by M. Lorrox
In the seven-hundred-and-thirty-five-foot-long utility tunnel that was built over one hundred years ago, the going is slow.
The ceiling is low, and almost all the adults must hunch over or duck their heads. While the tunnel is four feet wide, large air-ducting pipes on one side are held into place by rusted steel bars that extend to the ground; reducing the walkable area of the tunnel by eighteen inches.
On the other side, smaller pipes are strapped tight to the concrete wall, but at the floor, a large, square insulated duct juts out sixteen inches from the wall. Directly above, another ducting pipe hangs from the ceiling. Only fourteen inches of the ground remains open to step through, and most the adults must walk with their shoulders at an angle due to obstructions higher up.
Occasionally, a pipe cuts from one side to the other, requiring any passerby—other than Minnie or some of the other shortest children—to duck underneath.
Katlyn made torches from long metal spoons she found in the kitchen. She wrapped the head of the spoons and the base of the handles in cloth, and she dipped the heads into the leftover diesel. The chaperones wielding them must hold the torches at hunched-over-head-level. Fumes and black smoke from the burning diesel fill the tunnel, burning everyone’s eyes and causing many to cough.
Also, just to add insult to the injury of their eyes, sore throats, and hunched over postures, the tunnel angles up at a steep grade when passing from the National Museum of Natural History to the Smithsonian Institution Building.
One pleasant surprise is that the tunnel has sporadic work lamps wired into the wall with the smaller pipes. Each one is off as the group reaches them—they are normally only switched on when John or a member of his maintenance team is fixing something in that area—but as the group passes by, each light gets clicked on.
Every minute or so, Jambavan turns around, rubs his eyes to gain a few seconds of clarity, then stares back along the row of lights diminishing in the distance. He can hear less and less ruckus coming from the museum behind them, and the lamps reveal nothing chasing them. Hopefully the zombies won’t come after us. He turns around again and moves forward. There’d be no outrunning them in here...
When the group finally reaches a door that blocks their path, they pray that it’s the end of the tunnel, and that beyond it is the security of the castle. Korina lays her hand on the door and rests. She breathes hard. C’mon girl, stay with it. She stands up as straight as she can and reaches for the handle. It turns. She pushes, then tugs, but the steel door doesn’t budge; it has a strong deadbolt securing it shut. “Lance, bust this open for us?”
In the thin tunnel, the two large and muscled vampires have to get very personal with each other to switch positions. When Lance is in front, he taps the crowbar against the frame. -clink- He frowns. Steel frame. “Take a step back. I’ll pry it open.”
When Korina is safely back a few feet, he slams the crowbar into the door’s frame near the deadbolt.
-WHAM!- The sound echoes in the concrete tunnel.
At the back of the line, Jambavan thinks he heard something behind him, although he hopes he didn’t. He turns as nonchalantly as he can muster, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. He peers into the smoky tunnel, but between the work lamps, it’s dark.
Then a zombie enters the pool of a light, far away. It bangs into some ducting, making the noise again, but the sounds of Lance slamming the crowbar into the doorframe seem to camouflage the soft, distant sound from the rest of the group. Jambavan pokes Katlyn and holds a finger to his mouth. He motions down the tunnel and mouths the words ZOMBIES. I’LL ENGAGE.
Then he reaches for the torch she holds.
She gives it to him, and she pulls a Molotov cocktail from her bag. She hands it to him along with a lighter and mouths the words JUST IN CASE.
Jambavan backtracks, heading down the grade of the tunnel. After twenty yards, he stops. Should be far enough. He sets the Molotov cocktail and the lighter on the ground behind the safety of a rusted steel fixture that holds up ducting. Then, he holds the burning torch behind him, hiding it from the zombie’s view, and he waits.
For the first time, maybe ever, Charlie is relieved that Sadie drives a jacked-up Jeep. Traffic is bad on a good day in the Washington DC area, and when you throw a zombie outbreak into the mix, it’s impossible.
