The Shadow Walker

by William R Hunt

  With betrayal.

  And now Khan, who would have died choking on his own guilt if not for Meatloaf, had responded by telling Meatloaf to get lost.

  Hit the road, Jack, and don’t come back no more, no more.

  In the words of Rodney Dangerfield, “I don’t get no respect!”

  “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me,” Meatloaf muttered under his breath as the gears of his mind went on grinding, milling the grain of his experiences into the flour of conclusions, as it were.

  Respect—yes, that was the ticket. He had saved three lives, now that he considered it: Victor’s, Jenny’s, and Khan’s. Victor betrayed him, Jenny despised him, and now Khan threatened his life. Calhoun had learned his lesson, though, yes indeedy.

  Maybe it was time to teach the others a new lesson, as well—the permanent kind.

  Put on your suit and tie, old chap, Meatloaf thought. School is now in session.

  Chapter 55

  Somewhere along the way, he had strayed from the path. He understood that now. For years he had wandered through a wilderness of doubt and self-defeat, betraying his own conscience, becoming the very thing he despised. All in the name of those he loved.

  But Khan couldn’t use their names to sanction his mistakes any more.

  The night he nearly ended his life with a bottle of pills, he made a decision. He was tired of being a victim of his own choices, tired of waiting for someone else to set things right. He knew what must be done. He’d known for years. It was time for his actions to speak louder than his words.

  A rat scurried past his feet as he moved down the utility tunnel. His flashlight scanned the walls, exposing rows of pipes and shiny heat vents. Jenny’s small, stubborn breaths sounded just behind him as she kept close, Shadow padding softly beside her. Khan tried not to remember a serial killer was walking just a few steps behind them.

  “How did you know this place was here?” Jenny asked. Khan thought she was just trying to fill the silence.

  “I bribed someone,” Khan answered. “It was too dangerous to try getting through the checkpoint.”

  The tunnel took a turn and they heard a steady dripping. Their feet splashed through a shallow pool of water.

  “What’s it like?” Jenny asked. “Kassel, I mean.”

  Khan was silent for a few moments. “It’s magnificent. Some people call it the Promised Land.”

  “So the newspaper was right? There’s food, water, electricity? Plenty for everyone?”

  “Newspaper?”

  “There was a boy on a bicycle. It was when I was traveling with Victor.”

  “Ah. Good kid. A little bit loopy in the head, though.” He laughed again, then decided not to make any more crazy jokes around Meatloaf. There was no telling what might set him off.

  “But yes,” he continued. “Kassel has all that. It’s a place where you can start over.” He fell silent, his heart conflicted about his own words. It troubled him to imagine bringing Jenny there. Then again, weren’t his own daughters in Kassel? Which was better, prosperity under a dictator or penury and freedom? If only another person were in charge, he thought, but he would not finish the thought because it troubled him too much.

  “This reminds me of the tunnels beneath my hometown,” Meatloaf said. “Remember them, Jenny?”

  The girl did not answer. Khan was still trying to puzzle out the relationship between those two. He’d initially assumed Jenny was Meatloaf’s hostage, perhaps the object of Meatloaf’s twisted paternal instincts. But when he’d offered to take Jenny away, she had insisted on taking Meatloaf with them. Why? Did she truly think he could still be saved?

  “Victor and I were supposed to be friends,” Meatloaf continued, after Jenny elected not to reply. “Just think: We might be in Kassel right now if he hadn’t double-crossed me. Just goes to show you should be careful not to underestimate people.”

  These words hung like the lingering notes of a thriller soundtrack as they navigated the darkness of the tunnels. It was not a stretch to think Meatloaf might be talking about Khan, and Khan glanced over his shoulder, measuring how far Meatloaf hung behind. He should have insisted Meatloaf stay with him at the front, shoulder to shoulder, instead of letting him skulk behind them in the shadows.

  He needs you for now, he thought. But as soon as that changes, he won’t hesitate to bash your skull right in.

  The only solution was to make sure he never gave Meatloaf the chance.

  The tunnel branched, and soon they reached a ladder leading up to a manhole cover. They were well beyond the checkpoint by now. Khan still had not worked out exactly what he would say when he found Victor again, but he knew he would convince him. He had to. Victor would understand. They had been good friends once, hadn’t they?

  The one hope he had was that Victor might have changed his mind and decided to head to Kassel. If that was the case, it was easy to know where to find him—there was, after all, only one bridge remaining on the river that stood between them and Kassel. Assuming Victor had not already crossed, Khan could reach the bridge and wait for his old friend there. He would say what he should have said days ago when they met: How his family was being held hostage in Kassel, their release contingent upon Khan’s bringing Victor back; how the Baron would be displeased if Khan returned empty-handed.

