as demonstrated by the manner of their entry, then it would be just as easy for them to set their own traps for me. I don’t know what abilities they have, and if they caught a hint of my pursuit, through scent or sound, there’s a chance that I’d walk right into one.

  So, plan A it is.

  The presence of this new element allows me to focus more clearly. I now barely notice the appendages in the floor and walls. The ball has been kicked and it’s truly game time. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and empty my head of any extraneous thoughts…something I should have already done. The air around me stills; my heart rate calms. I hold tension in my stomach, but a little tension is a good thing. It will keep me alert and with a grip on reality. If anyone ever says they go into something like this completely at ease, they’re either lying to themselves or don’t appreciate what is going on around them.

  I set off slowly back down the hall, this time staying near the wall. My ears are tuned for the slightest noise, my eyes for the smallest movement, my senses alert for any change in the environment.

  Feel the flow, Jack…feel the flow.

  Playing quietly in the depths of my mind is the song “The Boys Are Back in Town.” It was a ritual for me long ago, to play that just before going in. It gave me a certain amount of confidence, and ego; there was nothing I couldn’t do and nothing that could stop me. It wasn’t overconfidence, it was just confidence. I was in someone else’s backyard, yet it was my playground.

  I pass under and around the furniture poking out from the plaster and tiles. A few steps, pause and listen, a few more. I’m careful to lift my feet just a few inches and set them down without shuffling. Small steps, always in balance. There’s not a clink from any of my equipment, nor a rustle from my clothing. My finger caresses the trigger guard—an old habit.

  The last of the radiated light from outside vanishes and I enter total darkness. My world becomes various shades of gray, much like seeing through NVGs but without the inherent greenish glow. An errant thought enters my mind; I wonder if my eyes glow like the night runners do when light hits them just right. I open up quickly, seeing if my way is still clear of at least them. I don’t sense anything, which is a good thing. The fact that the others inside with me came in from open daylight assures me that I’m not dealing with night runners.

  The hall opens into an alcove on the opposite side to reveal a bank of elevators. Just beyond, a metal fire door leads to what I assume is a stairwell. I study the ground but don’t see any sign of passage. Either they’re still on the main floor, or they found another way up. Once I’m through the stairwell door, the game will be on for real.

  Backing up a few steps, I test one of the office doors and find it unlocked. Turning the knob and lifting it slightly to bring the weight off the hinges, I open it. It looks like any other office: a desk with a padded chair behind it, papers and folders lining one side of the desk and a phone on the other. On top, I find what I’m looking for: a heavy-duty stapler and metallic hole punch. Well, perhaps they aren’t exactly what I was looking for, but they’ll do. I grab a couple of paperbacks resting on a small bookshelf.

  Checking that the hallway remains empty by holding the mirror out of the doorway, I creep up to the door leading to the stairs. The door opens inward, which suits my purposes perfectly. I slide across the hall and check the stairwell through the narrow window. Keeping the weight off the hinges again, I open the door and slip through. Before the door closes completely, I wedge one of the books into the opening at the bottom, making sure the book doesn’t poke out into the corridor. I then reach up and place the stapler on the narrow ledge created by the opening. It’s balanced precariously, but secure enough that it won’t fall unless someone opens the door. If the stapler hits the hard, tiled floor, it will make enough noise to announce the intruder’s passage, provided that I’m close enough.

  One alarm set.

  Now it’s time to do my all-time favorite thing ─ climb yet another darkened stairwell. Yay me!

  The stairs are like any others. They lead to an intermediate landing before turning a corner and continuing in the opposite direction to the next floor. I silently adjust my pack and take a deep breath. With my M-4 aimed upward, I quietly scale the concrete steps, keeping to the outside wall. That will give me a wider angle of sight for whatever may be waiting ahead. With each step, that view expands until I can see almost the entire intermediate landing. I hear nothing but my own shallow breaths. Even though I feel a certain sense of calm, I am also aware of my thudding heart. I’m surprised that the walls aren’t shaking in concert with it.

  Man, I hate urban areas, and buildings in particular.

  The second landing has a single door exiting to the floor. I rig this door the same way as before, this time placing the hole punch on the ledge.