But having thirty-eight-inch knobby tires on a jacked-up, high-clearance chassis certainly opens some options—it allows the one driving to be creative. Sadie veers off the shoulder and into a ditch that separates the divided highway from homes and other buildings. Once again, Sadie’s driving confuses the GPS.
“Make a U-turn… Turn left, then turn right… Make a U-turn…”
Charlie looks at his wife. She’s focused and scanning the area ahead of her, looking for opportunities to exploit and dangers to avoid. Although she’s not necessarily pleased at the situation they’re in, a grin still has a habit of creeping onto her lips—especially when the cab bounces on the Jeep’s shocks.
The Jeep straddles a ditch, and she slows as she approaches a driveway that crosses in front. “Do you think Jules will find out who took the trunk?”
“I dunno, she’s good, but with all the commotion—I’m not sure I’d get my hopes up.”
“Charlie, you know I have to recover that trunk… Or at the very least, the armlets.”
He nods. “I know. It may take some time, and some…connections.”
She tilts her head. “Good thing we’ve got plenty of both.”
Charlie shakes his head. Some doors need to stay closed... The Jeep bounds up and over another driveway, and Charlie braces himself against the dash. “Alright, what’s the plan? I figure when we get to the hospital, I’ll have to make sure everything is secure and the elders are guarded. I assume we’ll get more guards and elders showing up because Jules has been telling people that’s where the High Council is.”
Sadie nods. “I’m sure I’ll be pulled into meetings. Hopefully Mary and Hamid have recovered—did I tell you? She lost an arm.”
Charlie grimaces and sucks air through his teeth. “That’s going to be rough on her. Personally, I’ve always hoped to lose a leg before losing an arm. Both would suck, but... Just saying.”
She nods. “We’re almost there. Oh, one more thing. What should we do about June?”
Charlie closes his eyes. “Well, we’ll have to make Eddy say goodbye. But then, should we have her... Are morgues in hospitals or police stations?”
She scolds him with her eyes. “Are you serious?”
He nods.
“They’re in hospitals. Almost always in the basement.”
“Okay, but don’t be so grumpy—I’m sorry I’m not familiar with morgues and their locations. Anyway, should we leave her in a bed or bring her to the morgue? I mean, poor Skip doesn’t know yet, and I’m not sure what would be better for everyone.”
“Sorry... Let’s keep her in the room. Morgues are so depressing.” Sadie sighs, then her lip twitches. “Listen Charlie, we’re going to find that son of a bitch, and we’re going to make him pay.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
She bites her lip. “What will you do to him?”
Charlie subdues the flashbacks that surge in his mind—from times past when he embraced his knight’s name, to when the world was darker, to when he was given his charge. “I’m not sure, but it’ll be messy.”
“I hope so.”
When they get to the hospital, Sadie pulls into the short-term parking by the ER but can’t find a space. “Damn it, this lot’s filled.”
Charlie closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Are you fucking serious?”
She shrugs. “What?”
“You could park on the damned roof if you wanted to.”
She smiles. “Oh yeah.” She finds ample space in the grass that separates the lot from the road. She chooses a location that’s on an incline, and she backs in so that if she needs to, she can tear out, straight onto the road.
As they walk into the ER, Sadie motions to a motorcycle parked on a sidewalk. “Have you met Flying Eagle? He’s one of your junior guards.”
Charlie shakes his head as he specs out the ‘66 Harley Shovelhead Classic. “Not in person, but I can tell; I like him.”
Inside, they cross through a busy lounge with nurses triaging patients in some of the walkways. They check in with the young girl at the desk and are told that their son has a room in the quarantined wing. The receptionist calls for someone to escort them.
Nurse Jacqueline arrives. “Mr. and Mrs. Costanza? Right this way.”
In the room, they find Eddy and Enrique working at a table. Eddy jumps up and runs over to them. He hugs his dad.
