Chaos

by David Meyer

  I shook my head. “We could look all night and not find anyone. Better to get some rest and try again tomorrow.”

  “So, it’s just you and me?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She made a face. “Where am I supposed to sleep? On the ground?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I paced all the way to the rear of the layup yard. As I walked, my eyes passed over various graffiti messages that adorned the walls. Some I remembered. Some I didn’t.

  One message in particular, which covered a five-foot by ten-foot swath of wall, caught my eye. Its text was written in black paint over a faded yellow background. The top line declared, “Page 134 – July 1, 1997.” As I passed by it, I glanced at the message.

  This is my home. Our home. Anything but your home. We are the abandoned, the ignored, the hated. Society tossed us away years ago. But don’t pity us. Don’t you dare. Just leave us alone. Stop rooting us out, stop forcing us to the surface, and for God’s sake stop trying to normalize us. You already destroyed our lives. At least let us have our dignity.

  The message was tagged with the moniker Ghost in the lower left corner. I’d never met the man, but I knew him by reputation. He was a legend among New York’s indigent population, partly due to his subway-based autobiography. The tunnel walls were his parchment. Spray paint was his quill.

  During my previous life, I’d read more than one hundred of his entries. But based on the numbering, I knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Over there,” I replied. “All of the tracks down here are numbered. We’re going to camp right by that platform, at Track 61.”

  “Wonderful. What could be better than sleeping on a nice, soft slab of concrete?”

  I pointed at a rusty old subway car parked at the end of Track 61, just beyond the platform. “Actually, we’ll sleep in there. At the very least, it should keep the rats from eating our eyeballs.”

  She shuddered. “Any other nightmarish facts you want to share about our sleeping quarters?”

  “You should be proud. That’s FDR’s car. According to legend, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s people used it to transport him and his armor-plated Pierce Arrow car through the tunnels. That way, he could travel directly to his room at the Waldorf-Astoria without exposing his paralyzed legs to the public.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

  “Nope. It’s just a legend. His real subway car is housed in a museum somewhere down in Florida.”

  “So that subway car isn’t important?

  “Not unless you have a fascination with old Pennsylvania Railroad express-baggage cars from the 1940s.”

  She frowned. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

  “Hey, it’s free. And believe me, you’re worth every penny of that price.”

  I walked over to the subway car and opened the rear door. Taking off my satchel, I pulled out two bottles of water and tossed one of them to Beverly.

  She caught it easily. After taking a drink, she unzipped her bag and removed two plastic pouches.

  I grabbed one from her. “This is supposed to be food?”

  “It’s an MRE. What kind did you get?”

  “Cheese tortellini.”

  She smirked. “I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

  I tore open the plastic pouch and dumped a number of packages into my hand. “How’s it work?”

  “It’s not rocket science. That package on the right is a flameless cooker. You just open up the tortellini and dump it in there to warm it up. And in case you can’t figure it out, the plastic spoon is used for eating.”

  I opened the tortellini package and prepared the meal. Then, I leaned against the car’s open door and started to eat it.

  She adopted a serious expression. “So, what’s your story anyway?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Jack told me that you left here because of an incident. What happened?”

  “Boy, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “Are you surprised?”

  I shrugged. “A couple of years ago, I worked as an urban archaeologist. I spent most of my career focused on Manhattan, with particular emphasis on the remains of New Amsterdam.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It was the first European settlement in Manhattan,” I replied. “It was founded by Dutch fur traders in 1614 and built on the southern tip of the island. Anyways, after extensive research of surviving records and old maps, I decided to see if I could find tangible remains of Cornelius van Tienhoven’s house.”

  “He was important?”

  “Extremely important. He sparked fights with Native Americans and probably caused the Peach Tree War. He vanished in 1656. Some think he was murdered, others think he fled the city to avoid the wrath of the Dutch West Indies Company.”

  I took another bite. “To make a long story short, our work proved accurate and my team managed to uncover the house’s foundations. At that time, it was the single greatest moment of my life.”

  “But something bad happened?”

  My chest tightened. “As we excavated the walls, we built braces to keep them in place. One night, three diggers were working the site. A wall collapsed, killing them instantly.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “The braces failed. I still don’t understand it. I supervised their construction and placement. They should’ve held.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I see.”

  Memories flashed across my mind. I saw the broken braces, smelled the corpses, felt the overwhelming sadness. My chest started to hurt. “Anyways, everything changed after that. My career was finished. My colleagues at the Explorer’s Society started to ignore me. That is, when they weren’t whispering behind my back. A few days later, I got an offer to head up a dig of a different sort. A treasure hunting dig. It went against everything I’d ever been taught. But it gave me the opportunity to get away for awhile. An opportunity to clear my head.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It was a horrible accident. But it was still an accident. It’s not like you meant for it to happen. Yet, you shouldered the guilt all by yourself and threw away your entire life in the process. To me, that’s idiotic.”

  “I –”

  Cold, stiff fingers wrapped around my neck, choking off my reply. My head flew to the side, bashing into the door.

  Foggily, I reached for my belt.

  But my machete was missing.