  Alarm number two set.

  I wish I could set different sounds specific to the floor being entered, but there’s nothing that I can do about it. It is what it is, and better than nothing at all.

  Placing my foot on the first stair to the third floor, it seems as if the concrete stairwell has closed in even more. I’m not able to seal off the doors behind me like I did at the CDC. That at least allowed a measure of comfort with regards to having my back covered. Here, there is no defined avenue of safety. The only perimeter I have is the one immediately around me.

  The very walls seem to mimic my breathing. Within the darkened stairwell, tension presses in on me, a pressure that seems to increase with each step.

  If I allowed myself to truly think about my situation, I would turn a one-eighty and leave, never to return. Not only have I been thrust into an alien world with all kinds of enemies around every corner, but my only companions, people I just met, have vanished without a trace. I’m alone in a dark building in the middle of a city, one in which the residents appear to have been embedded into the structures, searching blindly for some kind of clue. If I knew what I was looking for, maybe I could make some sense of the situation. As it is, I might as well be building a spaceship, because I have an equal idea of how to go about that.

  Despite the coolness of the stairwell, a trickle of sweat runs from my temple down my cheek. Other than the tension gripping my stomach, my body remains poised and ready, and my mind remains calm. I place each step carefully, pausing after each one. My goal is to become a void from which no sound can escape. Any misstep and I might as well blast an air horn. The smell, well, there’s not much that I can do about that. There doesn’t appear to be any airflow, so whatever odor I’m emitting will hopefully remain in a confined area.

  Reaching the third floor landing, I wish again that I had the means to seal off the stairwell from above and below. I pull out the folder and look at the directory again, comparing the room number of what I determine to be the intel director against the diagram, which is little more than an enhanced fire escape plan. I take a moment to study it, looking for alternate routes back to the foyer. From what I can make out, there are elevator banks and stairs in the middle corridor—the one I’m currently in—and others on each end of the building. That means that whoever entered behind me could gain access to the floors without triggering my intricate alarm system.

  I log the details o
f the map. I usually have a running map in my mind of where I am, which direction I’m facing, and where I’m going. Kind of like a less-detailed Google Maps kind of thing. It’s not often that I don’t know where I am in relation to things around me, but that’s neither here nor there. At the moment, I catalogue the hallways, some of the room structures, and the exits. If I’m in a hurry, I won’t have time to consult the diagram. Whoever forces my hasty retreat won’t allow me to call a time-out. I’m pretty sure the rules of the game don’t give each side a certain number of them… or even one.

  I mentally run through what I’m about to step into and what I know about it, which doesn’t really amount to much—par for the course. On the other side of the door, the room I want to search is at the end of the hall. There are upwards of ten others somewhere sharing the building with me. Who or whatever they are, they must have a degree of intelligence since they quickly darted out of sight and were quiet about it. It’s not easy for such a large group to move so stealthily. Unlike zombies or night runners, they know how to use doors, which could place them anywhere in the facility. Due to the secretive nature of their entrance, I have to assume that they aren’t looking to join me for a cup of tea. Ten folks, creatures, or whatever, all moving silently, is not a good sign. So, all in all, this looks to be adventurous.

  After checking through the narrow window, I crack the door open and peer down the corridor. There is nothing of note within the varying shades of gray of my vision. A quick mirror check down the other way shows the same. Tucking the rearview away, I slide through the opening into the hall. Holding the door barely open, I stand against the wall and listen. The silence is absolute. No hum of equipment, no drafts from air-conditioning or heating systems. And better yet, there’s no hint of heavy breathing or slapping of feet heading in my direction. Dust lies undisturbed on the tile floor. I stand in a tomb that has long been abandoned.

  I ease the door closed with the knowledge that my hastily rigged alarm system will thus be much harder to hear. Pushing off the wall and staying near it, I slowly start down the darkened hallway. I am so opposed to open areas that even the thought of walking down the middle of the hall makes me cringe. I take a few slow steps, pause and listen, then forward again. Thoughts of Mike and Trip vanish as I enter this new arena, one that will take my entire concentration. There will be time to think about them later…I hope.