by Brant, Jason
Greg’s back ached from having to hunch over through much of the tunnel, the ceiling five feet high or less at times.
Bones lined the floor, picked clean of their meat. Judging from the size, and their location under the city, he had no doubt they were human. The occasional scrap of clothing or sole of a shoe rested on the floor, long forgotten by the monsters that had dragged them there.
Greg only used the flashlight a handful of times during his trek through hell, not wanting the beam to give his position away. After he’d tripped over a femur or skull for the third time, he relented. Stumbling into a Vladdie nest would out him faster than a light.
If he were being honest, walking in the impenetrable darkness of the tunnel frightened him. His mind raced at what might lurk a step ahead, his heart beating so furiously he struggled to hear his footsteps over his pounding pulse.
The tunnel descended at a steep slope for a long stretch, before leveling off and curving left. It expanded after the bend, adding at least three feet to its height and width, finally allowing him to stand.
Stretching his back, careful not to jostle his shoulder much, Greg winced at the popping along his spine. Though his physical conditioning had improved on the islands from all the labor they performed every day, he had never achieved great endurance. Any job that required tons of exertion, like swimming out to abandoned boats to look for supplies, he’d left to the others.
He’d preferred to fish and cook meals.
After a short break to stretch his muscles, Greg stumbled out of the tunnel and into an expansive cavern. The walls stretched away from him, disappearing into the dark.
Greg paused at the mouth of the cave, shining his light around. Sweat stung his eyes, dribbled from his nose.
His shoulder ached.
He listened for the heavy, labored breathing of the infected. Didn’t hear anything. His flashlight followed the floor in front of him. The beam fell upon a massive pile of bones to his right.
The mound of death reached six feet high. It was so wide and deep it horrified Greg. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people’s remains formed the pile. Empty skulls stared back as he angled the flashlight across their featureless faces.
A child’s backpack rested on the ground in front of the mass of death.
The faded of image of Optimus Prime covered the back. A brown smear distorted the Transformers logo.
Greg felt his gorge rise.
As he forced his eyes away from the grizzly sight, he thought of the warring humans above him. Just beneath their feet were hundreds or thousands of death machines that lived only to consume.
The Vladdies didn’t care about human quibbles over territory.
They devoured women and children, the young and the old, with equal fervor.
And yet, humanity continued to fight, regardless of the fate awaiting them just below the surface.
Farther into the room, Greg’s light fell upon a pool of water. It appeared to be a hole dug into the floor that collected water dripping from the ceiling. He couldn’t tell how deep it was, but guessed it to be at least ten feet wide.
Greg skirted around it, careful not to step into mud that might suck his shoe in.
Beyond the pool, stacked against the wall on the left, were hundreds of pieces of fabric. He had to walk past them to continue deeper into the room. Careful not to make a sound, he approached the pile, but kept his attention on the open space ahead.
As he edged past the material, his light reflected off a tan piece near the top.
It was a flap of dried skin.
Human skin.
Gagging, he stumbled back a step. At least half the pile was flesh. Some animal hides were mixed in, though not many.
Closing his eyes and focusing on not vomiting, Greg tried to calm down. He’d stumbled into some kind of storage room for the Vladdies. A storage room that held human remains.
He told himself he’d seen worse things throughout the years, had lived through tougher times. That did little to mollify his hysteria. He couldn’t think of much worse than being trapped underground with the exterminators of the human race, evidence of their genocide lining the walls.
Greg gave the pile of flesh a wide berth as he went deeper into the room. His legs felt like overcooked pasta. Before long, he found another tunnel on the far side of the room. The walls closed in, the ceiling sloping down.
The stink of the Vladdies was stronger at the mouth of the cave.
Their nest had to be ahead.
What would he do if he found it?
What would happen if he awakened the horde?
“I’d be screwed,” Greg whispered.
At the end of the tunnel, the passage forked in either direction. Greg aimed his flashlight left, saw nothing but walls of dirt and rock. The space constricted a few feet away, leaving little more than a tight area to crawl through. With his mangled shoulder, he didn’t think he could manage it.
He angled the beam right, saw the floor slanting down at a steep angle. Going deeper underground was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn’t have any other option. Careful not to lose his footing and slide down the slope, Greg continued his descent.
The tunnel opened into another room.
This one hummed with energy. A low rumble vibrated the ground under his feet. Heavy snorts and fast-paced breathing seemed to come from every direction. The sound swelled as Greg stood there, trying to remain calm.
He’d found the nest.
God help him, he’d walked right into a bed of sleeping vampires.
Judging from the vibration in his feet, a massive number of Vladdies surrounded him.
Greg turned the flashlight off.
He didn’t want to wake the beasts, but he also feared the knowledge of what waited ahead. If he spotted the slumbering vampires, he wasn’t sure he could take it. His mind might fold in on itself if he gazed upon a horde so close.
Backing up as quietly as he could, Greg followed the nearest wall until he found another tunnel. As he entered the passage, amazed he hadn’t awoken any of the infected, he clicked on his flashlight again. The beam jiggled on the floor, shaken by his palsied hands.
