Hybrid Zone Recognition (13 page)

“Looks like I’ll have a matching pair. Dumb and dumber.” Then I giggled again. I wasn’t typically a giggler. Recognizing this only made me giggle more. Maybe the oxygen was thinner in here.

I started taking slow deep breaths as I studied the new section of the shaft. It was a relatively well lit corridor. There was still only one way to go, so no confusion there. I noticed the light was coming from fairly evenly spaced intervals in the shaft floor. Crawling forward, I approached the first light source.

It was connected to an office. From this distance, I could barely discern voices below the vent. Lying down on my stomach, I inched forward and angled my face to get a better view of the room. I could make out the figures of Director Garrison, Hollins and Catman? What was he doing there?

Director Garrison and Hollins were arguing while Catman stood off to the side and watched. Hollins was yelling he didn’t need me on the project. Garrison informed him he would do what he was told or he could be removed altogether. Hollins’ reply was too quiet for me to make out.

By now, we were way past the time that we were supposed to “talk.” He probably knew I was missing. Obviously the Director did not, and Catman wasn’t updating him either. I didn’t know the reason for that, but I was getting the impression that there was a lot going on that the Director didn’t know about.

Catman’s head rose sharply and my attention shifted to him. I saw his nostrils flare as he sampled the air. His eyes found mine and he gave a quick jerk of his head, no. I took that to mean not to reveal myself.

Following his direction, I remained silent and watched as Hollins left the office. He sure liked to slam doors when making an exit.

Director Garrison moved towards Catman and began speaking to him. He was speaking too softly for me to hear what he was saying. As Catman stepped closer to the Director, a pang of guilt raced through me. Behind his left ear was a trail of blood that disappeared into the collar of his shirt. I was certain that had come from his recent fight.

I watched Director Garrison walk back to his desk, and then Catman turned to leave. As he reached the door, he looked up and mouthed “keep moving” to me. Then he left the office.

Keep moving? Why couldn’t I just reveal myself to the Director and get out of this vent? For some reason, Catman wanted me to remain hidden. So the question was, did I trust him?

He hadn’t harmed me, NOLA aside, and he’d seen to it that I was fed. He’d also just fought to keep me safe. I knew I didn’t trust Hollins. The Director…? I thought he was just as clueless as me as to what was truly going on. It all came down to whether I did or did not trust Catman.

I found the answer to be yes.

I sighed as I accepted my choice. Trusting Catman meant I was going to be in this vent for a little longer.

“But you had better watch out,” I quietly warned myself, “or you’ll find the words, keep moving, stamped on your backside.”

Yeah, that was all kinds of funny right there.

Moving as quietly as possible, I started forward, yet again. The shaft remained level this time, and I didn’t encounter anymore branch points. I passed more offices, but there was nothing of interest going on.

I realized the shaft was slowly growing darker. The little light that the offices had provided was fading. Looking into the distance, the shaft disappeared into the darkness. It might have ended two feet past it or gone on forever. I just couldn’t tell.

Straining to see into the darkness was causing my head to pound even more, and my stomach was starting to rumble. After a while, the rumblings seemed to pick a rhythm, like a drumbeat. It would have been comical if I wasn’t the one enduring it.

“Maybe I should start carrying an emergency pack everywhere I go. Just the necessities. A flashlight, no a headlamp, so I can be hands free. Some water, food, first aid.”

I would sure have appreciated an aspirin right about now for both my head and my other aching parts. I sat down for a minute to give my knees and back a rest. Sitting felt good, so I stretched out on the floor of the shaft.

“That’s better,” I yawned. “At least it’s not hot.”

While I was rolling my ankles, I realized they were not sliding across a smooth surface. Pulling myself back into a crouch, I inspected the surface with my hands. It felt like a roughhewn tunnel made of moist dirt and rocks. Definitely not something that had been cut with power tools.

I rubbed the dirt between my fingers and brought it to my nose. It smelled like clay.

