by North, Geoff
People were murdered; they fell in love and got married. Some of these people cheated on their spouses, and they were murdered again. They sailed the high seas and travelled beyond the stars. They rode horses into the sunset. But not anywhere in those 702,836 estimated pages was there a hint of author’s voice. Lothair knew this. He wasn’t needy or vain—those were emotions he no longer remembered. His stories would never sell because they lacked human feeling.
Lothair wrote novels, composed music, created a dozen new languages, and researched all the fields of science. Another part of his brain trained on the time. Lothair did all of these things and more.
He had no other choice.
When he let things slide, the hunger would press at his gut like a stone. When he wasn’t solving mathematical equations and philosophizing about ancient life in Egypt and Rome, Lothair wanted to eat his hands.
He needed to keep busy.
Lothair’s books had no voice. His songs, though melodic, lacked spirit. The emotional part of him was two-hundred years dead. If he was capable of feeling sadness, he might have cried.
Lothair Eichberg had no soul.
Chapter 11
They walked along the crater’s edge until they come across a rusted bar of metal sticking six feet out of the ground. It was bent halfway up, leaning out and away from Big Hole. Cobe watched as his brother poked a finger through one of the holes that ran along its length every few inches. The metal was an inch thick, and Cobe couldn’t imagine any force strong enough to put the unnatural bend into it. There was an old bucket hanging near the top, banged in with a dozen dents, but still able to hold water. Lawson filled it halfway with one of the three remaining leather canteens. Dust began to drink from it noisily.
“Dust here can’t make the trip below, so I had to find a way of keepin’ him up top—nice and safe while I was away. There’s tons of scrap metal down the sides if you dig around some. Found the pail about a quarter-mile down my first time. Been pickin’ for crap ever since. But the good stuff is down under the water…the real good stuff.”
Willem was sitting cross-legged on the ground. He picked nervously at the hard earth. “How long we going to be…away?”
“A few hours, providing the bunch of you listen to everything I say and don’t go wanderin’ off.” Lawson looked directly at Trot. His fat face was sweaty, his eyes fear-filled. The lawman thought again, and filled Dust’s water bucket all the way to the top”
They started down slowly, mindful of the steepness in the gathering dark. Cobe grabbed Trot as his foot caught on a rock, stopping the man from plunging over head first. Trot thanked him and started to slide down on his rear-end.
“How we gonna see down there?” Willem asked. “We ain’t got no lanterns…not even a gawdamn torch.”
“There’ll be light.”
Cobe reached for his brother’s hand and helped him along. “It’s alright. I’ll be with you the whole way.”
They descended another half-mile. It was almost fully dark now, and the stench from the sitting water below had become overpowering. Cobe plugged his nostrils with his free hand and pitied Willem for not being able to do the same.
There was a conglomeration of twisted metal below that the lawman was headed for. “Careful now; things can get tricky if you don’t watch yer step.” Tricky was an understatement. They climbed down into the maze of ruined metal. It was rough and pitted through with rust, tearing at their dirty clothes and scratching at exposed skin. Lawson spoke quietly of what they were descending through—listing off words Cobe had never heard before: girders, support beams, buttresses, and rebar. It meant little to him and his brother, and it probably registered even less with Trot.
“Cities were all metal and concrete back then,” he explained. “Buildings reached high in the sky and burrowed deep down in the ground.”
Willem grumbled. “Who’d wanna live in the ground…gawdamn rats is who.”
Trot squeezed under a wrinkled sheet of brown iron, following the boys and Lawson into spaces he wasn’t entirely sure he could fit through. “Please don’t tell me there are rats down here.”
“Rats are the least o’ yer worries,” Lawson said, from somewhere deeper down. “Here it is…the opening.”
