Entombed

EIGHT

The stairwell still smelled like roasted meat. The aroma hung heavy in the air, and my stomach growled even louder. The hunger pains were just that—pain. It physically hurt me to be so famished. I’d felt them early on, in the long days when we’d first run out of food. But after a while, they had stopped, replaced with the constant fatigue we’d all suffered. Now the hunger pains were back. It felt like somebody was stabbing my stomach with knives. Maybe it was all psychological. Maybe they were just induced by the aroma, but my stomach muscles contracted and I groaned, shivering with both desire and pain.

Flecks of burned flesh stuck to some of the stairs, charred almost to ash, like the blackened remnants you’d find at the bottom of your backyard grill at the end of summer. Some of the skin crunched beneath my feet, crumbling to dust. There was a smeared red, pink and black handprint on one wall, and some scraps of burned clothing on the landing. Strips of charred skin also dangled from the handrails. Powdery ash floated in the air, and the ceiling and walls had sooty patches on them from the smoke. I found one of Drew’s shoes lying on the landing. It was burned black. The leather had cracked and the soles had melted onto the floor. I prodded it with my foot, but the shoe was stuck fast.

“Serves you right, Drew. You backstabbing motherfucker.”

Even though I’d whispered, my voice echoed in the stairwell. The effect was strange and distorted. It sounded like multiple voices all hissing at the same time. Then they all coalesced into Alyssa’s voice.

“You have to be careful from this point on, Peter. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m not crazy, Alyssa.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you’re doing what you’ve always done—charging ahead without thinking about the consequences. You always think with your heart and your gut. Never your head. You can’t just rush in there. You’re still outnumbered.”

“Only six to one, though. The odds keep getting better. Reckon I can even them some more before I’m done.”

“You always were cocky.”

“You used to like that about me.”

“It got old, after a while.”

“Is that what happened to us?”

“You know what happened to us, Peter.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I see it clear as day. Other times, it all seems so silly. All of those things that were important. All of those things I couldn’t live with. They don’t seem as clear anymore. Sometimes I can feel the guilt and other times I can’t. I don’t know which is worse.”

“Your mind does whatever it has to do to cope. But that’s always been your way.”

“How is it I can hear you, Alyssa?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to turn you off. I don’t need this shit right now. I’m a little preoccupied with trying to stay alive and I don’t feel like being lectured by my ex-wife.”

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Peter? If you want me back, then you’re going to have to face up to some of these things. As for how you can hear me, I think you know the answer to that.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I think I do, too. I’ve been thinking about it. The only thing that makes sense is that you’re dead. You died of natural causes, and didn’t become a zombie. Instead, you became a ghost. Just like the ghost of the little girl who supposedly haunts the restroom by the blast door. You’re a spirit. Am I right?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see…”

“You’re a ghost,” I repeated. “You have to be. That’s the only way you could have gotten inside here. You and Dude. Dude died. I know that. He died long before any of this shit began, but I swear to God that I just saw him back there. And I’m hearing you. That can only mean one thing. You’re both ghosts. Right?”

There was silence.

“Okay,” I continued, “if you can’t tell me that, then lets talk about something else. Is this bunker really haunted? I mean, other than by you? Is there really a little girl in the bathroom upstairs? I’ve always wondered about that. People have reported seeing her ghost from time to time. Is she really there? Is the bunker really haunted?”

Alyssa didn’t respond. I paused, waiting for a reply, but I could no longer feel her presence. She’d gone again.

I fumbled through my pockets. My fingertips brushed over Jeff’s wooden token, and then the pocketknife. I searched the stairs until I found my trusty and bloodstained screwdriver lying where Drew had dropped it. Then I continued downward. I had nothing against the pocketknife. It was a fine and serviceable weapon, as far as blades were concerned, but I preferred the screwdriver. We’d been through a lot together, that screwdriver and me, and it had served me well. It was one of the few friends I had down here.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairwell, remembering what had happened the last time I’d pushed the door open. Just like before, they could be waiting on the other side for me. I paused, considering my options. I was tempted to go back upstairs and climb down the incinerator chute, but decided that was just as risky. I wouldn’t be able to mask my sound in the incinerator chute the way I could in the stairwell with the noise of the power plant’s generators droning on in the background. Plus, Chuck and the others could have gotten smart and blocked off the chute. If so, I could end up trapped inside, especially if somebody snuck upstairs while I was inside it and blockaded the other end of the chute, as well. I imagined what would happen next in that scenario—Chuck instructing them to fire up the incinerator, and me scrabbling at the walls like a frantic gerbil, praying to die of smoke inhalation before I cooked to death.

Nervous, I took a few steps backward, and then reached forward with the screwdriver. Using the tip, I prodded the door open and then dropped down into a crouch, preparing myself for someone to charge through. I was convinced they would. Instead, nothing happened. The door swung shut again. I held my breath and waited, but nobody came. After a few minutes had passed, my muscles began to knot and hurt, so I stood up again and cautiously approached the closed door. I put my ear to it, but heard nothing. Taking another deep breath, I inched it open and peered out into the hall. It seemed empty, at least from my limited point of view. I heard voices, but they were distant and muffled. After listening a little longer, I determined that they were coming from the dining room at the far end of the hall.

