The Zero Game

47

Slamming both hands against the polished steel double doors, Viv pushes as hard as she can. They don’t budge. Behind her, I stand on my tiptoes to get a look through the windows, but the glass is opaque. We can’t see inside. The sign on the doors says, Warning: Authorized Personnel Only.

“Let me try,” I say as she steps aside. Shoving my shoulder against the center of the doors, I feel the right one give slightly, but it doesn’t go anywhere. As I step back for another pass, I see my warped reflection in the rivets. These things are brand-new.

“Hold on a second,” Viv calls out. “What about ringing the doorbell?”

On my right, built into the rock, is a metal plate with a thick black button. I was so focused on the door, I didn’t even see it. Viv reaches out to push it.

“Don’t-” I call out.

Again I’m too late. She rams her palm into the button.

There’s a tremendous hiss, and we both jump back. The double doors shudder, the hiss slowly exhales like a yawn, and two pneumatic air cylinders unfold their arms. The left door opens toward me; the right door goes the other way.

I crane my head to get a better look. “Viv…”

“I’m on it,” she says, pointing her light inside. But the only thing that’s there — about ten feet ahead — is another set of double doors. And another black button. Like the doors behind us, there’s a matching set of opaque windows. Whatever’s giving off that light is still inside.

I nod to Viv, who once again presses the black button. This time, though, nothing happens.

“Press it again,” I say.

“I am… It’s stuck.”

Behind us, there’s another loud hiss as the original steel doors begin to close. We’ll be locked in. Viv spins around, about to run. I stay where I am.

“It’s okay,” I say.

“What’re you talking about?” she asks, panicking. The doors are about to squeeze shut. This is our last chance to get out.

I scan the cave walls and the exposed rocky ceiling. No video cameras or any other security devices. A tiny sign on the top left-hand corner of the door says, Vapor-Tight Door. There we go.

“What?” Viv asks.

“It’s an air-lock.”

There’s less than an inch to go.

“A what?”

With a heavy thunk, the outer doors slam shut and the cylinders lock into place. A final, extended hiss whistles through the air, like an old-fashioned train settling into the station.

We’re now stuck between the two sets of doors. Twisting back to the black button, Viv pounds it as hard as she can.

There’s an even louder mechanical hiss as the doors in front of us rumble. Viv looks back at me. I expect her to be relieved. But the way her eyes jump around… She’s hiding it well, but she’s definitely scared. I don’t blame her.

As the doors churn open, a burst of bright light and a matching gust of cold wind come whipping through the hairline crack. It blows my hair back, and we both shut our eyes. The wind dies fast as the two zones equalize. I can already taste the difference in the air. Sweeter… almost sharp on my tongue. Instead of sucking in millions of dust particles, I feel a blast of icy air cooling my lungs. It’s like drinking from a dirty puddle, then having a glass of purified water. As I finally open my eyes, it takes me a few seconds to adjust. The light is too bright. I lower my eyes and blink back to normalcy.

The floor is bright white linoleum. Instead of a narrow tunnel, we’re in a wide-open, stark white room that’s bigger than an ice-skating rink. The ceiling rises to at least twenty feet, and the right-hand wall is covered with brand-new circuit breakers — top-notch electricals. Along the floor, hundreds of red, black, and green wires are bundled together in electronic braids that’re as thick as my neck. On my left, there’s an open alcove labeled Changing Station, complete with cubbies for dirty boots and mine helmets. Right now, though, the alcove’s filled with lab tables, a half-dozen bubble-wrapped computer hubs and routers, and two state-of-the-art slick, black computer servers. Whatever Wendell Mining is doing down here, they’re still setting up.

I turn to Viv. Her eyes are locked on the stacks of cardboard boxes piled all around the immaculate white room. On the side of each box, there’s one word written in black Magic Marker: Lab.

She looks down at the oxygen detector. “21.1 percent.”

Even better than what we had up top.

“What the hell’s going on?” she asks.

I shake my head, unable to answer. It doesn’t make any sense. I look around at the polished chrome and the marble tabletops and replay the question over and over in my head: What’s a multimillion-dollar laboratory doing eight thousand feet below the surface of the earth?