“That narrows down my location to the majority of the planet,” I muttered sarcastically. “I guess you’re not the never ending shaft.”

I was aware of the fact that I kept talking to myself, but I figured, as long as I didn’t hear someone other than me answering back, I was okay.

I didn’t think the shaft terminating into a tunnel carved out of the earth was part of the original design. So, why would someone attach an unplanned tunnel to a ventilation shaft? The most obvious reason was an escape route. That implied that someone knew there was going to be a need for escape. Someone like Catman? Why would he prepare a way of escape from his own Agency?

“I wish somebody would tell me what the heck is going on,” I demanded of the ceiling. Disgusted, I wiped my hands off on my pants. “No response, really, I’m shocked. You people have been so forthcoming up till now.”

I let my knees rest on the floor and folded my hands in my lap. It was time for a situation assessment. In lieu of pen and paper, I used my voice.

“Let me get this straight,” I stated to the darkness. “I’m about to enter a tunnel, somewhere in the earth, with a probable concussion, not knowing who to trust, or why someone is trying to kill me, or where the heck I’m going, while a hybrid epidemic is poised to sweep the earth.”

I pressed my lips together, considering if I’d left something out. I would never in a million years have guessed this was how I’d spend my day.

“Focus, Greer,” I ordered myself.

I shook my head to try and clear it, but stopped when that only resulted in the tunnel spinning. Placing my hands on either side of me on the floor, I waited for the spinning to stop before continuing my assessment.

I could turn around and reenter the office complex. An image of Catman’s stern face immediately appeared in my mind. No, he wouldn’t like that very much.

I knew there were things going on that I didn’t understand. I didn’t know why Catman didn’t want me to reveal myself to the Director, but he must have a good reason. It seemed to all come back down again to whether I trusted him or not.

“Uugh, this is not fair,” I groaned. Why did I have to keep trusting a man I hardly knew? But something in my gut told me that I had to, that it was the right choice. And I had learned the hard way a long time ago to obey those promptings.

Then my lightning fast mind informed me that, given the environment, there was a good chance that creepy crawlies also inhabited the tunnel.

“Oh, Dear God, please do not let there be bugs in this tunnel,” I begged.

I hated bugs fervently. I knew it wasn’t rational, but they were icky with their sticky little legs and flailing antennae. My stomach rolled in revulsion at just the thought of sharing space with them. Maybe God would have mercy on me and send an angel with a flashlight and bug spray.

Unfortunately, regardless of my waiting, none showed up.

“They probably don’t know where I am either,” I muttered dejectedly. “I’m so glad I accepted this position. Oh wait, I didn’t,” I said with a dry laugh.

A few more minutes of sighing and staring into the tunnel didn’t reveal anything new. Not that I thought it would given the fact that I couldn’t see anything.

“I guess you’ve stalled long enough, Macy,” I said resolutely. “Time to get your big girl panties on and conquer that tunnel. And this time, don’t think about the possible outcomes,” I instructed myself.

But I did it anyway. My mind just worked that way, seeing all the possibilities, like tunnel collapses or falling through weak spots. Dang it.

I took one more deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, I deliberately moved forward into the tunnel.

Chapter 9

T
wenty feet into the tunnel
firmly established the fact that it was worse than just moist and roughhewn. Far worse. Each placement of my hands and knees was met with rocky, uneven, and sharp. What was this stuff? My hands and knees were being cut to pieces. There had to be a better way to navigate this.

I carefully set my feet underneath me and felt along the bottom of the tunnel. The edges of the tunnel where it started curving upward had fewer sharp edges. Assuming a plank position, with my hands and feet wide apart, I started forward again. I hoped doing all those chest presses would pay off now.

After thirty minutes, give or take a few, my arms started shaking. When the pounding in my head matched the shaking of my extremities, I crouched again. Rubbing my biceps revealed to me how tender my hands were. I knew they were cut up pretty bad, but the darkness prevented me from seeing how badly.