I eased the door open wider and stuck my head outside. Carefully looking both ways, I saw that the doors to the dining room were closed and confirmed that the hallway was indeed deserted. Since that could change at any moment, I moved quickly, slipping out into the corridor and then eased the door shut behind me. The conversation from the dining room seemed to grow louder. I told myself it was just my imagination. Then I crossed the hall and tried the doorknob to the library. It was unlocked, and the lights were out inside the room. I hurried inside and shut the door behind me.

The library was a relatively small room, but all four of its walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They’d been built right into the wall. When the bunker had been operational, the government had kept it fully stocked and updated with everything from medical textbooks to classic literature to the latest mid-list paperbacks or hardcover bestsellers. After the bunker was deactivated and sold to the hotel, the staff had kept the books intact, as part of the overall museum experience. Unfortunately, we’d had to get rid of most of them a few years ago after a silverfish infestation. Now the shelves were mostly bare. There were a few dozen Readers Digest condensed editions that somebody had bought for a quarter apiece at a local flea market, along with various outdated magazines and newspapers. My fellow survivors had added to it after our arrival, but their contributions amounted to nothing more than a Robert Randisi western paperback with its cover stripped off, a self-help pamphlet on the wonders of colon-cleansing, and some bullshit teeny-bopper book about vampire cheerleaders in love with werewolf football players. Most of us hadn’t had time to grab our belongings before fleeing below. Several of the survivors had electronic book readers in their purses, or Kindle apps on their cell phones, but those had been worthless without the chargers, all of which had been left behind in their vehicles or hotel rooms. I remembered how proud Krantz had been in our first few days of the siege. He’d complained about the bunker’s selection of movies and the general lack of entertainment choices, as if he was on vacation or something, but he’d gloated over his e-book reader and the fact that it held over two-thousand books. He’d assured us that he wouldn’t be bored, and that it sucked for everyone else, because he wouldn’t be sharing. Of course, that two-thousand book library of his was gone now, eradicated by something as simple as a dead battery. That had always been the inherent danger of the digital age. Once a civilization’s culture became electronic, that culture lasted only as long as the power was on. Archeologists could dig up ancient Rome and find statues and coins and scrolls, but a thousand years from now, what would they make of those dead little handheld gadgets we’d coveted so much?

I thought of my own books, most of which had been boxed up and put in storage or sold for cash after my divorce from Alyssa. There hadn’t been enough room for them in my new apartment, and I’d had to sell some of the rarer and more collectible ones to pay the lawyer. I wished I had them now. At that moment, I’d have given anything to have them there with me. To smell them and hold them. Feel the weight of them in my hands and hear the pages turn. Before the zombies, there had been nothing like holding a physical book in my hands. Now, in this post-apocalyptic setting, that feeling would be magnified a hundred times, simply because it was a connection to a world and a civilization that was no more—and might not ever be again. My thoughts turned back to the archeologists. If humanity survived the zombie plaque and somehow rebuilt itself, would archeologists a thousand years from now discover the works of Stephen King and Tom Clancy and Nora Roberts and Nicholas Sparks, and if so, would the people of that era look upon those works as we did the writings of Homer and Byron and Shakespeare? It was a nice thought. I smiled, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Doing so made my face hurt.

The overhead lights were turned off and the only illumination in the library was the soothing red of the emergency light, which always remained on in case of a fire or power outage. I stared at the soft glow. It was alluringly relaxing—a pleasant enough diversion from all the blood and violence and pain. The light did not judge. It did not weigh me. It didn’t see me as a source of hurt or humiliation. Most importantly, it did not want to eat me. I kept staring, and my eyes felt itchy and heavy. I stifled a yawn and fought to stay awake and alert. Despite my very real and constant peril, the adrenalin was retreating in my body. Combined with the hunger and the beatings I’d taken, it left me feeling both nauseous and exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Well, that’s not entirely true. What I wanted more than anything was to eat, but after I’d gorged myself, a nap would be just fine. I’d sleep right here under the lights, bathed in their warmth.

“You can’t sleep now,” Alyssa said. “They’ll find you if you do. Fall asleep now and you’ll never wake up.”

I chuckled. “The way I feel right now? That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Besides, if I don’t wake up, then I can be with you. We’ll both be ghosts. We can finally be together again.”

“We will be together again,” Alyssa promised. “You just have to find me first.”

“I’m trying.”

“Then you have to try harder. Do whatever you have to do to survive, and then find me.”

I was getting pretty frustrated with Alyssa’s riddles and hide-and-seek games, and was just opening my mouth to tell her so when I heard footsteps in the hall outside. My fatigue vanished, replaced with a new surge of panic. My pulse began to pound again, drowning out Alyssa’s voice. I glanced around, frantically looking for a place to hide. My options were limited. The library had no nooks or crannies. Other than the bookshelves, the room held only a few long tables, a half dozen metal folding chairs, and an empty newspaper display rack. When the bunker had been active, the rack would have held current newspapers from various cities across the country. The government had changed the papers weekly—our tax dollars at work. The newspapers hung from long, grooved wooden poles that looked almost like swords. Other than these, the only other things in the library were a few small plaques that were affixed to the wall and one of the shelves. Each one gave visitors information about the library in addition to the tour guide’s usual spiel.