Charlie looks down at him for a moment before turning his head to Sadie and squinting at her. Since when does Eddy hug?
Eddy lets go, then he moves over to hug his mom.
Charlie raises an eyebrow and smiles, then he looks more closely at Eddy, then at Enrique. “Where’d you get those clothes?”
Enrique clears his throat. “The nurse gave them to us.”
Charlie tilts his head. “I didn’t know they kept spare clothes in hospitals.” I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about hospitals. I wonder if humans know more about them, because they visit them more…
Eddy releases his mom, and he steps back. “I’m glad you’re here, because there’s a problem. Mary and Zaman are missing.”
Sadie furrows her brow. “They… They should have been the first to arrive.”
Enrique steps forward. “High Councilor Villablino, across the hall, said that they were supposed to be brought to this hospital, but they never arrived. He asked us to make a roster of the elders onsite.” He hands her the paper. “High Councilor Wollstone and Prime Minister Zaman have disappeared.”
Sadie takes the paper. On it are names and room numbers. She looks at Enrique and Eddy, then she turns to Charlie. “Take the squires, find Flying Eagle, and secure the premises. This room will be our HQ. I’ve got to get to work.”
Charlie nods. “Yes ma’am.” He motions for the boys to follow him, and they leave while Sadie studies the list of elders present. James is a friend. 1406. She rushes out the door.
Jules rushes from one thing to the next while she helps vampires check out of the hotel, find travel arrangements as needed, and relay information about where the injured elders were taken.
When a luxury SUV pulls up under the awning of the hotel’s front entrance and puts its flashers on, Jules only notices because she pauses for a sip of her tea.
Rod the bellman walks over to the driver’s side of the SUV and talks to the man behind the wheel, then the SUV drives off. Rod has a big smile on his face and his hand in his pocket. He removes his hand carefully, holding whatever is inside in place with his opposite hand by pressing against the object through the fabric of his pants. Jules takes another sip of tea. Very interesting.
She sets down her teacup and taps the side of her earpiece, then she walks to intercept Rod. “Oh, you’re coming back around? Sure, I’ll tell him.” She flags Rod with her hand and walks to him. “I just got a call. Someone said that they just left in an SUV, but they think they dropped something. They’re going to turn around, and they’ll be back in a minute.”
Rod looks surprised. “Oh, I’ll go check the ground.”
“I’ll come too. It sounded important.”
“Uhh, it’s okay, I know you’re busy.”
She smiles. “It’s fine, I could use the fresh air. Who was it anyway? They sounded frantic.”
They’re outside now, and Rod attacks the ground with his eyes to find whatever was dropped. “Oh, I don’t know…uh…they asked for directions.”
“Oh, that’s funny, they said they recently checked out.”
“Yeah, and they needed directions.”
“What did they look like? I bet I’ve met them; I’ve been working so many hours this week. I’m sure I can remember their name—”
Rod stands up and snarls. “Look, stay out of it, alright? I mean, don’t worry about it. Go back inside.”
Jules steps toward him. “You’re lying. You’ve been acting odd all day, and I bet you just got paid off.”
Rod scowls and clears his throat, glancing off to one side.
“Now you’re going to tell me what you got paid for. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Costanzas’ suite being ransacked, would it?”
Rod swallows, and his pulse quickens.
Jules nods. “I can see that it was. Now you’re going to tell me who paid you.”
With his hand, he verifies he has his keys in his pocket. I can just bounce. Fuck this place. He snickers.
“You are going to tell me, Rod.”
“Oh yeah? That’s what I’m gonna do? Well what if I don’t, little-lady, what are you gonna do about it? Huh? Just take your pretty-little ass inside, and mind your own damn business.”
Jules swallows. Well then.