  With my head plastered to the door, I twisted my eyes to the side, seeing a murderous gaze staring back at me. My eyes bulged as they caught a glint of light.

  It was my machete.

  I didn’t know the man who held it. But I knew what he wanted.

  He wanted to kill me.

  And he was going to use my own blade to do it.

  Chapter 15

  The machete flashed forward, its sharp blade gleaming in the dim light. Desperately, I tried to jerk myself away from the door.

  The blade tore through my flesh. Searing pain gripped my shoulder and I tensed up. My mouth tried to scream but the hand over my windpipe cut it off at the pass. Familiar voices rushed into my brain.

  “Cyclone! Come quick! There’s been an accident.”

  I frowned. “An accident? But that’s impossible.”

  “A wall fell on them. Tim, Abe, Cody…”

  The light dimmed…

  Colors, bright and vivid, exploded in my eyes.

  No, not now. Please God, not now.

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to fight two battles, one against myself and one against my attacker. Twisting violently, I struggled to free myself from the iron grip. But my attacker countered every move, thwarted every attempt to breathe.

  I snuck another look at him. The attacker smiled, showing off a mouth of cracked yellows. His eyes looked dull yet fiery. His cheeks drew in and o
ut rapidly, like a puffer fish.

  Abruptly, he reared back, the tendons on his arm twitching with anticipation. The machete plunged toward me.

  I saw nicks in the blade.

  Gouges on the spine.

  Splotches of deep red blood.

  My blood.

  I jerked away from the door again. This time the machete missed its mark. I kicked my feet up and bent my knees. My boots soared behind me and touched the subway car. Extending my legs, I pushed as hard as I could in the man’s direction.

  I flew forward and landed hard, my body smashing into the larger man beneath me. The grip around my throat loosened. Turning my face, I bit down hard on a hairy arm.

  The man yelped and suddenly I was free. Rolling forward, I leapt to my feet and spun around.

  I looked for Beverly, but before I could locate her, my eyes fell upon the mammoth man.

  Slowly, he stood up. I judged his height at an inch or two shy of seven feet. His powerful arms bulged everywhere, as if he were made of baseballs. He clearly was a man who inspired awe, even fear. But I felt no fear. I felt nothing. Nothing but cold, silent rage.

  Suddenly, pain erupted in my forehead. Caught by surprise, I flinched. It shot its way through me, invading every inch of my body.

  Colors sparkled in my eyes. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t move.

  And then a fist crashed into my skull.

  My feet lifted off the ground and I spun through the air like a rolling pin. Air whooshed out of my lungs as my back smashed onto metal tracks. The colors in my brain flashed, sharpening and dulling, sharpening and dulling.

  Squinting, I saw the vague outline of the giant standing over me. His mouth twisted into a scowl. His eyes hardened. They looked like the eyes of a dead man, incapable of remorse or feeling.

  I shifted my eyes to search for Beverly. But before I could spot her, the man lifted his knee. His boot crashed down, directly at my head.

  I rolled out of the way and lifted myself to a sitting position. Grabbing hold of the giant’s arm, I yanked. Caught off balance, he lurched toward me.

  The man tried to fight me off but I was ready for him. My legs rose up, meeting his crouched frame. I wrapped one around his waist and the other around the front of his neck. Then I yanked my arms and pulled my legs.

  He toppled like a redwood, causing the ground to tremble in the process. His head snapped back, bashing against metal tracks. Blood flowed onto the ground. He looked unconscious, but I wasn’t about to risk it.

  Lying perpendicular to the giant, I draped my legs over his body, pinning his left arm to his side. His right arm, clenched in my hands, was caught in the narrow space between my legs.

  Leaning back, I pulled with all my strength. His arm bent awkwardly toward me. My fury increased and I pulled even harder, determined to break it.

  Something swished. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow on the far wall. It flitted back and forth for a moment before vanishing into darkness.

  Slowly, I turned my head in a circle. Strange eyes stared at me from the darkness.

  They started to move.

  Slowly at first, then faster.

  And then even faster.

  Body odor and dried urine filled my nostrils. Hands grabbed at my shirt, pawed at my arms, scratched at my face.

  I released my grip. Rising to my feet, I found myself surrounded by hot, sweaty bodies. Eyes flashed at me. Bruised faces quivered with anticipation.

  Punching wildly, I connected hard against a fleshy surface. A face vanished but another one rose to replace it.

  They pressed against me and I fell backward, blanketed by the bodies. Amongst the mess of flesh and hair, I saw tiny, revolting details.

  Crippled hands with bent, inflamed joints.

  Clenched toes lacking nails.

  Severely peeled, discolored skin.

  Toothless, rotten mouths.

  Who are these people?

  And what the hell happened to them?

  Desperately, I attempted to push my way out of the mess. But my breathing was labored and my strength depleted. It was all I could do to keep from passing out.

  I looked around, searching for Beverly. This time, I spotted her. Two men held her in firm grips. She struggled mightily but her efforts were futile.

  Thrusting her from my mind, I tried to calm down, to concentrate. I needed a plan. But my brain hurt and I couldn’t think.