I ducked down beneath one of the tables and held my breath. The footsteps halted right outside the library door. Then there was silence. I waited for what seemed like minutes before whoever was outside slowly moved on again. Moments later, I heard the dining room doors bang open and shut.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crawled out from under the table and stood up. I must have done so too quickly, because my dizziness returned. I reached out and grabbed the table and waited for it to pass. My vision narrowed, as if I was looking down a tunnel, and my ears began to ring again. I bowed my head, closed my eyes and focused on breathing through my nose with short, measured breaths. I sat down on the floor and waited for the spell to pass. This time, it took a lot longer for my senses to return to normal, and even when they did, I still had a slight twinge of vertigo. It got worse every time I breathed through my nose, as if my sinuses and ears were blocked. I tried moving my jaw back and forth to ease the sensation, but it hurt too much to keep doing, and I stopped.

“Blood sugar,” I whispered. “Starvation. Hunger. All the physical exertion and damage I’ve taken today. Exhaustion. Pain. It’s a wonder I’m still awake at all. I need to keep moving. I am a shark.”

“Quiet,” Alyssa scolded. “You’re talking out loud. Someone will hear you.”

“I don’t care anymore,” I said. “Let them hear me. Let them all come. I’m sick and tired of this shit. All I want to do is sleep, but they won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“You’re talking funny. Listen to yourself, Pete. Your speech is slurred, and you’re sitting there weaving back and forth like a drunk on a barstool. If they catch you in here, they’ll kill you, and then you’ll never find me.”

“You’re right.” Sighing, I stood up slowly. My muscles ached in protest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I lied to you and that I hurt you. I’m sorry about Hannah and I’m sorry that—”

Footsteps sounded down the outside corridor again. They were faster than before. I crawled beneath the table just as they stopped in front of the door. I hoped that Alyssa wouldn’t chose that moment to say anything, and luckily, she didn’t. Seconds later, the library door opened. It was hard to see from my vantage point under the table, but I saw one pair of feet and jeans-clad legs standing in the doorway, bathed in the red glow of the emergency light. I held my breath and didn’t move. I was afraid to even pull out my razor knife or screwdriver. Any movement, no matter how subtle or slow, might give my location away. Instead, I waited. The person stepped into the room and slowly crossed the floor. I could hear their breathing from underneath the table. It was loud and rapid. They stopped just a few feet from my hiding place and stood still. I could tell by the direction their feet were pointing in that the intruder was facing in my direction. I tensed, preparing myself to scramble out from under the table and attack.

The intruder lowered one hand, letting it rest beside their hip. Their fingers twitched, as if they were nervous. I could tell by the fingernails that it was Nicole. I’d know those fingernails anywhere. I remembered admiring them back when we’d first come underground. They were long and well-kept and lacquered with purple nail polish with little specks of glitter in it. I’d thought them exotic—not the kind of thing you normally saw in West Virginia. The same could be said of her body jewelry and multiple piercings. She had silver studs or tiny gems not just in her ears, but in her nose, eyebrows, and lips, as well. She’d told me once that her nipples, belly button, labia and clitoris were pierced, too, but had gently rebuffed my efforts to verify this. I’d been disappointed, but not at all surprised. The only gold that Nicole wore was her wedding ring, and she talked about her little boy and her partner all the time. I think she’d grown accustomed to the idea that they were gone, but her grief hadn’t let her move on. Maybe she would have, in time. Maybe she’d have moved on with me. And maybe I would have let her—if she hadn’t been one of the fuckers trying to eat me. Now those fingernails were chipped and faded, and the glitter had long since worn away. So had any emotion or sympathy I’d felt for her.

Nicole stood there, still as a statue, and I noticed that there was something in her other hand. I had to look twice, certain that the emergency lighting was playing tricks on my eyes. She was clutching an aerosol can of industrial solvent—the kind used for loosening rusted bolts or lubricating machine gears. The cap was off and a small, plastic straw was sticking out of the nozzle. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the canister, and her thumb remained on top of the nozzle at all times. Her hand was still trembling slightly, and the can jostled against her thigh. When I looked closer, I saw that her legs were shaking, too.

She’s terrified, I thought. All I’ve got to do is wait for her to turn around, and then…

I eased my hand behind my back, slowly reaching for the razor knife.

“Hello?”

I held my breath.

“Hello?”

Nicole’s voice sounded very small and afraid. I stopped moving, and waited. After a moment, she spoke again. This time, she whispered.

“Pete? Are you there? It’s me. Nicole. If you’re in here, just listen, okay? I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want any part of this. Not anymore. I’m sorry that I went along with it. I don’t know why I did. You were always really sweet to me. I guess I was just scared, and I didn’t want the others to turn on me instead. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

I have to admit, I was moved by the sincerity in her voice. Yet still I hesitated. A part of me wanted to call out to her, to let her know that it was okay and that she had nothing to fear from me, but a bigger part of me remembered my betrayal at Drew’s hands. This could be another trick—some scheme devised by Chuck and the others to lull me into a false sense of security, and then, when I came out of hiding—straight into the refrigerator I’d go, chopped and butchered like a side of beef. Instead of coming out, I waited. My muscles began to cramp from sitting still for so long, but at least my dizziness had finally passed. My headache throbbed in time with my pulse.

“Pete? Are you there?” She sighed, and then her voice grew louder. “Oh, screw this. I’m being silly. He’s probably still upstairs. Or dead.”

A severe cramp shot through my calf. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but Nicole must have heard my intake of breath, because she gasped and took a step backward.

“Pete? Is that you? Did you hear what I—”

“Nicole?” Another pair of legs appeared in the doorway. I couldn’t see their owner, but I knew that it was Damonte by the sound of his voice. “Anybody in there?”

