by J. L. Harden
“This prison is basically unguarded,” Thomas replies. “And that’s because there is no need for guards.” He points to the doorway again. “At night, that door opens. It leads into the labyrinth. And we are free to escape. They told us we could have freedom. If we wanted it. If we made it through the labyrinth. But the labyrinth is crawling with infected. And no one has ever made it. At least, we don't think anyone has ever made it. We don’t really know.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one has ever made it back. It is impossible to survive in there.”
“Except for one man,” Harry adds. “Well, he was a kid really. A soldier.”
“A soldier?” I ask. “A kid?”
“I can’t remember his name,” Thomas says. “He was only here for a few days. Less than two weeks. He was crazy. But yeah, he survived. Don’t know how. He would run off into the labyrinth when the door opened. Spend all night in there. Come back just before the door closed. I think he was exploring it. I think he was trying to map it out.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I’ll show you.”
We make our way down to the ground floor. We can’t use the stairs because they have been barricaded with mattresses and bed frames from the unused cells. So we have to use the retractable fire escape ladders between each level.
This takes a long time. But I guess it was a necessary precaution.
We eventually climb down to the ground floor. Plastic tables and chairs are spaced out evenly apart. As suspected, they are bolted into the concrete floor for security. On the ground floor, the huge metallic entrance to the labyrinth towers over us. It is slightly curved because it is built into the wall. It is part of the cylinder, like a door to a vault. To the right of the monolithic doorway, is the entry to the cafeteria and shower facilities, according to a sign on the wall.
Thomas and Harry lead us to the one and only cell that still contains any bedding. It is directly opposite the entrance to the labyrinth.
“This was his cell,” Thomas says.
I notice blood and skin stuck to the bars of the cell. A few loose teeth on the ground. More blood.
The walls of the cell are covered in writing and drawings. And what appears to be a rough sketch of a map.
There is so much writing on the walls. Most of it is tiny and barely legible.
Some of the drawings are larger.
Drawings of monsters and zombies.
Everyone is in danger.
I will come for you.
I will come for you.
“Wait, who lived in this cell?” I ask.
“A Japanese guy,” Thomas answers. “A soldier. Like I said, can’t remember his name. He didn’t really say a whole lot. As you can see by the walls of his cell, and by the fact that he chose to live on the ground floor, he was a crazy son of a bitch. Guy was messed up. We all just kept well clear of him.”
“His name was Kenji,” I whisper. “Is. His name is Kenji.”
“Kenji,” Thomas repeats. “Yeah, that rings a bell,”
How? How did he get here? What the hell happened at the outpost?
Thomas is shaking his head as he looks at the walls of the cell. “But like I said, he was crazy. We didn’t talk to him. We didn’t interact. He was thrown in here one night. Not sure by who. I don’t think it was the General or his men. But then again, who knows? We were all asleep. Or trying to sleep. We were keeping quiet. We couldn’t see who it was. We could only hear the doors opening. The cell door opening. Loudest thing in the world. The infected came that night. A lot of them. He spent the first night on the top level. Moved down here the next day. Spent all day writing on the walls. Scratching on the walls. He wouldn’t talk to any of us. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He barely slept.” Thomas takes a closer look at the walls of Kenji’s cell. “Looks like some of it is written in blood. Did you guys know him?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He was part of our group. He was…”
Our friend.
A protector.
A goddamn warrior.
I turn to Ben. “Did you see him? Did you speak with him?”
“No,” Ben says. “I was knocked out. I was unconscious. I was banged up pretty bad. I was passing in and out. I didn’t see him. Didn’t get a chance to speak with him. Apparently he came and saw me.” Ben shrugs his shoulders. “Apparently he left not long after that.”
“Yeah,” Thomas says. “He left. Ran off into the labyrinth. Haven’t seen him since. So I’m guessing he’s dead.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
Thomas shakes his head, sighs heavily. “He would leave each night. As soon as the door to the labyrinth opened. He refused to lock himself in his cell. I would wait for as long as I could. I would try and convince him to hide. That it was in his best interest. That it was in the best interest of the group. But I couldn’t convince him. Even when I threatened him with violence, I couldn’t convince him.” Thomas is trying to read some more of the writing on the walls. “He would run off each night,” he continues. “But he would always come back. Right before the doorway to the labyrinth closed. I must admit, he had the timing down to perfection. But honestly, I couldn’t believe it the first time he made it back.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because that labyrinth is a death trap. No one comes back. No one ever comes back. Except for this guy. I don’t know how he did it. Anyway, he left a couple of days ago and we haven’t seen him since.”
“He’s dead,” Harry says.
The walls of the cell are covered in writing. And drawings. It almost looks like a whole bunch of journal entries. “Why was he doing it?” I ask. “Why? What was the point?”
“He was trying to solve it,” Thomas answers.
“Solve it?”
“Solve the labyrinth. He was trying to find a way out. Not sure if he succeeded. Not sure if he accomplished much.” Thomas points to the maps and the notes on the cell walls. “As you can see, it doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense. So yeah, the guy was crazy.”