  Victor would understand. They would sit down together, devise a plan, and everything would be right in the world again.

  If, however, Victor did not come to the bridge…

  Well, in that case, Khan would have only one choice left: To go to Kassel alone and see if he could not free his family by himself. He would save them or die trying. There was no third option.

  He climbed the ladder, pushed the cover aside, and emerged into the sunlight. He was standing on a street beside a chemical plant guarded by a wooden fence. There were a few dumpsters nearby. It was quiet. He tried visualizing this part of the city and how much farther it might be to the bridge, but everything grew complicated when you were traveling on foot, turning miles into leagues and alleyways into endless corridors.

  He helped Jenny up the ladder, noticing how frail and skeletal she looked. Meatloaf emerged moments later.

  “Don’t forget Shadow,” Jenny said.

  Khan had, in fact, forgotten the dog. He moved quickly to the ladder, mindful of how long they had already been in the street, not wishing to delay a moment longer. He descended the rungs. Would the dog protest when he picked it up? He hoped not. The last thing he needed was to worry about rabies.

  He was lifting the dog up (it did not seem to mind terribly) when he heard a rumble overhead. What was that sound? Jenny was saying something, but her voice had a distant and dream-like quality to Khan’s ears. He started climbing. He had almost reached the top when a dumpster rolled over the opening and he realized in a moment of dreadful clarity what was happening, and all he could think was that he had been such a fool for not anticipating this.

  “So long, chum!” Meatloaf shouted. “Finally someone else gets to know how it feels to be trapped in a tunnel!”

  ___

  Khan shouted every curse he knew, but Meatloaf did not stick around to listen. Jenny screamed, and by the sound of it Meatloaf was dragging her away, perhaps thinking he might need a bit of bait in case he ran into trouble.

  Khan descended the ladder again, deposited the dog on the damp ground, and climbed back up the ladder. He beat his fist against the dumpster, creating a hollow, drum-like sound. The dumpster must have been empty. He spread his fingers on the metal and tried to slide the dumpster away, but it wouldn’t budge. He had no leverage. The dumpster rode less than a foot above the ground, so there was no way he was going to fit beneath it.

  A thought came to him. Returning for Shadow, he brought the dog back up the ladder and managed to position the dog’s paws on the lip of the opening. It was a tight fit, but the dog was able to shimmy beneath the dumpster, its legs stretched out behind. It reached the end, gave a bark, and darted a
way. Khan could only hope it would track Meatloaf down and bite him in the balls.

  Now what? He could return to the tunnel, search for another way up, but there was no telling how much time he might lose. And would he even know where he was? He could get lost, wander the city in circles, disorient himself so much that it would take days or even weeks to reach the bridge.

  If I see Meatloaf again, he thought, I’ll shoot him on sight.

  Minutes passed. His legs started to cramp on the ladder. He heard noises in the distance, but it was difficult to tell what they were. He banged on the dumpster some more, mostly to release his frustration. He had just about resigned himself to descending the ladder when he heard the sound of gravel crunching underfoot.

  “Is someone under there?” a voice asked. Young, male.

  “Yes! Get me out of here, I’m trapped! Please—” He stopped himself, not wanting to sound too desperate.

  “Are you a serial killer or something?” the voice asked cautiously.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Just covering my bases.”

  “No, I’m not a serial killer. Not that I would tell you if I was.”

  The dumpster rolled a few feet, then stopped.

  “A rapist?”

  Khan shook his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I just don’t want to be the one to release you if, you know, you’re a sex offender or something. Maybe the cops put you in there.”

  “Do you see any cops around?”

  A few moments passed. “No,” the kid answered, “I don’t.”

  “Does this look like a police station?”

  “Not really.”

  “Trust me, the guy who put me in here is the real danger. He’s a complete lunatic.”

  “So why’d he put you in there?”

  “Because he didn’t have the guts to shoot me in the face.”

  “Oh.” The dumpster started rolling again. Just to be safe, Khan drew his sawed-off shotgun from his duffel bag and aimed it with his right hand while holding the ladder with his left.

  Sunlight dazzled his eyes, as if a giant shadow had just lumbered past the sun. The wheels gave a little screech, then the rumbling stopped and Khan heard gravel crunching again. Khan climbed into the open air (Free at last, he thought) and found himself staring at a dazed-looking teenager with a rifle slung across his shoulders. A rolled-up comic book protruded from his back pocket.

