XOM-B (18 page)

Councilman Cat shakes his head. “Not as deep as you’re suggesting.”

“Has anyone been down—”

“There has been no reason to access the ruins beneath this city since its foundation was laid,” Cat says.

“Well, there is reason now.” Sir nearly grins. “Isn’t that right, Freeman?”

This feels like a trap, like Sir is guiding me toward a conclusion—that I should enter the underground and find the answer for myself—which he thinks I’ll find unfavorable. But I don’t. I agree. “I’ll go.”

Mohr nearly falls over with surprise. “Freeman, no!”

Sir lets his grin show. “Do not worry, old friend. Your boy is wrong. He will be safe. He has already survived scores of these monsters. He should have no trouble with the barren tunnels beneath our city.”

Mohr appears conflicted, and unsure, but ultimately nods his agreement. “Very well. But … Freeman, while some may doubt you because of your lack of experience, I trust in your intellect. In your instincts.” The word draws a laugh from Sir, but Mohr continues. “Please, be careful.”

I nod. “Heap and I—”

Heap’s hand rests gently on my shoulder. I look up at him. “Many of the tunnels below the city are far too small for me. I will not be able to join you. You must do this alone.”

Luscious steps forward. “Not alone.”

Sir snickers and motions to the door with a satisfied grin that reveals he’s really just happy to be rid of us. I head for the door with Luscious at my side and Heap following behind. “Try not to get lost.”

22.

The elevator doors slide open without a sound, revealing a small, stone room unlike anything in the hard, black city now above our heads. Stale air rushes into the elevator, making me shiver, which is something I’ve never experienced before. I’m not sure if it’s a physical response to the cooler air, or if it’s caused by nervous tension. A round metal door, rusted and pitted, is embedded in the wall directly across from us. What lies behind it is anyone’s guess. There are no maps of the ruins beneath Liberty, but if I’m right …

I don’t move from the elevator. This is a bad idea.

Heap nudges me from behind. “Are you prepared for this?”

When I don’t reply, he adds, “For what it’s worth, you’ve impressed me.”

I glance back. “Impressed you?”

“Not for coming down here,” he says. “For standing your ground with Sir. It’s not an easy thing to do.”

I motion toward the hatch. “Easier than stepping through that door.”

“You could be wrong,” he says.

“I’m not,” I say.

“What makes you so sure?” Luscious asks. When I turn to her, she’s no longer Kamiko. She’s changed back to her red-haired self. I decide not to comment because she also looks a little worried and I wonder if her volunteering to come was really just a way to remove herself from the Council’s presence.

I remember Mohr’s words about instinct:
natural intuitive power.
Intuitive, from intuition:
a keen and quick insight.
This sounds right. “Instinct.”

“Instinct is an attribute of animals,” Luscious says. “People are logical.”

I’m about to argue, but the intensity in Luscious’s tone makes me pause. Something about this subject has her on edge. But what?

The Masters.

Mohr once told me that the Masters were ruled by instinct. That they often acted without thought or consideration to the consequences of their actions, both long and short term. While instinct may indeed exist in people today, the attribute is looked upon with revulsion and fear. I can see both in her eyes now.

“You’re right.” I step out of the elevator and onto the stone floor. A layer of grit grinds beneath my feet. “Let’s just call it a theory based on prior experience.”

Luscious smiles. “Better.” She joins me and we head for the metal door.

I take hold of a wheel at the door’s center and pull. It doesn’t budge.

“Spin it,” Heap says, clomping up behind us. “Counterclockwise.”

The wheel resists for a moment, but then groans loudly as it spins to the left, shedding flakes of rust with each revolution until it spins easily. When it stops, Heap draws his weapon and points it at the doorway, explaining before I can ask, “In case you’re right.”

I tug hard and the door opens slowly, its hinges fighting the movement after so long. A hiss of air slips past us, sucked into the space beyond by the slightly different pressure. I shove the door wide open and clap the maroon dust from my hands.

Nothing attacks us.

“I’ll remain here,” Heap says. “If you get into trouble, return quickly.”