Trot squeezed into a narrow hollow of earth with the others, where there was just enough room for the four to stand. Lawson had to slouch over, however, where jagged remnants of concrete and shards of heavy metal screening poked through. Their eyes adjusted to the dark, and Cobe watched his brother sink to his knees. His face was lit in a weak purple glow, his eyes wide and unblinking. He was crouched in front of an opening in the dirt wall. Cobe kneeled down beside Willem and peered into a three-foot high square passage leading into the light.
Lawson spoke, causing the boys to jump. “It’s the only way in or out that I’ve ever found. Don’t be afraid; there’s no one and nothing inside. The place is too well-hidden. Them folks that once lived inside, below and above, have long since passed on.”
Cobe could feel a slight waft of cool air pushing against his face from somewhere beyond. It smelled foul, but nowhere near as bad as the water sitting outside. He ran his fingers along the inside of one of the crumbling concrete walls. Bits gave way in small pieces. “We’re gonna squeeze through there? You sure it won’t fall in on us?”
“It’s held up for centuries, maybe longer…I reckon it’ll hold for a few more hours.” He pushed between the boys and started through on his hands and knees. “It ain’t far.”
Cobe went in after Willem. He could hear Trot behind him, panting like a trapped dog. Ain’t far was two minutes of claustrophobic scrambling that felt more like two hours with Trot breathing hard on his heels. He finally spilled out of the tunnel, and would’ve fallen face first into the ground—four feet below—if Lawson hadn’t picked him out of the air.
“Easy now,” Lawson whispered, even though he’d assured them no one was inside. He reached in for Trot and helped the jiggling mass of panic out and down to his feet. “There, that wasn’t such a hard thing to do, was it?”
None of them answered. They were studying their new surroundings too intently. Cobe had never seen anything like it. The walls of the hallway were white and curved outward. Metal pipes ran down the length both ways as far as he could see, bundled with other strange cords that looked like smooth ropes, but of varying colors.
Willem touched the wall and looked at his brother. “Feels warm almost, like wood, but hard like rock. Where the fuck are we?”
The more scared Willem became, the more he swore. Cobe could think of a few choice words of his own, but was too dumbfounded to use any of them. Trot was staring at the curved ceiling, marveling at the single strip of dull, mauve light. It flickered, like a fire would dance, but without throwing heat. He reached up to touch it and Lawson smacked his hand down.
“If you don’t know what it is or how it works, don’t touch it. Don’t touch any gawdamn thing down here.” Trot began to whimper. The lawman patted his shoulder. “Ain’t yer fault, Trot. I should’ve left you up top to keep Dust company.”
A tear fell from Trot’s eye. He wiped it away quickly, hoping the others—and especially Lawson—wouldn’t notice. “I’m sorry. It’s just all so strange…there ain’t nothing like this back in Burn. I’ll do what you say. I’ll stay close and won’t touch nothing no more.”
Lawson started down the hall. Cobe and Willem asked more about the lights and the odd tangles of narrow ropes tied in with the pipes. He shrugged and kept moving. “It would take a lifetime or two learning how places like this worked. There’s light, it’s warm enough, and the air is fit to breathe. That’s all you need to know.”
It started to feel like an unending dream to Cobe the farther they went. The tunnel curved this way and that. People had built this, he thought, hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Where had they found all the material? Where had they all gone?
The circular passageway came to an end and merged with a r
ectangular one. Lawson pointed to a sign above and behind their heads. It indicated a name for the area they had just travelled through. He told them all to remember where they were, in case any of them became separated from the rest. Cobe studied the words:
LEVEL A SUB-JUNCTION 12
EMERGENCY EXIT B
He didn’t know what they meant, and since the lawman was the only other one that could read, he couldn’t see the point of anyone else even looking at them—unless they committed the sign’s shape and letters to memory. Willem might be able to do that, but not Trot.
There were doors lining this hallway, spaced on either side, twenty feet apart. Willem tested the metal handle of one and Lawson snapped at him. “If you don’t know where it goes, don’t touch.”
The boy asked, “You know where they go?”
Lawson shrugged. “Some. Most are locked.”