“He’s not crazy,” Jack says. “He was trying to help you guys. He was trying…”
“Kenji.” I whisper his name and I can’t believe it.
He was here.
But he’s gone now.
No one comes back. No one ever comes back.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas says. “He’s been gone for a while now. Five days. I think. Longest he’s ever been gone.”
I point to the doorway of the labyrinth. “What’s in there?”
“The infected. A lot of infected. But I’ve never been in there. I’m just going on what the death squad told us. And what Kenji told us. Or rather, what he wrote on the walls of his cells.”
Some of the writing is in charcoal. Some words had been scratched into the concrete with a piece of metal.
I can’t take my eyes off the drawings.
They are eerily accurate depictions of infected zombies and monsters and mutations.
A picture of a gas mask.
The drawings of the monsters are similar to the things we had seen in the town of Hope, and the thing that had attacked us at the outpost, the last place I saw Kenji, the last place that any of us saw Kenji.
“But it doesn’t matter,” Thomas says. “None of this matters. He’s dead now.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. “You don’t.”
“Look, he hasn’t been back in five days,” Thomas says. “It was after he saw Ben, actually. Once he knew he was recovering, he left. He’s never been gone this long. He’s never been gone more than a day. You don’t understand, the place is full of infected. And apparently, according to these drawings, it’s also full of monsters. The fact that Kenji made it back so many times at all is a miracle in itself. But you have to face the reality. He’s been gone for five whole days now. He’s a dead man walking. Literally. He’s probably infected. I’m sorry.”
I am shaking my head and my whole body is shaking and
Kenji is dead and I can’t take it anymore. My watch beeps. It tells me that I am dying, that I have forty-nine hours left.
But I don’t care. I don’t care because Kenji is dead, and all of a sudden I have tunnel vision, and the last thing I see before I pass out is the black monolithic doorway of the labyrinth.
Chapter 23
I am dying, but right now I am in Kenji’s basement. Brooklyn, New York.
It is dark.
There are candles around the room.
Kenji is kneeling on the matted floor. A ‘tatami mat’ is what he called it.
He is concentrating. He has a serious, all business expression on his face. He looks older than what I remember.
“What the hell happened?” I ask.
He opens his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“At the outpost. You were supposed to cover us. That was the plan. That was the deal. We were supposed to run outside and activate the EMP field. You were supposed to cover us from the gun tower. But you didn’t. You shot Maria. And then you just disappeared.”
“Do you really think I shot Maria?”
No.
“No.”
“But someone shot her,” he says. “Someone shot her with my rifle. She flew backwards. The air was crushed from her lungs. She should’ve died. And she would’ve died if you hadn’t given her your NBC suit.”
“Someone shot her,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“You tell me,” he says.
“Ben?”
“Maybe.”
“No. Ben wouldn’t do that. He’s one of the good guys.”
“Are you sure? He is a violent man.”
“Yes, I’m sure. He is violent. He is extreme. But he is good.”
“There was only one other person there,” Kenji says. “Just one.”
The man who was locked up. Tied up. Blindfolded. The man who performed emergency surgery on Ben. Cut the bullet out of his chest. Stopped the bleeding. Saved his life.
We weren’t supposed to trust him.
We found a dying soldier at that outpost. The last surviving soldier. He tried to warn us about the man he had locked up in the infirmary. He told us not to trust him.
“Tariq,” I whisper.
“Yes. Tariq.”
“He is a liar,” the soldier said. “He is one of them. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“Tariq saved Ben’s life,” I say. “He warned us about the nano-swarms. He was helping us.”
He was helping us. Wasn’t he?
“Who is Tariq?” I whisper.
“This is the question you need to ask.” Kenji says. “This is the question you need to answer.”
Who is Tariq?
He had dark skin. A trimmed black beard. He wore glasses. He had scars on both sides of his face.
Scars.
He said he had worked for the Red Cross. He said he was a research scientist. He said he was sent in after the outbreak. He was sent in as part of Project Salvation. He was part of a research team. He was there to help.
This is what he said.
Kenji closes his eyes.
I try and open mine. But my eyelids are heavy.
When I do open my eyes, my vision is blurry. Someone is holding my wrist. They are feeling and searching for my pulse. The person is speaking to me. Their voice is calm and soothing. It has an almost hypnotic effect on me.
“Heart rate is normal,” they say.
I am lying on my back. I can see bright fluorescent lights. The person who was holding my wrist leaves the room.
I can hear voices. Familiar voices saying some unfamiliar things.
Weird things.
Theories.
Madness.
But this madness is becoming more and more normal.
Madness is normal. Normal is madness.
I blink my eyes. I can finally focus my vision.
I am lying on a table in the prison cafeteria. Sitting with me, keeping me company, is Kim and Jack and Harry. And a woman who I haven’t met.
“From what we can tell,” Harry says. “They released the infected into the labyrinth.”
Jack shakes his head. “Why the hell would they do that?”
“It’s a test. An experiment.”
“What?”