“I can’t have your gun?” I ask, looking at the weapon.

“Only works for me, but you shouldn’t need to fight.” He points at my eyes. “Your ocular upgrades have a memory chip. Use it. Record what you find and return quickly. Do not risk yourself.”

“Or me,” Luscious chimes in.

I give a nod and step through the door. Something about this simple action of stepping forward instigates a change in me. I’m no longer just reacting to what is confronting me, I’m acting. It feels good. Right. It feels … strong. With a newfound confidence, I turn back to Luscious. “Let’s go.”

She must see the change, too, because she grins before ducking down and stepping through the circular doorway.

Before heading into the tunnel beyond the doorway, I turn back. “If we do not return in sixty minutes, assume we have been killed. Tell Sir they are below the city.”

“What if you are lost?”

“I am incapable of getting lost.” I tap my head, reminding him that my intelligence level is “phenomenal.” Mohr’s words, ten days previous, when I solved an equation in thirty-three seconds that had vexed him for years.

“He will require proof.”

“Lie. Bite yourself.” These aren’t great suggestions, but they’re the best my ‘phenomenal intelligence’ can think of. “You will think of something.”

I leave Heap looking uncomfortable and set off into the dark tunnel. Before entering the elevator, Heap acquired two sets of headlights, a band of bright LED lights that wrap around the head and cast a bright halo of light in every direction. I don’t need them to see, but Luscious can’t see in the dark and if color is important for some reason, even I will need the light.

Luscious turns her headlight on, illuminating everything for a hundred feet. The tunnel is revealed. It’s a long, circular, concrete tube stained brown from whatever foul fluid once flowed over its now dry surface. It ends at a junction seventy-five feet to our right and at a solid metal grate, twenty feet to our left.

I point to the junction. “That way.” But before striking out, I point to her headlight. “Better keep that off until we really need it.”

“I won’t be able to see much,” she complains.

“Better than them seeing you. And I can see fine.” I reach my hand out and with a frown, she takes it, extinguishing her light a moment later.

We walk through the still, silent darkness, which for me is a mixture of green shades as I view the subterranean world through my night-vision upgrade. It’s a maze of tunnels, some large, some very small. Twice, we have to slide through tubes on our stomachs. At the end of the second such tube, I turn around to help Luscious.

“There’s nothing down here,” she says.

I pull her up to her feet. “The Council Spire is at the city’s Core. If they’re approaching from underground, they’ll be closer to the city’s—”

A metallic clang echoes through the passageways. Luscious’s grip on my hand tightens.

Switching to electromagnetic spectrum, I see a faint signature two hundred feet ahead. There’s no way to tell what it is without getting closer, and I can only record the visual spectrum. To get Sir’s evidence, I’m going to have to actually see undead.

I step forward, but feel Luscious resist. “I have to see. Do you want to wait here?”

“Alone? Hell no.” She squeezes my hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

Pushing forward, we enter a seven-foot-tall tube, heading in the direction from which the sound originated. Switching back and forth between spectrums, I can see a growing electromagnetic field, as well as a blossoming heat source, but both are indistinct blobs. Any number of things could be responsible for both. But I’m pretty sure I know what they are.

And somehow, so does Luscious.

“We should go back,” she whispers close to my ear.

I cup my hand to her ear, being as quiet as possible. “Why?”

I know the answer, and when she crushes my hand, I know she does, too. Instinct.

“I hate you,” she whispers, but my night vision reveals the small smile on her face.

I lean close again. “I need to see.
Sir
needs to see.”

I take her silence as agreement and move forward as stealthily as possible. As we near the end of the tunnel, I lower myself down, lying on my abdomen. Luscious lies next to me, and together we inch toward the end of the tunnel, which empties into open space.

There’s a constant shuffling sound, like leaves in the wind, rising from the space beyond, and the occasional metallic clang, but the groaning I have come to associate with the animated dead isn’t present.

Maybe it’s not them? As much as I would like to prove Sir wrong, I hope he’s right.

