Or someone was being hurt.
There was no way to know what I was walking into, and I wasn’t stupid enough to go in empty handed. Against my better judgement, I hurried back for the old man’s gun. He’d been worried about something enough to carry it; I’d be signing my death certificate by ignoring my gut and going in there at all, let alone unarmed.
I eyed the pistol, trying to ignore the intermittent crying. I could’ve run back to the apartments a mile or so away to get someone else to help whoever was inside, but deep down, I knew this was on me. By the time I could get someone else to check it out, it might be too late, and I would have to live with that. I wasn’t sure I could take being the cause of any more death.
“Fuuuck,” I growled, and pried the gun from the man’s frostbitten fingers. I was definitely going to regret this.
14
Alex
December 11
Heart thrumming, and nerve endings wired and firing like never before, I slowed just outside the behemoth-sized building built of cement and steel, and peered up at the boarded and broken windows. White puffs of air dispersed around my face as I listened. I could hear the wind whistling through the halls, but there was no more crying. The coward in me hoped I was only hearing things.
Just when I’d half-convinced myself my imagination was simply fettered with ghost stories about this place, another cry echoed from a couple of stories up. I knew in my gut it was a child, and a new, desperate fear took over.
I stared down at the gun, realizing it would only scare a kid. I released the magazine to count the bullets. It was important to know what I had in case I needed to use it, even if only as a warning shot to scare someone or something away. I felt a pang of regret amidst a wave of relief; there were no bullets—the damn thing wasn’t even loaded.
I tossed the empty magazine aside and ran for a doorless entry at the end of the building a dozen yards away, the gun gripped tightly in my hand. I prayed it would be menacing enough if I needed it to be, and that the day would end with my feeling like a good Samaritan, not filled with regret or worse.
Determined, I stepped through a busted glass door and into the building’s dark corridor, where I was hit instantly with the dank scent of mold. Even if I could see patches of light through the windows along the building, the darkness in between was more ominous than I was comfortable with. I peered to the left and then to the right. By the look of the outside, the building was a few stories tall, with a hundred rooms at least to house a garrison of soldiers. And other than the need to find a staircase leading up, I had no idea which way to go. Preferring more light than darkness, I started down the hall to the right.
The passageway was narrow and cluttered with debris. Weather-ravaged and rotted, the walls were tagged with graffiti and had begun to crumble, and the floors were wet with puddled snow. Each footstep echoed as I tried not to step too clumsily around uprooted tiles and deteriorated stone. Rusted piping lined the ceiling, and old wiring from the overhead lights swung in the wind. Loose glass rattled in window frames, and old doors squeaked in unison with a distant drip.
My body was aching. I was hungry. Thirsty. Exhausted. But none of it matched the fear I felt standing in a place that screamed, run.
My knuckles tightened around the gun grip as I peered through an open door, into what looked like a hospital room in my search for the stairs. Rusted bed frames were stacked in the far right corner, and moss grew up the walls. I didn’t want to know what had happened in this place—in a military hospital—so I moved on to the next door, petrified by the thought of what might jump out at me.
But despite the horror of what would happen in Stephen King’s world, the rooms were mostly empty and all of them the same: dirty, chilly, and hauntingly disturbing.
Warnings to turn back were scribbled on the walls, and Metallica and Led Zeppelin insignias overlapped what I assumed were hex symbols. Everything was eerie and equally warped by the elements. Vintage office chairs were scattered around, and a few moth-eaten uniforms that looked like they were from another time were discarded in a random pile on the floor. I passed a mess hall and a theater with dozens of torn seats facing a wall of peeling paint. Then another moaning cry drifted toward me.
I squinted, barely able to make out a flight of stairs at the end of the hall.
I walked faster, debating if I should call out and tell whoever was crying that I was there to help, and risk losing the element of surprise, which I might need.
Tapping the unloaded gun against my leg, I blew out a breath and stepped into the pitch-black stairwell. I closed my eyes and told myself this was nothing like the closet they put me in back home, even if it smelled like it. Biting back the gut-churning response my body had to this place, I opened my eyes and climbed toward the next level.
The only promise of light crept in around the broken second level door, and I climbed faster despite my protesting muscles. It had been one helluva day, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
My steps fell in pace with my heartbeat, and I stopped to catch my breath on the landing. As I straightened, a cold tendril touched the back of my neck, and I shouted, stumbling out of the stairwell. I batted and smacked the possible remnants away as I spun around.
Loose wiring swung in the doorway.
Loose wiring was what nearly gave me a heart attack. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. I officially needed to get out of the creepiest building I’d ever seen, before I lost my damn mind.
A clank and a scurry of footsteps echoed in the hall ahead, and my head whipped to the side.
“Hello,” I said quietly, holding my breath as my voice ricocheted in the dimness. I didn’t dare move as I strained to listen. “I heard someone crying—I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.” My voice was deep, but my chest heaved fast and hard. “I’m gonna go if you don’t say something,” I threatened.
Hushed voices drifted down the hall, and I heard the patter of feet again.