“They are trying to study them. And we, the prisoners, we’re the bait. We’re part of it. We are the rats. It’s like this weird, real life game of Pac-Man. But Instead of ghosts in the maze, it’s infected zombies.”
“Pac-Man?”
“The video game,” Harry says. “How old are you?”
“I know what Pac-Man is,” Jack says. “I mean, how is this place anything like Pac-Man?”
“I just told you. It’s a maze. The ghosts are zombies. We’re Pac-Man.”
“We’re Pac man? And what? We need to collect cherries?”
“I honestly don’t know. No one has survived in there. So maybe we need to collect cherries or whatever. Maybe we need to solve it.”
“Kenji survived in there,” Jack says.
“Well, yeah. But he’s been gone for over five days now. He has ended up just like every other person who thought they could run off and escape.”
Jack takes a deep breath. “So what do you mean by solve it?”
“Solve the labyrinth,” Harry answers. “Find our way out.”
“You think so?”
“Maybe.”
“You actually think it can be solved?” Kim asks. “You think there is a way out?”
“I don’t know for sure. No one knows for sure.”
“OK, so let’s say that someone solves it,” Jack says. “Let’s say Kenji has solved it. What the hell is waiting for him at the end?”
“I have no idea,” Harry answers.
“This is messed up,” Jack says.
Harry nods his head. “Yeah, no kidding. Like I said, no one has ever come back for us. So we have no way of knowing. Judging by the ramblings on the walls of Kenji cell, and the drawings, I’d say the labyrinth is absolutely crawling with infected. And other things. Not sure how many. My guess would be a lot. Maybe hundreds. God knows we can hear them. That's why at night, when the black door opens, you make sure you are in your cell. You make sure your cell door is closed and you make sure you put a bed sheet over the bars.”
“A bed sheet?” Kim asks.
“So they can’t see you. That’s why we’ve barricaded the stairwells at every level. So they can’t reach us on the top floor. We reinforce them every day. Check them every day. We make sure the fire escape ladders are fully retracted and secured. We don’t want anything climbing their way up from the ground floor.”
“Have the infected ever made it here?” Kim says.
“Yeah. If no one runs off into the labyrinth, they always make it here. That’s why we’ve barricaded the stairwells. They haven’t been able to climb up. And that’s why I know that Kenji guy was crazy. He chose to live and sleep on the ground floor. No barricades. Just the bars of his cell. On the nights that he actually stayed in his cell, he would’ve been surrounded. They would’ve been swarming. Swarming and reaching through the bars. All night. That is a messed up way to live.”
“Until they became distracted by something else?” Jack says.
“Yeah. Exactly. Something or someone else in the labyrinth. More people. More rats. More bait.”
I suddenly remember the teeth on the ground outside Kenji’s cell. The blood and skin on the bars. Why the hell was Kenji putting himself at risk? What the hell was he doing?
“The Oz virus is designed to find life,” I whisper.
Kim is right next to me, she leans over. “Hey, you’re awake!”
“How long have I been out for?” I ask.
“A few hours,” Kim answers. “How are you feeling?”
I check my watch. Forty-six hours left. “I’m fine. I think.”
“So yeah,” Harry continues. “Eventually, the infected go back into the labyr
inth. Which means there must be a reason for them to do so.”
“What reason?” I ask.
“Food. Hosts. People.”
“Maybe it’s the civilian prison?” Kim suggests.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. As long as they leave. As long as that door closes in the morning.”
“Do they always leave?” Jack asks.
“Not always,” Harry answers. “Sometimes they don’t leave. They stay on the ground floor. Trapped on the ground floor. You have to spend all day in your cell. But like I said, they usually run off. So we’ve always assumed that something else gets their attention.”
“This is a crappy way to live,” Jack says.
“What else are we supposed to do? Awhile back, a few weeks ago, some of the other prisoners got the idea that they could beat the labyrinth, find their way to freedom. Didn’t work out so well for those guys.”
“They never came back?” Kim asks.
“No. They’re dead.”
“Or maybe they found their way out,” Jack says.
“No. I’ve seen some of the guys who tried to escape. I’ve seen them back here. Infected. So yeah, I know for certain that they didn’t make it. And I know for certain that we won’t make it. Our only chance of survival is to wait it out. This is a war of attrition. We need to be patient. And what the hell is at the other end anyway? More death? More infected? An airborne strain of the virus? A General who has lost his mind? His death squad?”
Harry has a depressingly good point. This prison is the best chance these people have of survival. It is their home.
“We just have to hope General Spears and his death squad leave us alone,” Harry says.
“Forget about the General,” I say. “He’s dead.”
At least I think he’s dead. What did Kim ask me earlier? Had I seen the body?
“Dead?” Harry asks. “How?
“I don’t know exactly. The infected stormed his compound. The inner-sanctum. And he had injected himself with a concentrated dose of the Oz virus. So yeah, he’s dead.”
Harry is confused. “Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because he had gone absolutely insane. He had been pushed over the edge. The pressure screwed him over. He thought he was a god or something. He thought he would survive.”