“Maybe there’s food inside this one.” Willem ran his finger along the faded black letters set in the center of the door that read JANITORIAL.
“No food,” the lawman answered, and walked on. They turned a corner and he stopped at the first door to their right. Lawson gripped the handle tightly and there was a click. Cobe heard a hissing sound as the door popped open an inch. Lawson removed his hand and it continued to open slowly outward on its own accord. Willem swore and Trot made a squeaking noise.
“How’s it doing that?” Cobe asked. He peeked into the widening space. “There someone on the other side?”
“Ain’t no one in this place no more,” the lawman replied. Cobe noticed his hand was now resting on the handle of his gun. No one that you’re aware of.
They entered a small, dimly lit room. The door started to swing back closed all on its own. There was another hissing sound as it sealed itself tight. The lights grew a little brighter. There was a desk on the far side with a rotted corpse sprawled over the surface. Trot pulled on the door handle, attempting to get out, but the door wouldn’t open.
“Relax,” Lawson said. “That thing’s been dead for years.”
Willem crept forward and stared at the grisly remains. It was more bone than anything, with a few bits of dried flesh clinging to the ribs and leg bones. He touched the skin and it flaked away like dried paper.
“What did I tell you ‘bout touching things?” Lawson asked.
Cobe stood behind his brother. “Is that a howler?”
“It was.”
Cobe’s eyes were drawn to the grotesquely long nails on its fingers and toes. They were long and curled in, like gray talons. There were little chunks of matter surrounding the thing’s head, and larger pieces littered the floor directly beneath. They looked like balls of dust sitting in a pool of dried blood.
“What…happened to it?”
“I blew the side of its head off a long time ago when it tried to tear my throat out. That crap on the floor is what’s left of the brains.”
Cobe and Willem stepped back at the same time. Even after so long the air still smelled slightly rotten. Dead things never stop stinking, Cobe thought. Lawson stepped around the desk and went to a second door behind an overturned chair. He squeezed the handle and the clicking, hissing process started again.
“You come here a lot?” Trot asked nervously.
“Only when I need supplies.” He tapped the holster at his side. Supplies, Cobe gathered, meant guns and ammunition. “Don’t go worrying yerself. I ain’t seen another howler down here since that first time.”
Cobe recalled an expression his mother used to say: There’s a first time for everything. His heart felt heavy as he remembered the sound of her voice. Another thought came to him: if something happens once, it can happen again.
They entered another long hallway with doors on both sides. There weren’t handles on these ones, only small squares set into the center with a series of small buttons. Willem went to touch one but remembered the lawman’s warning. Lawson looked at the boy with a half-smile. “Go on…give it a try.”
Willem touched a button—the one dead center labelled ‘5’—and it beeped. He jumped back and Lawson made a low grumbling sound. The noise when he laughed sounded painful to Cobe. Lawson pressed some more buttons and a female voice spoke:
“Incorrect. Please enter your six-digit access code again.”
Trot spun in a circle and almost fell looking for the voice’s source. None of them—save maybe the lawman—knew it had come from the tiny round grill below the numbers pad. Lawson punched in six more random numbers, hit the red button marked ENTER on the side, and the voice spoke again.
“Incorrect. Please enter your six-digit access code again…Warning—This is your third and final attempt.”
Lawson looked at Cobe. “You give it a go. Punch some numbers.”
Cobe pressed the numbers one through six and hit ENTER, as the lawman had.
“Incorrect. Please seek an ABZE representative for further assistance.”
“Who’s Abzy?” Trot asked.
Lawson shrugged again, implying he didn’t have a clue. Cobe suspected he knew more but couldn’t be bothered trying to explain it to the simple-minded man. There were more letters stamped into the metal above the keypad—once black, now faded gray—that Cobe hadn’t noticed before:
AARON, JAMES, D. – ATLANTA, GA
“Is this where people used to live?”
“It’s where they came to rest,” Lawson answered solemnly.