She hesitated before answering. “No, I thought I heard something, but it’s empty.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s up with the can?”

“I’ve got a cigarette lighter,” Nicole said. “If I came across Pete, and he wouldn’t listen to reason, then I figured I could make a blowtorch out of it.”

“How do you do that?”

“Didn’t you ever do that as a kid?”

“Hell, no. My mother would have beat my ass. How does it work?”

“It’s easy. You just press down on the nozzle and hold the flame into the stream. You just have to be careful not to get the lighter too close to the can or it will blow back on you.”

Damonte grunted in appreciation. “Check you out. You’ve gone all Rambo and shit.”

“Well, we’ve got to make due, don’t we? It’s not like we have any guns.”

“No, I guess it isn’t. I wish to hell we did. I’d feel a lot better with a gun in my hand, given what’s going on. Speaking of which, nobody has come down from upstairs yet. I set a trap around the stairwell door just now. Put some glass bottles and aluminum cans and stuff around the door. If he comes through, we’ll hear him. I locked the door, too, so he’ll have to make even more noise if he tries to get in.”

“Do you think the others are dead?”

“The one’s upstairs? I don’t know. Like I said, they’re not back yet. Maybe they’ve got him cornered and are waiting him out. Maybe they captured him and are just taking their time coming back. Or maybe… what you said. In any case, I figure better safe than sorry. I locked the incinerator door, too. Just in case Pete tries to come down that way. I figured that makes more sense than having Phillips and I walk around down here, waiting for Pete to show.”

“Yeah,” Nicole said, “that didn’t make a lot of sense. And Chuck didn’t seem too happy when I told him so.”

“Speaking of which, Chuck told me to tell you that he wants you to go back to the dining room. He’s already in there. Emma is in there with him.”

“What about Susan?”

“She’s hiding out in one of the dorm rooms. He sent Phillips to find her and bring her back to the dining room, too. Chuck wants all three of you in there with him.”

“I don’t care what Chuck wants. You see what’s happening here, don’t you, Damonte? We’re all going crazy—Chuck worst of all. I know exactly why he wants us to stay in there with him.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t too crazy about it, either. Like I said, he wants me and Phillips to stay out here and patrol the hallways, waiting for Pete to show up. How do you think I feel about that?”

“Not too good, I guess.”

“You’re damned straight I don’t. That’s why I locked the doors and set the traps. I’d rather be in the cafeteria with you all, truth be told. You saw what Pete did to Drew and Dave. That shit was vicious. It made your little blowtorch there seem like a toy.”

“Then why stay out here? Why not just ignore what Chuck tells you?”

“Because I’m more scared of Chuck than I am of Pete. So are you.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, Nicole. You are. Have you gotten a good look in his eyes? You’re right—what you said earlier. Chuck is crazy. He’s not playing around here. That’s why I’m going along with things. Better not to piss him off. And besides…”

His voice trailed off. I watched Nicole walk toward him.

“Besides what?” she prompted.

“Well… I was going to say that even though he’s crazy, Chuck is still right. I don’t like it, but he’s right about eating Pete. We’re out of food. We’re starving to death. We’ve got to do something.”

“Yeah, but murder?”

“You voted for it, too, Nicole.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t even matter now. Chuck said we’ll… he said that we can start with Drew, Dave and Krantz. And any of the others Pete might have killed. That’s enough. Nobody else has to die today. If we can preserve them, that’s enough to last us for months, as long as we ration the… meat… carefully. We don’t have to keep up the hunt.”

“Chuck doesn’t agree. And to be honest, after seeing what Pete has done, I’m inclined to agree with him. Like I said, you voted for this, too. I’m thinking we made the right decision, choosing Pete the way we did. He’s a fucking serial killer.”

They stepped out into the hallway and Nicole closed the door behind them, muffling their voices. My temples throbbed and a muscle in my jaw twitched. I sat there until their footsteps had faded, and then I eased myself out from under the table, grimacing at the pain in my joints and muscles as I stood up again.

Damonte’s final words echoed in my head. A serial killer? Is that what I was? Was that what I’d become? The post-apocalyptic wasteland’s version of Ted Bundy or The Exit or Jeffrey Dahmer? Me? That was ridiculous. I mean, sure, I’d killed some people. In truth, I’d killed a lot of people. A lot. And those things weighed on my conscious the moment I allowed myself to slow down and think about it. The guilt crushed me, just like the regrets I felt over Alyssa and Hannah. But they’d left me no choice. Why couldn’t they see that it had been in self-defense? Nicole was seeing it now. Why couldn’t Damonte and the rest? I didn’t want to kill anybody, but they’d left me no other option. If any one of them had been in my shoes, even for a moment, they’d have reacted in the same manner. None of them would have just offered themselves up as a sacrificial lamb. None of us were Jesus. We weren’t going to offer up our flesh and our blood for the others to partake in, thus granting them life via our death.

A line from Scarface ran through my head—Al Pacino asking, “Who’s the bad guy?” Well, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. Neither were the zombies, for that matter. The zombies were nothing more than window dressing. Background noise—a catalyst that got us to this point. No, the zombies didn’t matter. The real bad guys were my fellow survivors. Chuck and his people, as he’d called them. They were the real villains.