Greg paused a few feet inside the tunnel, listening to the slumbering mass behind him. One fucker had bitten Adam, had soured his mind, poisoned his body. Greg had sworn to avenge his friend, but he’d directed his hate at the humans involved. As he stood in the presence of the eaters of humanity, he realized he had even more work to do.
Now that he knew how to find one of the nests, he would have to return through the tunnel system, secreting in a weapon that could bring the whole thing down. If that meant explosives or automatic guns or a freaking flamethrower, he would make it happen.
Greg continued along the narrow path, running his good arm along a wall to help steady his stride. Twenty or thirty paces along, his feet caught on something on the floor, sending him sprawling to the dirt. The elbow of his wounded arm jostled on the hard surface. Tendrils of blinding misery slithered through his torso.
His bladder felt overfilled, his stomach knotted. The idea of getting up and walking out of the tunnels felt impossible.
He felt himself sliding away, the pain lessening, his fear sloughing off. The desire to curl up in a ball and sleep rooted deep. Greg bit into his knuckles to pull himself back, tasted the filth covering his hand.
The rumbling breathing coming from the down the tunnel wasn’t as loud.
Greg managed to sit up. He cocked his head to the side, listening.
A shriek came from down the passage.
Dozens more followed it.
Within seconds, Greg could hardly think as the din of the damned filled the entire tunnel system. Their ear-piercing cries forced him to cover his ears. His wounded shoulder protested the movement.
He barely felt the pain.
Panic blotted out everything else.
Greg realized he’d dropped his flashlight during his fall. He scrambled around, hands scrabbling for
it in the dark, probing the floor. His fingers brushed it, rolling the cylinder along the packed dirt. After fumbling with it, he managed to find the switch.
The beam fell upon his feet.
And the object that he had tripped over.
A headless, limbless female torso lay in the middle of the tunnel floor.
The stomach was torn open, entrails snaking along the ground.
Its stump of a neck was jammed against the wall.
Ragged furrows were dug into the breasts and ribs.
Greg screamed, though he couldn’t hear it over the wails of the infected. He spun around on rubber legs. Sprinted away from the nest. The light bobbed in his hand, barely illuminating the path ahead.
The floor vibrated under his feet as the shrieks drew closer.
He envisioned an awakening horde behind him, clawing up the dirt walls of the nest, pursing the interloper dumb enough to enter their home.
Blood loss hampered his endurance, but adrenaline kept him going as he ran down the narrowing tunnel. The walls squeezed in, the ceiling angling lower the farther he went. He hunkered down and kept going, his pace slowing as he squeezed though the tightening space.
A Vladdie shrieked behind him, much closer than the others.
It sounded like it had entered his tunnel.
Greg glanced over his shoulder, using the flashlight to search behind him, but he didn’t see anything. Moving around in the small tunnel proved difficult. It took him several precious seconds to get oriented in the right direction again.
He pressed forward, fear urging his fatiguing body on.
His vision began to darken around the edges, knees started wobbling.
The cave brightened ahead.
Greg blinked several times, thinking his failing eyes were playing tricks on him. But the area in front of him grew brighter as he continued. Thirty paces farther, the tunnel opened a bit, allowing him to stand.
The flashlight hung by his side, the beam pointing straight at the ground. He could barely keep his feet moving, didn’t have the strength to hold the plastic tube up any longer. His fingers threatened to release it, but he willed himself to hold on, knowing it was his only defense against the Vladdies.
If an army of the beasts flooded down the tunnel, he wouldn’t stand a chance, but he might be able to slow one down if he could shine the light at them.
He almost vomited from exertion as he stumbled up a slope in the tunnel. Crashed into a wall. Spittle flew from his mouth as he labored to breathe.
Greg raised his head, spotted an exit to the tunnel above him.
Light spilled into the hole just over his head. He could see a tin ceiling above him, a Guinness sign with a pelican on it hanging from a wall a few feet away.
Another shriek filled the small space.
Closer this time.
Much closer.
Reaching up with his good hand, Greg was able to take hold of a linoleum floor above him. He attempted to pull himself up with one arm, but barely moved. Using the toes of his shoes, he kicked away at the sloped dirt until he created a tiny foothold.
A handful of ear-piercing shrieks echoed through the tunnel.
Greg’s entire body clenched at the proximity of the sound.
They would be on him in seconds.
Jumping, Greg managed to get an arm over the lip of the hole and pull himself up. He got high enough to bend over at the waist, his chest resting on a filthy floor. A shriek from just a few yards away had him scrambling to get his legs out of the hole.
He cleared the tunnel’s exit, rolled to his back, panting and gibbering.
Dirt and concrete and bits of glass covered the floor of the room he’d crawled into. A bar stretched ahead of him, dark wood and dirty brass railings damaged from the torrent of Vladdies that had trampled across it over the years.
He’d exited hell and entered an Irish pub.
Normally, the thought would have thrilled him, but the sound of his pursuers growing near had him hustling to his feet. He stumbled over destroyed barstools and broken beer steins. Light emanated from a doorway ahead.
A rustling commotion behind him made Greg turn around as he reached the door.
A clawed hand reached up from the hole in the floor.
