The Drumhead

by Richard Correll

  “Why is that?” Pinder piped in curiously.

  “Usually there is a guy called an editor who cuts that stuff out before its posted online.” Nick’s tone was perhaps slightly condescending. Pinder put it down to a professional explaining to amateurs. “Looks like they missed it.”

  “Then why didn’t they cut it out?” Pinder looked up from the screen.

  “When it’s the end of the world.” Bestoni voice was an octave lower, more thoughtful. “I guess some people decide not to show up for work.”

  The end of the world. Brett felt the phrase hang in the air. He had used it himself but it sounded more ominous now that someone had spoken it. What did Molly call it? Confirmation. He was suddenly five years old and watching The Ten Commandments. When he was eleven he was walking by a TV set and his nerdy cousins from Regina were watching some movie. The actors were in a space ship watching the Earth burning in space like a marshmallow plucked from a campfire. The end of the world.

  “You’re dead shall live, their bodies shall rise……….you who dwell in the dust awake.” He was in church, a boy of eight listening to a man in robes who barely looked up from his notes. His spectacled old eyes reading and re-reading verses while well dressed parishioners knelt and stood like trained cattle.

  “REPENT!” A voice from a few hours ago screamed in his ear.

  “The end of the world.” He mused solemnly.

  “And many of those who sleep in the dust of the Earth shall awake, to everlasting life.” Pinder seemed to pick up his sentence and carry it forward. “The book of Daniel, I think.”

  “Are you religious sir?” Brett asked. He was eager to put his thoughts behind him.

  “I used to be.” Pinder gave an answer with that look Symons was getting used to. Like a man who held a book of secrets and only let you read a few chapters before snatching it away. “The church and I had a bit of a falling out.”

  “Fucking bullshit.” Esterhaus muttered shakily as he walked by. There was a look on his face of shocked denial. He appeared like a man who had heard a lie and was going to do all that he could to keep it a lie. Fuck argument, fact or logic.

  “Really?” Brett was eager for a brief distraction. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Esterhaus shook his head. “But it is not that fucking bullshit.”

  “We’ve all been pretty close to them.” Pinder offered. “What do they smell like?”

  Death. The word almost physically hung in the air for Brett. Esterhaus slowly shook his head. He wasn’t ready to throw in his hand.

  “Begging your pardon, sir.” Esterhaus argued. “But if its’ just smell we’re talking about…..”

  “I’m not just talking about smell.” Pinder held up his hand. “What do they look like?”

  “They look messed up.” Symons offered.

  “They look really messed up.” Pinder spoke it like a statement. Like they’ve been dead. Pinder didn’t have to complete the thought.

  “But dead people, sir?” Esterhaus just shook his head. Unconvinced.

  “I hope not, Sergeant.” Pinder spoke calmly. “But I am not going to rule anything out for the time being.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir.” Symons spoke after a thoughtful pause. “We should get moving.”

  “Very true, Sergeant Symons.” Pinder nodded. Brett thought he seemed upset at allowing himself to be side tracked. He moved on quickly. “Suggestions?”

  “We’ll need a few in the front,” Esterhaus spoke up. Clearly, he had closed the book on theories and revelations. “Most of our heavy weapons should be in the back, sir.”

  “Good idea.” Pinder nodded and started walking toward the tunnel. “What about the machine gunner and that …….little boy?” Pinder carefully avoided any mention of the child’s issue.

  We can get someone else to look after the boy while Private Moshood is in the rear.” Symons offered. He then paused for a moment and added. “Maybe the boy should stay close to Moshood. “

  “Agreed.” Pinder nodded. He had seen them together. “But, why not get someone else to run the machine gun.”

  “Moshood and his assistant Youngtree have been a team for awhile.” Esterhaus replied calmly. “If things get hot we need them together.”

  “Absolutely.” Pinder had that look. Why didn’t I think of that?

  “I’ll grab some guys and we’ll pull up the rear.” Esterhaus offered. “Sergeant Symons and yourself can take the lead.”

  “Perfect.” Pinder seemed very at ease as he started to walk away. He turned briefly toward Symons. “Are you coming?”

  “Just going to get everyone sorted out, if I could join you in a minute?” Symons suddenly had an afterthought. “We might want Mr. Bestoni up front with us. He’s been here before.”

  “Sounds good.” Pinder turned away and headed toward Bestoni who was easy to spot among the other shapes and sizes in their charge.

  “I owe you.” Brett muttered.

  “The LT said keep an eye on him, that’s what we do.” Esterhaus replied in the same low tone. “We’re cool.”

  “I’m gonna keep my battery on my phone charged. You too, okay?” Brett leaned close and whispered while Esterhaus nodded. “If Maggie calls, we need to be able to answer.”