I didn’t know how far I had come or how much further I had to go. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped keeping track of distance and just concentrated on not falling.

I felt along the floor again. Still sharp. Why would you make an escape tunnel that would bleed you to death before you actually escaped? Maybe they intended to use the ceiling. I felt along the ceiling, but there were no handholds of any kind. The only idea I had was to resume my previous position.

Suddenly, the tunnel was filled with thunder and the floor jolted underneath me, sending me sprawling. I managed to protect my face, but my forearms and knees took the full brunt of the fall. Scrambling, I tried to maintain my balance but the swaying floor was too much for my blood soaked hands. I felt the bite of the floor again, as I slipped.

Not wanting to risk another fall, I thought it best to stay put until the movement stopped. Little bits of debris continued to rain down around me as the swaying gradually slowed to a stop.

“What the heck was that,” I said around my coughing.

Steeling myself for the pain, I gingerly removed my arms and then knees from the floor. I tried to lift them back in the direction they’d been impaled so as to minimize tearing. I didn’t know how successful that was because I could feel blood from all the various cuts soaking through my suit.

I shrugged out of my jacket and began to rip out the lining. Using my teeth, I tore it into smaller pieces and wrapped it around the largest cuts on my forearms. Then I wrapped the remainder around my palms, securing them with knots on top.

I didn’t have anything left over for my knees, but since they were not in contact with the surface while I was moving, I just left them alone. Not to mention, I would have had to sit down on the flesh slicing stuff to remove first the boots and then the pants.

When I determined there was nothing else I could do, I slipped my jacket back on and buttoned it. I didn’t know if I was in shock or if the tunnel was actually chilly, but I was cold and shaking.

“All the more reason to get out of here,” I said with chattering teeth. “This tunnel has to end at some point.”

I shut my eyes tight against the images of blocked tunnels pummeling me, along with the new fear of having to retreat back the way I’d come. But on the bright side, there were no bugs. If I’d only thought to ask for it not to be lined with glass shards.

I slowly shook my head at my current state. Between the dirt, mud, and blood, I probably looked like some kind of tunnel rat. Thankfully, I hadn’t run into any of those either. But I wasn’t afraid of rats, or snakes, or spiders for that matter. That only applied to bugs of the six legged variety. Although, I had to admit, six legs probably would have come in handy for crawling through this tunnel.

Tentatively, I placed my hands back in their designated positions. Shifting my full weight on them caused sharp burning pain to radiate up my arms. I waited for the pain to dull to a throb before pushing on.

The padding helped a little. But, after a while, the blood soaked through, and they seemed more like skates than padding. I considered taking it off, but my hands would slip either way. At least this way they had some protection from more damage.

I had no idea how long it took, but I finally made it to the end. The last few feet of the tunnel floor had become mercifully smooth, and I carefully maneuvered myself to sit with my legs hanging over the side.

Past the tunnel itself, my outstretched arms couldn’t feel anything. Using my legs, I carefully swung to the left and then the right. I gasped as my right foot made contact with the wall, causing stabbing pains to shoot through my knee.

Closing my eyes against the pain, I was grateful that at this particular moment, I couldn’t see my knees. I didn’t particularly relish the thought of seeing my own insides. And really, who wanted to see their own insides?

Balancing myself with my left hand on the ceiling of the tunnel, I leaned forward and placed my right hand on the new wall. I was hoping to find some sort of door, but instead I found steps. Not metal secure steps. No, they like the tunnel, felt like they had been carved into the rock. They were skinny little excuses for steps really, but they didn’t seem to be sharp. That was a welcome change.

Bringing my hands back, I made sure the knots felt secure. I was well aware of how dangerous the task before me was. My body was already shaking with exertion and or shock, and my hands and forearms were wet and sticky with blood. My feet were okay because of the boots. The knees were a different story.