The thick, gnarly nails dug into the linoleum, slicing through it with ease. A corded forearm appeared, muscles flaring as a Vladdie pulled itself chest high out of the floor. Its powerful neck tensed, veins bulging under pale flesh.
Eyeless sockets were aimed right at Greg, their black depths knowing, haunting.
Spittle dribbled from its fangs as it hissed at him, its maw stretching wide.
“No meal for you, asshole.” Greg flipped the Vladdie off as he stood in the doorway. Every cell in his body urged him to flee, yet he remained rooted with one foot outside, another in. He watched as the beast’s fury grew, radiating through the pub like heat.
The beast exploded from the hole with ease, landing on all fours by the bar.
It cocked its head, hissed, “Sssoonnnn. Eattt youu sssooonnnn. Eattt your fffriendsss. Eatt your sssoulll.”
Greg almost shit his pants as he gaped at the vampire.
Then he ran into the street, refused to look back.
21
Cass stood on the MMA cage, inspecting the hole in the middle. Destroyed boards and canvas and other construction materials were scattered around the entrance to a Vladdie nest. She could see a few feet inside the tunnel, but the dirt angled away and the passage disappeared under the arena.
“The blood leads right into the hole,” Lance said from under the floor.
When Emmett had led them to the place he’d hidden Greg, they’d found nothing but a streak of blood trailing deeper under the cage. Lance had crawled in to look around while Cass had climbed up top to inspect the entrance of the nest.
They both had flashlights they’d pilfered from the dead Bandits.
Before searching for Greg, they’d walked down the hall Lance had decided to have a knife fight in. They’d found the man Lance had stabbed to death. Cass’ stomach had flipped at the sight of the battleground. Blood was everywhere. They’d made a mess of the entire hall during the fight, leaving wet, red footprints and handprints across the floor and walls.
It looked like a scene out of a horror film.
Cass figured that was pretty much what their lives were now.
A horror film.
Lance’s wound continued leaking as he bent, swiped the Bandit’s gun and flashlight. She’d seen the way his eyes kept glancing at the man’s face, the twisting of his features as he took the belongings.
Guilt was tearing him up.
“Oh God.” Emmett stood beside Cass in the cage, rubbing his hands over his mostly bald head. “I left him right beside a nest, and one of those damned things took him!”
“Hold on, Doc. We don’t know that yet.” Lance’s head appeared in the hole, and he peered up at Emmett. “Greg might have crawled in here by himself. You said those guys were right behind you when you dropped him off, right? Maybe he woke up and heard them coming.”
“Who in their right mind would think that crawling into a nest would be safe?” Emmett asked.
“You’ve met Greg before, right?” Cass said. “He’s not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
“No way. There’s just no way he would do that willingly.”
Lance turned his attention back to the floor. He shined his light around, said, “There’s some blood here, but not a ton. If a Vladdie got a hold of him, there’d be a lot more. And I don’t see any foot or handprints in the blood either. Nothing stepped in it or was dragged across it.”
“I think he went down there to hide.” Cass shined her light down the hole. “Look at how far down that is. If he slid down there to hide, he wouldn’t have been able to climb back out. It’s too high, even if he could use both arms.”
Emmett pursed his lips, but he didn’t say anything.
His eyes were water
y.
Cass didn’t think the situation looked all that hot for Greg either way. If something had taken him, then he was dead and they’d lost another friend. She tried to push that thought aside and focus on the alternative, not wanting to face the possibility of losing Adam and Greg in just a few days.
If Greg had crawled in there willingly, and he was stuck in the tunnels of a Vladdie nest, then he might still be alive. For a short time, at least. He’d be in a world of trouble, but maybe not dead. How he would get out without waking every vampire in the city was another issue.
And it was Greg they were talking about.
He wasn’t the wisest, or quietest, member of their group.
The guy never stopped talking.
Even if he managed to work his way through the tunnel system, she had no idea how they would find him later. Exiting a nest on the other side of a foreign, confusing city wouldn’t be ideal either.
Emmett kept mentioning how much blood he’d lost. He was concerned Greg would lose consciousness again.
If he did that in the nest, then he was as good as dead.
Cass cursed as she stared down into the hole.
She couldn’t think of a single thing they could do to help him.
“Now what?” Lance asked. “We can’t go down there after him. That would be suicide.”
No one responded.
Lance climbed out from the under the cage, then joined them atop the canvas. His knife wound had finally stopped bleeding. The sticky stains on his shirt and pants made it look as if he’d spent a few shifts in a slaughterhouse. He took Cass’ hand in his as he followed her gaze down to the entrance of the nest. “If he finds another way out, he’ll make his way back to The Light. That’s all we can hope for right now.”
“I never should have left him alone here,” Emmett whispered. “I killed him.”
“No, you didn’t.” Cass turned to him. “If you hadn’t hidden him under here, the Bandits would have killed him. One hundred percent. You did the right thing. At least he has a chance now.”
Emmett shook his head as he continued watching the hole.
“Let’s get out of here.” Lifting the bag of explosives from the floor, Lance looped the straps over his shoulder. “We need to figure out what to do next. Greg is on his own now.”