“Listen, kid.” I was done trying to be the good guy. “If this is some idea of a joke, I swear to God—” My voice caught in my throat as a small girl peeked her head around the corner of the hallway, her long hair catching in the breeze. I couldn’t make out much in the shadows, but she looked around five or six years old, and scared. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she seemed to be in one piece.
“What are you doing in here?” My stomach churned as it dawned on me that no one in their right mind would be out here playing, and definitely not alone. “Where—” I cleared my throat. “Where are your parents? You shouldn’t be in here.”
Wiping the tears from her eyes, the girl straightened and stepped into the hallway—fully into view.
“Don’t—” a small voice chided behind her. “Thea!” An arm reached out to grab her, but she stepped out of the way and glanced back at him.
A boy a few years older than her stepped out into the open and reached hastily for her hand.
“I won’t hurt you,” I told them, holding my palms up.
“Then why do you have a gun?” the boy asked, pulling the little girl closer beside him.
“I’ll tell you why I have a gun when you explain why you’re up here, and why you’re both crying.” I glanced behind them, half-expecting someone or something else to be lurking, bearing fangs with wild, red eyes.
I studied the little girl, who was clearly more willing to speak than the boy was. “It’s Thea, right? Are you in here alone?”
She started to nod, and the boy jerked her arm. Thea glared at him, like a little sister glares at an older brother, but he shook his head in warning.
“At least come back with me, out of the cold. You shouldn’t be playing in here, you’ll both get sick.”
“We’re not playing,” Thea squeaked out.
“And we’ve already been sick,” the boy added. Both of them sniffed, and Thea wiped at her eyes.
Taking a few slow steps forward, I tried to make out their features—to see their sincerity
. The closer I drew, the more rigid they became, but they didn’t run. When I was thirty feet away, I stopped. The gray morning light illuminated the skin beneath their eyes—red and raw from crying. They had on puffy coats, soiled pajama bottoms, snow boots, and their lips were chapped.
“Have you been sleeping here?” The thought of it nearly broke my heart, especially as pure sadness and exhaustion filled their eyes. “How long have you been out here?”
Thea shrugged and rubbed her eye with the palm of her hand again.
“Since last night,” the boy explained. His voice was hoarse, either from fear or from sadness.
“Alone?”
Thea shook her head. “With Mommy.”
I crouched down, feeling the cold cement of the floor seep through my boots. The boy’s gaze fixed on the gun in my hand, and I shook my head. “It’s not loaded.” I tossed it aside to reassure them. “I wasn’t sure what I’d find in here.” I glanced between them. “Where is your mom now?”
While the boy was deciding what to say, Thea pointed behind her.
“Thea,” he chided. “Stop it.”
I clenched my jaw, restless to move things along and get the hell out of there. “I’m Alex,” I told the little girl, since the boy seemed too skeptical to trust me. “I want to help. Your mommy, she’s here in the building?”
The boy heaved out a sigh. “She fell.”
“That’s who I heard crying?” I jumped to my feet and took a step toward them as the boy took a few steps back. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, holding up my hands again. I couldn’t help the impatience in my voice. “But I need to help your mom. Don’t you want me to help her? Take me to her—okay? It’s the only way I can.”
Thea hurried down the hallway, tugging her brother behind her. I fell into step behind them, uneasy as they began to slow at a room a few doors down before they disappeared inside. Reluctantly, I stepped inside behind them. It was an old office of sorts with an overturned desk in the corner and a moth-eaten blanket piled in the corner. The kids stopped in front of the far window. “Why are we in here?” There was no mother—crying, injured, or other.
Thea looked from me to the window and took a step away from it, like she was afraid of heights.
Confused, I inched closer and reluctantly looked down into the snow. A woman’s form, twisted and broken, was partially covered with snow.
I spun around and looked between them. The little girl grabbed her brother’s hand and they both eyed me warily. “She fell out the window?”
They looked at each other. “Yeah, she fell,” the brother said.
“The bad men were coming,” Thea explained. “She wanted to get away from the bad men.”
The bad men? “What did they want?” The boy’s hands were crusted with dry blood, and the dirt on their clothes looked more like streaks—like they’d been dragged. “Did they hurt you?”
Something didn’t feel right. When neither of them spoke, I took a slow step closer. “You won’t be in trouble. Whatever happened last night, it’s not your fault. I promise.” I knew what it felt like to be scared of the truth. “But you have to tell me what happened. Where are the bad men?” If there was one thing I could do for these kids, it was to figure out a way to get them the help they needed.
Beau shrugged. “We didn’t see them—”
“She tried to push Beau,” Thea blurted. “But I didn’t want her to.” Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.
“You tried to save your brother?” I said, looking at the boy’s size compared to her own, then out the window again, two stories down at the woman’s body. Had she even fallen far enough to die on impact, or had she frozen to death after?
Strangely, her feet were bare and she looked like she was in nothing more than soiled pajamas. No sane person would be outside wearing next to nothing. “She tried to push you,” I repeated, and I began to put the pieces together. I could understand their fear and imagine her in a craze. My gaze fixed on a dark blur on her wrist, and squinting, I gulped a lungful of air. A lotus tattoo was placed squarely on her wrist, and I felt sick to my stomach all over again.