As the large chamber beyond comes into view, I begin recording everything I see, which currently is just open space and a conglomeration of drainage pipes all leading to this hub. Water must have emptied into this chamber and then drained away through a larger tunnel, most likely past the city’s limits … the perfect place to enter.

I lean over the edge, look down and go rigid.

There they are.

Undead.

They’re packed into the space, shuffling forward out of a large tunnel fifty feet below. I can see hundreds of them, but there is no way of telling how many have already passed through and how many are coming. But I can feel the vibration of their steady movement under my hands.
Millions
I think, picturing the city above, unaware of the danger rising up from beneath them. When the undead rise, the city will fall. I’m not sure even Sir will be able to stop them all.

Because they’ll infect more. They’ll spread. Until their numbers have doubled. Then tripled. And they’ll keep right on going until there is enough of them to topple the Spire itself.

But something is wrong with these undead. They’re … orderly, walking in single-file lines, splitting into rows of three and heading into various branches. This isn’t a chaotic mob driven solely by the need to consume. This is organized.

An infiltration.

An
attack.

Something miniscule tickles the back of my neck. It’s barely anything. Maybe a few granules of stone. Almost dust. But the gentle touch sets off an internal alarm and triggers the sudden realization that something is above me.

23.

I squeeze Luscious’s hand with enough force to elicit a hiss of pain from her, despite the single-file certain death lurking below.

“What is it?” she asks. “Do you see them?”

In response, I ask a stupid question. “Do you remember the way back?”

“I can’t see, Freeman.”

“Go back,” I whisper. “To the end of this tunnel. When you get there, use your light. Go straight through the small tunnel. Once you’re out, take your first right. I’ll catch up.”

“Why? What’s—”

A pebble strikes my cheek. “Go. Now. Before it’s too—”

A shriek tears through the air above me. As I turn my head up, Luscious lets go of my hand and flees, finally understanding the danger. The upside-down thing above me clings to the ragged stone wall, its fingers and toes digging into the worn grout. It stares down at me with whole eyes and an open jaw, through which it continues to produce a high-pitched wail that has gained the attention of the horde below.

Moans rise up, mingling with the shriek.

Unlike the other undead, the one above me hasn’t mindlessly attacked. Instead, it’s held back, but why?

Sounding the alarm,
I realize.

This dead man, previously a soldier by the looks of the black armor covering his body, is higher functioning than his counterparts.

He suddenly closes his mouth and lunges down toward my head.

I duck back inside the tunnel knowing there is no way the man’s outstretched arms can reach me. He sails past, hooked hands reaching out. But not for me.

His fingers catch hold of the tunnel’s floor, hold fast and then flex as he pulls himself up. He launches upward with surprising strength, speed and agility, somehow retaining his soldier’s physical prowess and skills.

Unless he’s not dead.

“Can you talk?” I ask, hoping to reason with the man.

In response, his lips curl up in a snarl, exposing his teeth and the bits of flesh from some previous victim embedded between them, dangling like butterfly chrysalises. He roars with hunger.

Definitely dead.

I back away quickly, moving deeper into the tunnel. I can hear Luscious’s footsteps behind me, fading quickly.

With no sign of the awkwardness I would associate with the undead, he launches forward. In my mind’s eye, I see me sidestepping the attack, swiveling and driving him into the floor with enough force to sever his spine, breaking the connection between dead mind and body.

But that’s not what happens.

Before reaching me, he drops down, running on all fours like some kind of animal, and then bounds to the left, landing against the curved sidewall of the tunnel where he remains for just a fraction of a second before leaping to the far wall, and then directly toward my head.

Caught off guard by the very sudden, very coordinated attack, I stumble back, tripping over my own feet. I’m pretty sure my clumsiness saves my life. The soldier-zombie sails over my supine body, landing farther down the tunnel, facing away from me, which is exactly the moment Luscious chooses to turn on her headlight.

The soldier snaps his head up toward the brilliant white light. He snarls, as though angered by it, and then sprints toward Luscious.

I’m about to give chase when something latches onto my leg. I look down to find a dead woman clutching the limb, jaws open and ready to bite. Behind her, several more climb into the tunnel.