Trot was twisting the rope around his waist. Sweat glistened in rings under his eyes. “These were homes?”
“Resting places…as in, it’s where they put people after they died…in a sense.”
Cobe didn’t like the sound of that, and Willem asked, “What do you mean in a sense? Yer either dead or you ain’t.”
“You would think so,” Lawson answered quietly and started down the hallway. They passed more doors with identical keypads set in the middle and different names stamped above.
ADAMS, TAMARA, S. – DALLAS, TX
ALLAN, DAVID, T. – LOS ANGELES, CA
AVRIL, THOMAS, W. – DETROIT, MI
He stopped at a door another fifty feet down the seemingly endless corridor. There was a single word above the number pad.
SMUDGE
“You don’t need numbers for this one,” Lawson whispered.
He started to walk away, and Willem called to him. “Then show us what’s inside. Maybe it’s got some of them books we came for.”
Lawson returned and studied each of them in turn. “Ain’t no books in there. There ain’t nothin’ in there you want to see.” That seemed to be the end of it. He was about to turn away again, but stopped. It appeared to Cobe like he was considering something—something he was extremely uncomfortable with. “Maybe if I show the three of you what’s in there, you’ll understand why I need you to stick close.” He pressed the ENTER button quickly, as if another second of thought might cause him to change his mind again. Click…Hiss. The door slowly swung out. A dull purple light spilled out from the tiny space within. Lawson stepped through and the others followed.
There was barely enough room for the four to stand. They huddled around a single chair in the middle. Framed pictures hung on the walls. They weren’t the hand-drawn kind that Cobe was used to seeing. These were real scenes capturing moments of life in the briefest amount of time. He had seen a few in the yellowed pages of his parents’ old books. His ma said they were called foto-grafs. Cobe wondered why the pictures here were all of the same thing—a fat orange cat. One showed it eating from a bowl, in another it was stretched out sleeping, content to the point of appearing dead. A third picture showed it in the arms of a little girl, its face squeezed uncomfortably against her pink cheek. The girl was blonde, her hair tightly bound in two knots that jutted out from either side of her head.
Trot was on his hands and knees. “These are pretty.” He was fiddling with a couple of furry, colored balls on the floor. He swatted them playfully into the corner. One of them bounced off the wall and landed in
side an empty glass bowl. The same bowl from the foto-graf.
“What’s this?” Willem picked a piece of wrinkled paper off the chair and looked at the words printed in pink, crude letters. He raised his eyebrows and handed it to his brother to read aloud.
“Dear Smudge—I will never ever forget you. You are my very bestest frend and I’m sorry I got so sik. Mommy and Daddy says you can come with me! Sorry you have to get so cold. It will be so much fun when wer back together. I luv you.—Amanda”
He placed the letter back on the chair, hoping the lawman would elaborate further. Lawson didn’t say a word. The big man was staring at a three-foot long gray cylinder mounted into the wall on its side. Bundles of colored ropes ran out from either end and disappeared into the wall. Cobe didn’t know him well, but he could read the emotion well-enough in his steely gray eyes. The lawman was afraid.
Willem stepped in front of the cylinder and looked through a slit of glass window three inches wide by an inch high, set in the middle. It fogged over from the inside and the boy saw something orange rub past. Seconds later, a wet, black nose pressed against the thick glass and Willem saw teeth gnashing. “Gawdamn! There’s a cat inside!” He saw one of its eyes next—solid pink with a pinprick of black pupil. Willem made a short, high-pitched noise that sounded more like a yelp, and thumped back into his brother. “No! It ain’t no cat… I don’t know what that thing is.”
Cobe looked next, and, even after being forewarned, had to stifle his screaming. The eye was still staring up, unblinking and pink. It saw Cobe and winked away. Yellow teeth appeared, sharp and biting. The animal was howling, but he could only hear the dull clicking and scraping sound of teeth against glass. It left small streaks of frenzied saliva behind.