The corridor was silent, and I was pretty sure that the coast was finally clear. As I crept toward the door, I patted my back pockets to reassure myself that my weapons were still there. The razor knife was safely tucked away, but the screwdriver was missing. I stopped and did a quick search of the library, looking under the table and carefully scanning the floor, but I couldn’t find the screwdriver anywhere. I remembered picking it up in the stairwell. I’d used it to open the door. Where the hell was it now? I panicked. What if I had dropped it out in the hallway? What if Damonte and Nicole had discovered it there, and knew all along that I’d been hiding nearby? Could their entire conversation have been nothing more than an act? Could Nicole’s seemingly heartfelt-apology have just been a charade, after all—an attempt to lure me out of hiding so that they could finish the job?

“Paranoia will destroy ya,” I muttered.

It didn’t matter. I still had the razor knife and the pocketknife, so it wasn’t like I was totally defenseless. As I turned toward the door again, I glanced at the newspaper racks. On a whim, I walked over to them and grabbed one of the newspaper holders. It looked just like a wooden sword, and when I gave it a few experimental swings through the air, it felt very satisfying. I thought about snapping the tip and turning it into a spear, like I’d done with the broom handle, but decided that I liked it better this way. If I cracked somebody in the head with it, I’d certainly do some damage to them. I was confident that the wood was solid enough to break bones without the rod splintering or snapping. A memory surfaced from when I was a kid—summers spent roaming around in the little strip of woods behind my house, swinging sticks and branches like they were lightsabers. I’d liked the feeling back then, and I liked it even more now. It was comforting. Clutching the newspaper rod in my hand gave me an overwhelming sense of power, as if I were a marauding barbarian making my way through some subterranean labyrinth in search of a princess.

Which I was.

“Hang on, Alyssa.”

I started to worry when she didn’t respond. Even though she’d begun to annoy me, there was something safe about the familiarity of having her ever-present voice in my ear. The bunker felt emptier without it. I hoped again that she was okay.

Pushing my fears aside, I cautiously opened the door and peeked into the hall. The corridor was indeed empty. If they’d found the screwdriver and set a trap for me, then the surprise was waiting elsewhere. I noticed that there were a half dozen empty bottles and cans lined up around the stairwell door. If I’d opened the door, it would have knocked them all over. Damonte was at least telling the truth about that part, but I still wasn’t completely convinced. I hurried out of the library and then noticed the screwdriver. It was lying on the floor, mere inches away from the library door. How had Damonte and Nicole not seen it lying there? Or had they, and they’d left it there to help bait their trap? My heart rate increased, throbbing so hard in my throat that it felt like I’d swallowed an apple. Glancing around, I bent down and picked up the screwdriver. I expected to be ambushed, but nothing happened.

Just to be safe, I ducked inside the media room. I slipped the door shut behind me and leaned against it. The lights were out, but my eyes adjusted quickly. It was hard to believe that only a few hours before, I’d been sitting in here watching stoner cartoons and trying not to go crazy from hunger and cabin fever. Eisenhower still lay on his side in a congealed pool of Krantz’s blood. I nodded hello at him, but he didn’t nod back. I felt a sad wave of nostalgia. Other than Drew, that bronze bust of Eisenhower’s head had been my closest friend and companion during these last few trying months. Many times I’d confided in him, laughed at him, and wept to him. He’d offered silent solace. He’d never spoken to me. He couldn’t. Eisenhower wasn’t real. I know that. I’m not crazy. But all the same, that statue meant something to me. I’d grown very attached to him, and it didn’t seem right to let him lie there in a puddle of gore.

“You’re a mess, Mr. President. Here. Let me give you a hand.”

Kneeling, I sat my newspaper rod aside and righted Eisenhower again. His cold, hard features were sticky with blood and dirt. I tried to use my shirttail to wipe the mess away, but only succeeded in making things worse. Grunting, I picked him up and put him back on his pedestal. Then I took a step backward and studied him.

“Thanks for helping me out earlier,” I whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I winked, half expecting Eisenhower to wink back at me, but he didn’t. The eyes stared, boring into me. The bronze features remained impassive. It may sound silly, but I began to feel uncomfortable under the statue’s gaze. It felt as if Eisenhower were judging me, as if he could see inside of me and was holding me accountable for my actions.

“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “What other choice did I have?”

Eisenhower’s silent admonishment was enough.

“I’m sorry I got you involved. I’ll make it up to you once I find Alyssa. We’ll restore you to a place of prominence down here.”

I took another step back and my foot came down in Krantz’s blood. When I withdrew my heel, it made a squelching sound. I wondered where the rest of Krantz was. Had Drew or Dave or one of the others said something about Chuck ordering Krantz to be cut up? I couldn’t remember. Maybe they had, or maybe I just imagined it. For that matter, where was Dave? The last I’d heard, he was badly burned but still alive. Chances were he was in the infirmary. I decided that maybe I should check there next. Like the rest of the bunker, it was just a museum-piece now—an exhibit to give the tourists the authenticity they expected. Most of the original equipment and supplies that the government had kept here when the bunker was still active had been removed and replaced with placards and glass showcases. But the hospital beds were still there, along with a few bigger pieces of medical equipment that the hotel had elected to display. And when we’d first come down here, we’d gathered all the stuff from the first-aid kits scattered at various point throughout the bunker and stored them in the infirmary. If they were trying to save Dave, or ease his suffering until he passed, there was a good chance that was where I’d find him. Perhaps I’d find the others there, too. Or maybe they’d already eaten Dave. Maybe they’d devoured both him and Krantz and Drew, and were now saving me for dessert. Chilled Pete, served with chocolate sauce and fruit topping. Yum-yum. That’s fine dining.