  “No problem.” Esterhaus finally looked up at Brett. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Brett nodded and then spoke again, more an affirmation to himself than anyone listening. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “I saw her, Carl.” Brett felt determined to make Esterhaus understand. “She’s still alive.”

  “Are you sure you saw her?” Esterhaus remembered all the moments Maggie had been there. They seemed to appear out of nowhere like a blizzard on a winter night.

  “I’m sure.” Brett seemed lost in thought before he looked up and made eye contact. “She’s alive, Carl. I won’t hear anyone say otherwise.”

  “Yeah,” Esterhaus nodded with a hopeful crease at the corners of his mouth. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Three miles of darkness. The tunnel was a march into sheer nothingness. It struck Brett as bizarre how flashlights can increase your fear. In the blackest of places they cast shadows upon the darkness that seem to rise up in front of you or wait until your guard is completely down. The bright light on sable black blinds you for a helpless second. Your vision returns with colored dots dancing about. Maybe among the dots are predator eyes like the ones you catch a glimpse of on lonely country roads. What was that? By the time you pass by you can’t see a thing. They still wait, undiscovered in the darkness. Your imagination tries to look beyond the limit of your flashlight into the inky tapestry. What you can’t see, the imagination fills in the blanks. Here and there, cracks and crevices in your field of vision are colored in by things that make your skin crawl. They are just out of sight, but you feel yourself just within their reach.

  The air was damp and fetid. More than one person coughed abruptly making Brett almost jump out of his skin. A feeling began creeping into his pores like fat, invading worms. This was a coffin, a death trap. He paused himself and hit rewind. You’ve never felt this way before. True, but I’ve never been here. Was it because he saw Hildgen so terrified? Was it the low ceiling with half oval construction like an old train tunnel? Just above the brick ceiling, tons of earth, water and city was pushing down on these unrepaired and ancient walls. How long were they supposed to hold? The pressure would be unrelenting on each and every brick. A force was just above his head that could break at any moment and bury him forever. No rescue, no salvation. Just you drowning among almost a hundred other arms and limbs thrashing around in dirt, dust and darkness. He felt his helmet almost scrape the ceiling.

  “Just a little further,” someone whispered to a sobbing voice. “Just a little further.”

  Were they down here as well? His eyes strained into the darkness and came up with nightmares. There could be thousands of them
crouching just beyond the pools of illumination from the flashlights. Yes, we knew you were coming this way. What he thought he saw disappeared as his flashlight continued on through the endless night ahead.

  “Jesus Christ,” Pinder marveled in a whisper. “How the hell could Al Capone afford to build all this?”

  “He didn’t pay his taxes.” Bestoni replied.

  She’s still out there. Brett kept his eyes forward, trying to peel back the layers of darkness. Focus on hope. Focus on the moment you see daylight again. Focus on………..

  He was lying on top of Maggie as they were entwined in sheets, blankets and each other. The scent of perspiration and passion made the moment softer to the feel and touch. Her intense green eyes had a sleepy, dreamy quality in the afterglow.

  “Mr. Brett Symons.” She reached up and curled her arms behind his neck. “You are one hell of a man.”

  “Just tryin’ to live up to your expectations.” He whispered as he bent down to kiss her.

  “Oh, you just did.” She replied as her lips found his mouth.

  He heard a voice and was back in the tunnel. Pinder was walking beside him. His eyes were hidden by flashlight glare but his mouth was a pure question mark.

  “Sorry sir, I didn’t hear you.” He apologized.

  “I had a few questions, actually.” Pinder thoughtfully put his hands in his pockets. “How much farther?”

  “Maybe about a mile,” Bestoni offered when Brett paused again to guess. “We’ll know when we get close when we get Wi-Fi again.”

  “You think there is still Wi-Fi?” Brett had to ask in the darkness.

  “Why not?” Bestoni shrugged and looked up at Brett. “Whatever these things are, they aren’t ripping down wires or acting like a hurricane. “

  Pinder in silhouette, nodded in affirmation.

  “The only time we’re gonna lose Wi-Fi is if maybe the power goes out.” Bestoni left hand twirled in the air as part of the conversation. “We haven’t got Wi-Fi now because we’re so far underground. But, we should pick up the train station signature once we get closer.”

  “It’s the end of the world, but we still have facebook.” Pinder mused.

  “Sir,” Brett spoke up, trying to remember the way Maggie addressed him “Perhaps Mr. Bestoni could keep an eye out and let us know when we have Wi-Fi again.” He nodded to Bestoni. “It would be a clue we’re getting closer.”

  “No problem.” Bestoni nodded. He excused himself to check in with his daughter.

  “Any idea what we’re going to find down there?” Pinder took a long look into the abyss before them.

  “We might find a door like the one at Macy’s.” Brett offered.