“Mrs. Gunderson—” I looked at Thea and Beau. “Katie Gunderson is your mom—you’re her sick kids?”
They blinked at me, their chins trembling as they watched me pace in a sudden panic. My teacher was dead—and she’d tried to kill her kids? While part of me couldn’t believe it, the reversal made even less sense. No woman in her right mind would bring her sick kids out into an abandoned building without proper clothing in the middle of the night.
Their mom is dead. Their dead mom is my teacher.
“Look,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut as I realized this was some shitty shit I happened to stumble on. “We’ll get it all sorted out, okay? We’ll get you home.” At least that part I could figure out. “You guys need to get warm, and we need to find your dad—” I frowned. “Where is your dad?”
Beau shrugged, and Thea blinked at me.
“We’ll find someone to help—we’ll find your dad, okay? We’ll find help,” I repeated more quietly, for myself this time.
Thea nodded, clearly happy to get out of the barracks; but once again, Beau hesitated. “What will they do to her?”
“To who?”
“Thea,” he said.
“Kid, she’s like, five. They won’t do anything—they won’t even believe it. I don’t even believe it.” I nodded down the hall. “Now, come on. This place is freaking me out.”
I turned again, finally hearing the pitter-patter of footsteps behind me, and I headed back toward the stairwell. The kids whisper-argued back and forth, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I was walking too fast, the adrenaline pumping too loud.
None of it made any sense—not the old man with his empty gun, not Thea being strong enough to push her mother out of a window, and not my teacher being crazy enough to hurt her own kids.
I’d never been so grateful to feel snow beneath my feet as we came out of the building. The wind raked over me, nearly making me stumble, but I would brave whatever I had to, to get back to Jimmy and his shitty-ass apartment.
Thea screeched as she tried to catch her scarf, flapping away in the wind. Her hair whipped around her face, and Beau ran after her scarf to no avail. It was nearly a mile back to the apartment complex, and as tall and close as it looked from where we stood, the kids had already been through enough.
I searched the parked vehicles scattered around the warehouse a hundred yards away. The Dodge was out of gas, and the only vehicle that looked like it might even start was an old Ford van, parked under an awning beside the warehouse.
I flipped my collar up around my ears, wishing I hadn’t forgotten my beanie in the boat, and jogged over to the van.
“Come on!” I called to them, and was relieved the driver side door was unlocked when I reached it. Now, I just needed the damn thing to start. I searched around inside for the keys.
The passenger side door squeaked open. “Is this your car?” Beau asked, his nose and lips were pink with cold.
No,” I told him, reaching under the dashboard to feel for the wiring. “But we’re going to borrow it.”
15
Alex
December 11
Hot air hit me as we stepped through the side entrance into the apartment building. I blew a stray bit of snow from my cheek and peeked down the hall. The door swung shut behind us, bathing us in one last rush of frigid air before we were surrounded by sudden silence.
Unlike the moment I stomped out of the building to find a place to sleep, exhausted with my head throbbing, no one was rushing around or herding me out the door this time. The hissing vents were all I could hear, a strange sweet stench in the air was all I could smell.
I glanced over my shoulder at Thea and Beau. I’d been awake less than a couple of hours and there were two kids relying on me to help them. I just hoped that I could.
Certain we would find someone, any
one to help us, I peered down the hallway. “This is the direction everyone was going,” I remembered aloud. It was where the signs pinned up on the walls pointed to as well, so we followed the arrows. All I needed was to find one adult. They’d know what to do with two orphaned kids. They might even know who their father was and where to find him. Everyone knew everyone in a place like this.
But the longer we walked in silence, the more certain I was that something was not right—no, not something, nothing was right. Not the fever I thought would kill me, or the kids hiding in an abandoned building, and not the dead man I’d found outside the warehouse, or my dead teacher.
At least the apartment complex was lit, and after stalking the abandoned hallways of the Heston Building, the connection tunnel to the classrooms and gymnasium felt less ominous than it had the first day of school.
“Hello?” The wind rushed outside the tunnel. I stopped where the hallway forked, right for the classrooms and left for the gym.
I looked back at Beau and Thea a few yards behind me. “I’m going to find someone, but stay here, okay?”
Beau’s lips pursed, and his eyes shone with concern. “Don’t leave,” he said, taking a step closer.
“I’m not going far, okay? Just down here. You can see me the whole way.” I peeled off my soiled jacket, growing too warm in the heat of the building. “I just need to see if there are people who can help us. If there aren’t, I’ll come right back. I promise.” Even if I was all they had, it made me feel a little better that Beau had warmed to me, at least a little, like maybe, finally, he was starting to trust me.
“Look,” I said, gesturing down the hall. The lights flickered, but there was no one in either direction. “No monsters. I’ll be right back.”
Finally, they both conceded, and leaned against the wall to wait for my return.
The Longest Night Page 8