The longer this cat and mouse game went on, the harder it was becoming for me to think clearly. I was running on adrenalin fumes, and my hunger pangs had become a steady throb, pulsing in time with my other pains.

“Maybe I should just give up.” I leaned close to Eisenhower’s ear so that the others wouldn’t hear me if they were lurking on the other side of the door. “Maybe I should just take my chances and try surrendering again. I mean, Nicole sounded pretty reasonable back there in the library. Maybe she and I could try to convince the others. Get them to team-up against Chuck or something. That’s got to be better than the alternatives. What’s the point of going on like this? What am I turning into? Maybe Damonte was right, after all. What’s the point of living if I’m no better than those things outside? Why should I keep going on?”

“I’ve waited so long here…”

For a split second, I thought it was Eisenhower, but it wasn’t. The voice belonged to Alyssa. She was singing.

“For a reason to still carry on…”

I recognized the song right away. It was one of her favorites—‘The End of The End’ by Bella Morte. It’s a fair statement to say that most women in West Virginia liked gospel, hip-hop, or country music (or sometimes all three) but Alyssa had always been into gothic and industrial rock. That was one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with her in the first place—not because I was particularly into that kind of music, but because she was. That’s what I’d liked about her—that she was different from the other girls I met.

And I’d sullied that with my betrayal. Tears welled up in my eyes. I pushed the thought from my mind and took a deep breath.

“Alyssa? Where are you?”

“Feels like I’ve been living a lie, and I don’t want to face it alone…”

I had a flash of memory then, so strong that I almost thought it was really happening again, and that the bunker and the zombies and the divorce and my emotional affair with Hannah had all been just a dream. Alyssa and I had driven up to Charlottesville, Virginia to see Bella Morte in concert. She’d played their music on the way up, and we had dinner and a few drinks in a quiet little pub before the show. It was a good time. In truth, I’d gone along because it made Alyssa happy. It wasn’t really my kind of music or scene. The band was good, if loud, and I’d amused myself for a while by gawking at some of the Goths in the crowd. When I’d got bored with that, I’d pulled out my cell phone and updated my Facebook and Twitter accounts. Then I’d gone to the bathroom and texted Hannah. When I came back a half hour later, Alyssa was annoyed. She hadn’t been able to enjoy the show because she’d been worried about me. When I didn’t return right away, she’d thought something happened. I’d apologized, and lied—telling her there was a long line at the bathroom. Her glance flicked to my cell phone and then back to me. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she’d simply nodded and then turned her attention back to the show.

I hadn’t realized that until now. She’d suspected. Even then, she’d suspected that I was lying to her. She’d known about me and Hannah—known that it was more than a simple friendship. So why hadn’t she said something at that point? Why hadn’t she confronted me about it? Why did she let it drag on so long, doing incalculable damage to us all? She’d made me lie to her, and then allowed me to feel guilty about it. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. All that time I’d wasted.

“All this time that I’ve wasted…” Her lilting voice taunted me.

“Fuck this shit.”

I stormed out of the media room, no longer caring if the others heard me or not. In fact, I hoped they would. That way, I could deal with them quickly, rather than drawing this hunt out any longer than it had to be. The only thing that mattered now was finding Alyssa and getting some answers for why she’d done the things that she’d done.

The corridor was empty. Alyssa’s voice echoed softly down the hall. Before, it had been ethereal and drifting. Now, it seemed real. More solid. It stayed in one place, making it much easier for me to find her location. I glanced over my shoulder. Far down at the other end of the hall, the dining room doors remained closed. If anyone had heard me, or heard Alyssa for that matter, they weren’t reacting. Of course, that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be a trap. Maybe Damonte or one of the others was waiting right around the corner. If so, then I had something for them.

Pausing, I moved over to the wall and stood with my back against it. Then, flattening myself out as best I could (which was easy, given then fact that I didn’t have a gut to suck in anymore), I inched forward and slowly edged around the corner. This hallway was empty, too, but Alyssa’s voice was nearer. My pulse pounded. As I walked, she stopped singing and began to hum instead.

“That won’t help you,” I whispered. “You wanted me to find you? Well, be careful what you wish for, sweetheart. You’re about to get it.”

The pharmacy was on my left. The door to it was closed but I could see a glow coming through the crack at the bottom of the door, indicating that the lights were on inside. I put my ear to the door and listened. After a moment, I confirmed that the humming was coming from further down the hall. I tested the knob and found it unlocked, so I nudged the door open and gave the pharmacy a quick, cursory check. It was unoccupied. I stared at all of the museum displays and placards, and wished fervently that the pharmacy still had some real drugs or medicine in it, rather than the empty bottles we used on the tour to make the surroundings look authentic, as they had when the bunker was operational. At that moment, I craved painkillers almost more than I did food. There was nothing in the room that I could use for a weapon, either. I considered smashing one of the glass display cases or mirrors, but the risk of being overheard wasn’t worth it for a mere shard or sliver. My razor knife, screwdriver and newspaper rod would have to suffice. I’d killed with two of them already, and was eager to try out the latest addition, as well.