Five minutes later, Jules walks out of the hotel’s back office break room and rolls down her sleeves. She takes the two wads of cash that Rod received from Lorenzo Bernardi out of her pocket. Rod said he received one earlier, and the other he received only a few minutes ago. She combines them and counts the money. Twelve hundred dollars? Oh Rod, Bernardi is loaded, and he’s a pushover. You could have squeezed him for sooo much more... You pathetic little misogynist weasel. She puts the cash back into her pocket then collects her things from her desk. It’s been fun, but it’s time to make trails.
She takes the elevator down to the parking garage.
In the back office break room, Rod groans, bleeding from split lips and holding his bruised stomach. He’s curled in a ball, on the ground, soaking in a pool of his own piss.
Some of the LAZoR units have moments of pause between firing their rounds, but others do not. The units on the north side of the quarantined zone—on M Street North—have little rest. Either most uninfected decide to run north, toward other parts of the city instead of running south and toward the Anacostia River, or zombies just prefer to chase prey uphill.
Felipe Santos, an old-school 35mm photographer and community college professor, was leisurely making his way to a special exhibit at the Hirshhorn Museum today: Faces of the Enemy—Photojournalism from The Line. He had a coffee at his favorite café in Penn Quarter, then he walked to the National Mall, but he never made it across to the museum.
He still saw the faces of the enemy, but as an eyewitness.
He hides with others in the second story of a building, watching the chaos out of an open window. -Crash!- The large storefront window downstairs breaks, and Felipe knows his rest is over. He turns to the man beside him. “Can you climb?”
The man rolls up his sleeves and shakes his head. “I’ll stay and fight. Good luck out there.”
Felipe nods on an inhale, then jumps out the window to a light-post. He loops his arms around it and spins, and he times his movement just right so that when he’s close to the ground, he’s in line with his destination—the DC Wicked Wrenches garage. He kicks off the pole and runs due north up 9th Street NW.
In his path—zombies, and he dodges them as he runs up behind them, or he spins and jumps away from those that see him. On his path—blocks ahead of him, is the National Convention Center. This huge building physically spans across not only M Street NW, but also over L Street NW, which is one block inside the quarantine. The building is built over these two east-west running streets, meaning that while the roads continue at ground level, the portions of the building on the sides of the streets connect overhead.
LAZoR units are positioned on both sides of the building on M Street NW, at the intersections of 9th Street NW and 7th Street NW.
Felipe is heading straight toward a LAZoR unit. As he crosses by K Street NW, he jumps over debris: a white handbag, a blue backpack, and a piece of someone’s bloodied leg. Then, he hears the warning message being blared ahead, and he sees the pile of
bodies at the edge of the kill zone. Filho da puta!
He checks his sides for another option, then he spins in a circle while still running in the same direction, briefly facing backward as he notes the positions of his tormentors and his other surroundings.
To his right is Carnegie Library. Outside there are some trees, but they look like they’re already overflowing with people. Zombies try to climb and are kicked back down.
On his left is a street, a row of tall buildings with flat sides, and a wide avenue with people streaming across it in different directions. Wonder if those are zombies… He keeps running north. Now, ahead on his right side is the first and most south portion of the convention center. It has several awnings that jut out from the front of the building, and it has an interesting design of flat areas, recesses, and platforms. Perfeito!
He angles and runs toward the front of the building, then he laughs to himself as he recalls a fake campaign commercial from a couple American presidential elections back, where a filmmaker promoted parkour to help avoid zombies. Americans. They’re so crazy!
He runs straight at the building, plants his left foot on a pillar, and launches himself up. He gets his fingertips on the edge of a stone awning, and as a zombie grabs for him, he pulls himself up by that hand alone. On the awning, Felipe stands, scans the building for a climbable path, and then runs for it.
I just need to get to the garage. The others will come—they’ll be there… This is what we’ve been preparing for!
Jambavan waits in silence for the first zombie to reach him. So far, he thinks he’s counted five that are coming toward him, but his view is blocked by the first zombie, and he isn’t certain.