  “What if it’s locked?” Pinder turned back to Brett with a look of growing concern. “What do we do then, use the grenade launcher?”

  “An anti personal round would just chip the paint off.” Brett surmised as he shifted his weight. “either way, we’d probably choke on the smoke from the blast.”

  “Really?”

  “There isn’t a lot of air in this tunnel, sir.” Brett shook his head slowly in the shadows. “I don’t think the grenade launcher is an option down here.”

  “Then what?” Pinder crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.

  “We use the grenade launcher as a final option.” Brett was trying to strategize and guess what was in the shadows. “The blowback in these close quarters would be crazy.”

  “Do we have any other options?” Pinder was clearly trying to explore all angles in a situation that seemed to have very few alternatives.

  “We have axes from Macy’s fire stations and tools from maintenance.” Brett offered. “We have a lot of strong guys who could pound through that door.”

  “With axes?” His eyebrow arched in disbelief.

  “Turn an axe around it’s a helluva sledge hammer.” Brett observed from experience.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Pinder seemed satisfied but had to add. “Why the hell did we come down here anyway?”

  “Probably because we were out of options and out of time.” Brett made eye contact with the Captain. “We’ve done okay, sir.”

  “Yeah, I guess we have.” Pinder sighed and paused before continuing. “How’s our ammunition?”

  “Low.” Brett summed it up in a single word. “We have enough for about one more fire fight, sir.”

  “Okay, then.” Pinder looked down with a nod of his head and then abruptly changed the subject. “Are you sure you saw her?”

  “Sir?”

  “Are you sure you saw Maggie when you were out there?” It seemed Pinder needed to hear it.

  “Sir, I am absolutely sure I saw her.” Brett made and held eye contact with Pinder.

  “Good,” Pinder nodded and his eyes didn’t blink. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Boom! It was less of a noise and more like a rolling echo through the tunnel. It could have been a mile away or just behind them with the acoustics. A startled cry created a low rumble of voices among them. Heads turned in the less that perfect light. They looked like startled animals caught in the headlight glare of oncoming traffic.

  “Quiet!” Brett pleaded.

  The silence was softly punctuated by frightened sobs as a moment stretched out in anticipation. Was anyone breathing anymore? Had the air just been sucked out of our lungs? Brett tried hard to listen through the folds of darkness. By now, he and Pinder were looking behind them.

  Gunshot. Two more.

  The voices rose again. Quiet, subdued sounds of animal fear. Sobs, whispers and prayers. Please, please, please, god, don’t let this happen. The tunnel behind them offered not a single candle of illumination in comfort.

  A metallic creak, it seemed to play out for a long foreboding moment before it ended with the sound of metal colliding on concrete.

  The door at Macy’s…..Brett swallowed. It just opened.

  Then a pause. An animal scream. It was loud and long and echoing off the walls. The last cry of a trapped creature. It was human this time. Jesus, Hildgen……..

  “Symons to Esterhaus,” Brett was on his radio.

  “Yes sir, I heard it.” Esterhaus could be heard amid a growing sound of whispered, fearful voices. “I definitely heard that door open.”

  “I don’t think we can out run them, Carl.” Brett felt cold beyond the dampness of the tunnel.

  “No sir, I don’t think we can.” Esterhaus replied with an almost detached whisper. “We could try and hold them while you keep moving.”

  “We can do better than that.” Brett offered. He had no idea what to do.

  “It looks like we’re going to have that firefight, Sergeant Symons.” Pinder observed while checking his ammo.

  Brett thought about the grenade launcher. It would slow them down. A feeling of helpless frustration passed over him. He wanted to punch a wall, scream how this was not fair. A fucking grenade launcher and all it will do is slow them down? He took a step forward to try and make his way back to Esterhaus and his helmet scraped against the ceiling of the tunnel.

  Fuck!

  “Sir,” Bradley had dropped the sack of odds and ends he was carrying. His eyes were dark with flint flashes of panic. “Sir, what do we do?”

  Brett looked at him for a long moment of epiphany. He turned back to Pinder who had one magazine in his rifle with another one in his hand. He had the right idea, give up ammunition to the fire crews who would buy us time. But……..

  “Sir?” Bradley said it louder this time.

  “I heard you the first time, private.” Brett pulled the microphone on his radio closer. “Where’s the grenade launcher?”

  “I have Private Mason back here.” Esterhaus replied.

  “Put him on,” Brett felt his breath return and glimmer of hope light his way. He glanced back at Pinder and their eyes met.. “I’m sorry, sir.” Symons knew he had way overstepped himself.

  “Keep going,” Pinder nodde
d. “You’re doing just fine.”

  “Private Mason, sir.” A young African American voice reported.

  “Mason, can you give me a long, low shot down that tunnel from where we came with an anti personal round?” Brett was still in the middle of thinking this through.