Closing the pharmacy door behind me, I continued down the hall, following the siren call of Alyssa’s humming. She was doing it sporadically now, as if she’d forgotten the tune. As I neared one of the lounge areas, she started up again, but the tune sputtered into a series of choked, muffled sobs. I peeked my head through the open door and saw Alyssa kneeling on the lounge room floor. Her back was to me, and she’d buried her face in her hands. All I could see was the back of her head and her shoulders, which trembled in time with her grief. My heart broke, seeing her like that. I wanted to call out to her, wanted to run to her and take her into my arms and tell her that everything would be all right, that it would all be okay now, and that I was sorry for everything I’d done, and that we could just start over—that we could just hit the restart button and renew our relationship. We could go back to the way things were before. I desperately wanted that.

Tears ran down my bloody cheeks. I wiped them away and sniffled. If Alyssa heard me, she didn’t react. Instead, she attempted to start humming again. It only lasted a few seconds before breaking into a new round of sobs. I eased the door shut behind me, not quite closing it, but enough that we would have some privacy for our reunion. The door made no sound, and the tension began to drain from my body. I stepped closer. She was so beautiful, even from behind. Even after months trapped in this bunker. I licked my lips, trying to work up the nerve to speak. Still holding the newspaper rod, I reached for her, not quite having the courage to actually touch her and make my presence known.

“I miss you.” Her voice was muffled through her hands. “I miss you so much, Jose.”

I froze. Jose? My name was Pete, or Peter as she referred to me when she was annoyed or angry. Who the fuck was Jose? I thought about all of the other men in her life—family, friends and co-workers. I’d never heard her mention a Jose before. Was he her lover? Had Alyssa been cheating on me, too? Had she let me feel guilty and forced me to lie to her in an effort to protect our relationship and maintain our happiness, while seeing somebody else all the while behind my back?

My anger returned, rushing back into my body in a flood of pent-up emotion. Tremors shot through me. My hands and feet trembled. My ears burned. The blood vessels in my forehead and neck felt like they were going to burst. So did my eyeballs. They seemed to inflate inside the sockets, and I wondered what I’d see if I looked in a mirror at that moment. Would my reflection be the monster they all said I was? I thought it might. At that moment, I was okay with being the monster. Somebody had to be.

Alyssa kept crying, whispering Jose’s name over and over again. Bile burned my throat. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. My teeth sank into the fresh cuts, and the pain was exquisite. Blood ran down my chin like the juice from a fresh peach. Shivering, I went rigid. The newspaper rod slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor, and for a brief second, time itself seemed to freeze.

Alyssa stiffened at the sound of the rod hitting the floor. Her sobs turned into a gasp. She began to turn around and I charged forward. Her eyes widened when she saw me. She tried to stand up and back away at the same time, but her feet got tangled under her. She pitched forward, and would have fallen on her face had I not been there to catch her. My arms shot out and I wrapped my hands around her throat.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Alyssa stiffened in my grasp, and tried to push me away. Her movements were weak, but frantic. I tightened my grip.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to soothe her. “I won’t let go. I’ll never let go again, sweetheart.”

Whispering soothing words of comfort, I lowered her to the floor. I tried to be gentle about it, but the back of her head smacked hard against the linoleum. Alyssa’s bangs slipped in front of her face. She twisted her body, thrashing and trying to get away, and as she did, her hair parted, revealing her eyes. Those same beautiful eyes that I’d stared into so many times before were now wide and bulging and filled with fear. Tiny red blood vessels filled the whites of them like spider-webs.

“Calm down, Alyssa.” I squeezed harder, relishing the feel as my fingers dug deep into the flesh of her throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her tongue popped out of her mouth like a glistening jack-in-the-box. Shifting my weight, I kept my grip on her neck and knelt on her stomach with both of my knees. Her entire body convulsed beneath me. She slapped the floor with her hands and kicked out behind us. She tried to raise her leg to knee me in the back, but I dug in deeper, sinking my fingernails into her flesh. Her tongue stuck out farther.

“See?” I hissed. “You wanted me to find you and I told you I would. Here I am, baby. You told me to look for you.”

Alyssa punched my shoulder, but I barely felt the blow.

“This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me to look for you? Or maybe you were looking for me? Or was it other men you were looking for all along? Like when we divorced. Remember that? We signed the papers and you updated your Facebook status from the parking lot outside the lawyer’s office. You’d just got done telling me that you loved me, and you were sorry it didn’t work out. Then you changed your status to single, and said you were interested in dating and looking for men. Who does that, Alyssa? Who goes from ‘I love you’ to ‘Hey, anybody on Facebook want to fuck?’ that quickly? Is that how you met Jose? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Alyssa didn’t respond. For a second, I got pissed off at her reticence, but then I realized that she probably wasn’t answering because I was choking the shit out of her. I thought about letting go, but found that I couldn’t. My fingers refused to obey. It felt good to squeeze her neck, so I did it some more. Her eyes grew wider. I clenched my teeth. My lips pulled back in a snarl. Saliva dripped down my chin and landed on her forehead.

“You played me, you bitch. Don’t deny it. You got me to do all your dirty work. You were just as unhappy in our marriage as I was, but you didn’t want to be the bad guy, so you played that passive-aggressive bullshit on me. Did it for so long, hoping I’d leave. Got me to fuck up so that you’d have an excuse to leave me. You couldn’t just be honest. You had to make me be the one to lie and cheat. Fucking coward.”