Too bad they weren’t thigh high boots. My knees would have had some measure of protection then. Note to self…the next time I go crawling through glass, I would have thigh high boots.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. A few more experiences like this, and I thought I would have this meditation thing down. This was the most deep breathing I’d done my whole life. Not much call for it looking through a microscope.

No matter which way I spun it, there was no way around it. I was going to have to climb those tinker bell size steps, using my toes and finger tips. Why? Because, though I didn’t recall voting for it, difficult was my new mode of operandi. Dad gum it.

I wiped my fingertips on my pants in an effort to dry them off. This was going to be tricky. I would need to propel myself off the ledge and onto the ladder, but not hard enough that I bounced off and fell to the depths below. The floor might have been only three feet down, but I wasn’t going to test that out.

I had measured the distance between the steps at roughly a foot and a half. A little steep for me, but again, no other option presented itself.

Perching on the ledge, I grabbed ahold of the step.

“On three,” I sighed, hoping this wouldn’t be the last ladder I ever climbed. I closed my eyes, my prayer sincere this time.

“One.” Please God, let my feet find the step.

“Two.” And don’t let me fall.

“Three.”

I propelled myself up and out onto the ladder where I slammed into the wall hip first. That was going to leave bruises. My feet scrabbled furiously against the rock, trying to find a step. It seemed like they’d all suddenly disappeared.

“This better not turn into one of those movies where the steps disappear, and the tunnel magically morphs into a water slide!” I yelled at the shaft. I hated big drops almost as much as I hated bugs.

Hanging by my fingertips was causing the cuts on my hands and forearms to scream with pain. I recognized that my fingers were slipping, and I forced myself to search with only one foot rather than madly with both.

The toe of my boot finally caught the edge of a step, and I slid it forward as far as it would go. I brought my other foot alongside it just as my fingers slipped free of the step. Quickly shifting my weight, I pressed forward until I was hugging the wall.

I remained cemented in place with my heart hammering in my chest and my body shaking violently. I was officially on adrenaline overload.

“Oh, my God,” I moaned. “When I get my hands on Catman, I’m going to beat the crap out of him.”

As the shaking subsided, I brought my hands, which were fully extended and flat against the wall, closer to me. The cuts that had never really stopped bleeding were flowing freely again. I knew this would affect my climb, but there wasn’t really anything I could do about it. I couldn’t maneuver myself to rewrap my hands, and even if I managed to somehow do that, I didn’t have anything else to wrap them with. Going back was not an option.

“I’ll tell you how this changes things. It adds difficulty. Say it with me rock buddies, Dif-fi-cult.”

I turned my head sideways and rested it against the wall. Did I really just say rock buddies? And to think, I asked God to help me get out here. He must be having a good laugh right now. The angels were probably taking odds. “Let’s see her get out of this one,” I mouthed.

Great. I had deteriorated to impersonating angels.

I wondered what my odds really were for getting out of here alive. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.

I didn’t have confidence that my grip alone would support me, so I had to compensate by allowing my legs to bear most of my weight. But I had to position them so that my knees were not directly touching the wall. This left me ascending in a twisted sideways position, not the most favorable position for climbing.

It didn’t take long for my quads to start protesting their continued use. I agreed they needed rest, but I thought I was working against the clock. I had never pushed my body this hard, and I wasn’t sure how much it could physically take. There was also the probable concussion and blood loss to figure in. If I stopped, I didn’t know if I’d be able to start again. That meant I was climbing until I couldn’t anymore.

I was negotiating another step when something grabbed my ankle, causing me to emit a very girly squeal. I was then pressed into the wall as someone came up from underneath me. The smell of fire and fruit flooded my senses. Catman.

I was overwhelmed with relief right until the anger surfaced.

“You scared the heck out of me,” I whispered furiously. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“I might have startled you, and you might have fallen, possibly knocking us both down the shaft, which goes down another thousand feet,” he said calmly.