  The air burst. Something popped loudly in my ear.

  My vision vaporized into white light. Blinding pain struck my head. The ground swirled underneath me. The bodies vanished, along with everything else.

  Panic rose in my chest. “Are they…?”

  “They’re dead, Cyclone. Oh my God, they’re dead.”

  Chapter 16

  The stabbing headache was gone. My eyes saw only darkness. My mind felt clear. My emotions no longer raged underneath the surface.

  Stirring, I opened my eyes. Immediately, I recognized my pistol. It was clutched in the arthritic fingers of a withered hand.

  And it was pointed directly at my face.

  “Don’t move.”

  The voice sounded uneven and scratchy, yet packed with raw emotion. Shifting my gaze, I saw a haggard man kneeling in front of me. From all appearances, Father Time hadn’t been kind to him. His posture, even while kneeling, was stooped beyond his age. His face, covered in wrinkles, looked ancient. Only his eyes, which sparkled with an odd sort of energy, retained any vestiges of his lost youth.

  Colors flashed around the edges of my gaze. I took a few gulps of oxygen, sucking it in greedily. My lungs quickly filled and after a few seconds, the colors disappeared.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Call me Ghost.”

  “Ghost? The real Ghost?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  Good point. “Okay Ghost.” I shrugged. “I’m Cy.”

  “I know. Your companion told me that.”

  Swiftly, I scanned the area and spotted Beverly kneeling on the ground. Despite the faint light, I saw long red scratches on her arms and purplish welts on her neck. “Quite the welcoming committee you’ve got here. I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of repeat visitors.”

  “We don’t like visitors.”

  “And I don’t like people attacking me for no reason.”

  “You trespassed on our property.”

  “It’s city property.”

  “We live here. That makes it our property.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  He waved the gun at me. “This is our home. We’re not vacating it for anyone. I suggest you leave at once and don’t come back.”

  “If you don’t get that thing out of my face, we’re going to have a problem.”

  His eyes tightened and he stared at me with quiet anger. I returned the glare. After a minute, he relaxed and lowered the pistol.

  I widened my gaze. Off to one corner, I saw the giant sitting on the ground. A brief smile crossed my face as I watched him clutch his arm, grinding his teeth in pain.

  Rotating my head, I saw a ring of seven other people surrounding me. Their faces looked gaunt and their bodies showed signs of malnutrition and abuse. “What is this place? Who are you people?”

  “This is our home,” Ghost repeated. “As for your second question, we’re a colony of like-minded individuals. A family if you will. No different than any other family.”

  “Yeah, you’re just like the Joneses.”

  “I’m sure we seem strange in the eyes of a surface dweller like you. For your kind, normalcy is endless war, consumerism, and perpetual debt.”

  I stood up and eyed his band of ragtag starving colonists. “This is the best alternative you could manage?”

  “Try to understand –”

  “Understand what? That you’re hiding a zombie colony down here?”

  He paused for a few seconds. Then, he gave me a pec
uliar look. “What do you know about Peter and Mary?”

  “Who?”

  “Peter Dask. Mary Kantz. What did you do to them?”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you kidnap them?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  I didn’t want to alarm him by talking about people disappearing in the tunnels. Instead, I chose to focus on my secondary objective. “We’re looking for a man who lives in these tunnels. His name is Jenson. Fred Jenson. You can see his photo in my satchel.”

  “I saw the photo when we searched your stuff. What do you want with him?”

  “He visited a pawn shop a few weeks back. He tried to sell something that didn’t belong to him.”

  “Well, I’ve lived in these tunnels for a long time and I’ve never seen him.”

  “Would you tell me if you had seen him?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You’re a big help. So, who are these two people you mentioned? Peter Dask and Mary…?”

  “Mary Kantz. They’ve lived with us for years. A few hours ago, they took a walk down the Lexington Avenue Line. They never returned.”

  Lexington Avenue Line? How come I didn’t see them?

  “Maybe they got sidetracked,” I suggested. “Or maybe they went somewhere else altogether.”

  “I doubt it. We’ve lost five people in similar fashion over the past few months.”

  “Maybe they got sick of the crappy existence your colony seems to offer. Seriously, what the hell happened to you people?”

  He clenched his fists. “It’s just a bug. The worst of it has passed. Maybe the others weren’t so lucky, but the rest of us are going to make it.”

  “Wait, are you saying that people died down here too?”

  “That’s enough questions. You need to leave.”

  I tried to read his face but it was a mask of blankness. In my travels, I’d seen other communities with similar characteristics to his colony. Most of them functioned just fine in good times. But when things got tough, they tended to put their faith in the wrong sort of leaders. They chose smooth-talking charlatans who promised easy answers and quick fixes. More often than not, those things led the people into even greater disaster.

  Was that the story behind Ghost and his colony? It made sense. Outcast by society and ravaged by disease, the survivors would’ve been tempted to turn to a charismatic leader. Ghost, with his fame, strong presence, raspy voice, and lively eyes, was a natural choice. As he consolidated his power, some people left on their own volition. The ones who stayed behind lost the capacity to act on their own.