Alyssa struck at me again, raking her fingernails across my cheek. I gasped at the pain, and tore my head away from her reach. My cheek stung and felt warm. I put all of my weight into my knees and tightened my grip around her throat even more.

“I could have had a good thing with Hannah. She loved me. She actually fucking loved me. I didn’t have all the history and baggage with her that I have with you. I hadn’t lied to her. We could have made it work. But you couldn’t let me have that could you, Alyssa. You took her away from me. Made me turn my back on her. And then you went right out and hooked up with this… this Jose.”

Spittle flew from my lips as I said his name. Alyssa’s struggles grew weaker.

“You were looking for men? Well, you found one, Alyssa. You found a man. Congratulations. Here I am, and I’ll never let you go again.”

I kept squeezing, even after she’d stopped moving. I didn’t let go until her bladder and bowels did the same. Then I stood up quickly to avoid the mess—too quickly. The room began to spin as I gained my feet, and I reached out to steady myself and found only empty, unforgiving space. I tottered forward, stumbling, and my foot came down on Alyssa’s face. I glanced down and saw that she was no longer Alyssa, but Susan.

“Oh, shit. But… but that—”

Something warm and wet tickled my neck. I reached up to touch my face and found four long claw marks running across my cheek where Alyssa had scratched it. I looked back down at Susan’s left hand. Her nails were bloody. There was skin beneath them. My skin. My blood.

“But…”

I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was whiny and weak. Indecisive. I hated the sound of it. I stared at Susan, confused. Then someone else called out from the hallway.

“Susan? Are you okay?”

It was Phillips. Without turning around, I recognized his voice. Unlike mine, it was strong and certain and defined. Still staring down at Susan, I reached for the screwdriver in my back pocket. The door swung open and Phillips, still speaking, stepped into the pharmacy.

“Susan? Chuck wants you to come back. I thought I heard—”

He stopped, gaping at us both. His gaze kept darting from Susan to me and then back down to her again. When he opened his mouth to shout, I charged. I clamped my left hand over his mouth, muffling his cries, and shoved him against the wall. Phillips tried to knee me in the groin, but I sidestepped his attack and thrust the screwdriver deep into his stomach. It made a farting sound as it punched through skin and fat. His eyes went wide and he took a deep breath through his nose. I felt the air rush over my fingers. Phillips tried to scream again, but I mashed my palm tighter against his mouth and stabbed him again. Phillip’s moaned through my hand. His teeth grazed my skin. They felt dry, like the scales of a reptile. His skin, by contrast, was slick with sweat, and I had trouble holding him in place as I stabbed him a third time, plunging the screwdriver into his abdomen again. Phillips shuddered against me. Warmth flowed over my knuckles as I pulled the screwdriver free. Phillips’ legs buckled and he started to sag forward. Grunting, I shoved him back against the wall.

“Where is she?” I asked. “Where’s Alyssa? What did you guys do with her?”

He mumbled through my hand and tried to shake his head. I squeezed his mouth harder, digging my fingernails into his cheeks.

“Don’t try to deny it, Phillips. I know she’s here. Now where is she, you son of a bitch? Tell me.”

Phillips moaned.

“I bet Chuck has her, doesn’t he? The sick fuck is building himself a little post-apocalyptic underground harem. And you were going to help him, weren’t you?”

Eyes-wide, Phillips tried to shake his head. I rammed the screwdriver into his stomach again. He whined. I liked the sound of it. His voice was no longer strong. He sounded like I felt.

“But now I’ve fucked up your plans, haven’t I? Killing Susan like this. But that’s your fault. You guys tricked me. Made me think she was Alyssa. Tried to pull an old switcheroo, didn’t you? Well, I’m wise to you now, and I’ll find her. You just watch, Phillips. You just watch.”

It didn’t take much effort to hold him there against the wall. I could feel the strength draining from his body as I spoke. I raised the screwdriver and twirled it in front of his face. The fluorescent lights sparkled off the crimson tip.

“You just watch.”

I jammed the screwdriver into his eye. Phillips jittered and bit through his tongue as spasms rocked his body. I stood there, relishing the feel of the tremors running through his body and into mine. They were like electrical currents. Fluid pumped from the ruined eye socket. Most of it was blood, but there was clear stuff that looked like water. His fingers drummed the wall. Then he went limp. His full weight pressed against me. If he hadn’t been half-starved, he’d have probably knocked me over. I could feel his ribs rubbing up against me through the fabric of his shirt. Pushing him away, I yanked the screwdriver free. Phillips dropped to the floor, dead.

I stood there for a moment, catching my breath. I wondered if anybody else had heard our struggle, but the corridors remained quiet. I debated hiding Phillips and Susan’s bodies, but I was too tired and there wasn’t enough time. I had to find Alyssa and save her. I had to save us both. I had to save our marriage and make things right again. In truth, I was worried. I hadn’t heard her voice since killing Susan. What if I was too late?

I stepped back out into the corridor, and passed by the incinerator room, media room, lounges, dorm rooms and the pharmacy. My nerves were taught with tension as I crept along. With each step, I expected Chuck, Emma, Nicole, or Damonte to leap out at me, brandishing clubs or knives or bricks. The overhead fluorescents reflected off the white linoleum floors like sunlight on the ocean, and made my head throb. The drab, gray concrete walls seemed to shimmer and move like heat mirages. I stared at them, convinced that the walls were breathing. Maybe the bunker was alive. Maybe I was in the belly of the beast.

My stomach growled again.