That was the most he’d ever said to me and good point. He would have startled me big time. A thousand feet? Yikes. How deep underground was this facility?

Even with him on the step below me, his head was still level with mine. He pressed closer and began sniffing vigorously.

“I smell blood. Where are you injured?” he asked.

“Stop that, you’re tickling,” I sniggered while shouldering him away. “It’s my hands and arms. And knees, and legs. By the way, the next time I go tunnel crawling, I require thigh high boots.”

He shifted back some. “Thigh high boots. I see.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew by the uncertain tone in his voice that he clearly did not see.

“It felt like I was crawling over broken glass. Thigh high boots would have given my knees some measure of protection,” I explained.

His chest rumbled against my back as he growled softly. “The floor is actually layered with broken glass, among other sharp things.”

Of course it was.

“You sent me down the tunnel, knowing I’d be sliced and diced,” I said exasperated. “Was razor wire too expensive for you? You could have added flayed to the menu.”

“It was not my intention to bring you harm,” he bit back angrily. “It was never intended for human use, but it was the only way to get you safely out of the complex.”

“Your definition of safely and mine are not the same,” I argued.

A tense silence settled between us. I could hear both of us breathing heavily, mine mostly from exertion and his from anger. I didn’t think he was used to having to explain himself so much. Oh, well.

He sighed and leaned in a little closer, placing his forehead against the back of my head. “It was the only way to get you out alive. A few cuts were deemed acceptable when compared to your death.”

His anger was reflected in every clipped word that he spoke. He was also making it hard to stay mad at him with all these good reasons he had. But he was wrong about the extent of my injuries.

“I wouldn’t call it a few,” I snapped, but then more softly added, “But I do prefer living to dead.”

“As. Do. I,” he growled.

I could feel his breath against my hair as his anger escaped through his words. He inhaled deeply causing his chest to swell against my back. His voice was minus the anger when he next spoke.

“We should get moving again. I didn’t expect you to start climbing on your own. I almost thought you hadn’t made it when I arrived at the tunnel mouth and you weren’t there, but then I smelled you.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that. Of all the smells I would associate with myself right now, I couldn’t think of one good one.

I let the comment go along with the anger I was still holding on to. The spurt of energy that had come with the anger, left with it as well, and, as a result, my arms and legs felt like lead weights.

“Well, I did,” I said, sighing loudly. “I’ve never been much of one for waiting. But if there is an elevator, I’d like to transfer to that now.”

He snorted softly. “I’d love to oblige, but there’s no elevator, just this ladder.”

“Figures,” I muttered.

Why should things be easy, when difficult was so much more fun? Should I clue him in to the new buzzword linked to me? Nah, he’d work that out on his own sooner or later.

Fingering the ladder—because that was about all that would fit on it—I reiterated my opinion. “It’s not much of a ladder.” I was clearly pouting, but it made me feel a little better.

He laughed and gently slapped the side of my leg. “Get moving, Greer.”

Ignoring the pain he’d just caused in my knee and on trembling fingers, I started up the ladder again. He stayed right behind me this time. I wasn’t so worried about falling now. I knew he’d catch me. It was quite the nice feeling actually. His body heat was an added bonus.

“Ok, I’m moving,” I said after we’d climbed for a while. “You want to fill me in on why somebody is trying to kill me, and don’t give me that BS line about the Director answering my questions.”

“I won’t. Director Garrison is presumed dead.”

I was stunned. “What do you mean he’s dead? I just saw him with you a few hours ago. What happened?” I asked, trying to reconcile the difference in my head.

“There was an explosion.”

That must have been what rocked the tunnel. “How big an explosion?”

“Big enough. From reports I’ve received, it appears as if Director Garrison was the target. The blast radius places his office at the center of the debris field. Additionally, all of the preventative security measures and countermeasures for after the fact were disrupted prior to the explosion.”