  There was a tense moment of uncertainty as they eyed one another’s weapons. Then Khan relaxed and nodded at the kid.

  “Thanks for saving me. My name’s Khan.”

  The kid nodded back dutifully and extended a hand. “You’re welcome. I’m Johnny.”

  Chapter 56

  Something was not quite right with Johnny. His eyes hid behind a bank of fog, emerging now and then with a twinkling clarity before disappearing once again. He would stare off into the distance, his lips parting slowly like a fish’s, before sucking in a sharp breath and raising his eyebrows in a dreamy, wondering expression.

  Khan supposed it was nothing more than a case of day-dreaming—a strange trait, but a harmless one. Certainly nothing like Meatloaf’s neurosis.

  Johnny, it seemed, had come into the alley only to take a whiz (his word, not Khan’s). He hadn’t seen a man, a girl, or a dog. By his own admission, however, he was not a very observant person. At the time, he’d been thinking about the Garfield comic in his back pocket (which he’d read too many times to count) and speculating on the merits of casting Jerry Seinfeld as Jon Arbuckle in the hit TV series that was inevitably going to be filmed as soon as the power grid was back on.

  (In Johnny’s brain, this amounted to someone plugging a really big machine back into a wall outlet. It had probably been unplugged when someone tripped on it in the dark. The internet was another really big machine in a different warehouse, and as soon as the power grid got plugged back in, the internet would get taken care of next.)

  Johnny claimed he had already started writing a script for the show. He produced a scrap of foolscap paper from his pocket, which showed a few frantic lines of words surrounded by sketches of cats and aliens, and offered it to Khan.

  “That’s quite alright,” Khan answered, holding up a hand as if to ward off an evil spell.

  Johnny shrugged, unsurprised, and returned the paper to his pocket.

  “So where were you going?” Khan asked. “Before you stopped to…”

  “To take a whiz? I was marching.”

  “Marching?”

  “Yeah, you know—” He started goose-stepping in a circle around Khan. Khan was not sure whether this was the funniest or the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Maybe both.

  “But why were you marching?” he asked.

  “Because I’m a soldier.”

  “You are?”

  Johnny nodded enthusiastically.

  “And where is your army?”

  Johnny frowned, narrowing his eyes in calculation.

  “You don’t know, do you?” Khan asked.

  Johnny shook his head. “I got separated. Accidental desertion, I guess.” His face grew worried. “Do you get punished if it’s an accident?”

  “Absolutely. Well, thanks for the help and best of luck to you.” He started toward the main street, which he supposed was where Meatloaf and Jenny had gone.

  “Any chance I could ride shotgun?” Johnny called. The kid was afraid to be on his own, Khan suspected. But what was that to him? He had his own concerns—not just his family, but now Jenny as well. The list of people he needed to help was getting too long already.

  “I’ll let you read my comic book,” Johnny offered. When this failed to convince Khan, Johnny lowered his head and added, “And my script, too.”

  “Do you know how to use that gun, or is it just for show?” Khan asked.

  Johnny brightened immediately. “Oh, I can use it, sure I can! Just tell me where to fire—” He spun in a quick circle, aiming down the sights of his rifle at different objects before finally settling on the dumpster.

  “Don’t shoot!” Khan shouted. He fully expected to hear the crash of the rifle and the crunch of metal. Maybe even one of them would catch a ricochet to the head, just to sweeten the deal. But instead, the kid lowered the rifle and trotted to join him.

  “So I can go with you, right?” he asked.

  Khan nodded grudgingly. “I won’t stop you.”

  To his surprise, Johnny did not blabber on about his comics or about the merits of Jerry Seinfeld as Jon Arbuckle. He kept mostly to himself, lost in the maze of his mind, his head bobbing side to side like driftwood. Khan was grateful for the silence. He needed to think.

  There was no trail to be followed. Meatloaf, Jenny, and the dog were as gone as if the wind had picked them up and tossed them away. Many of the streets had no signs. And even if Khan had been guided by a map, it would be impossible to chart a straight course. There were too many collapsed buildings, ruptured gas lines, traffic jams, barricades of sand and concrete. He soon felt as if he were hurdling objects back at basic training. A stop watch started ticking in his brain, tracking how long it took him to cross from one obstacle to the next. He felt out of shape, though it probably had more to do with a lack of calories than a lack of exercise.

  “So where are we going exactly?” Johnny finally asked after they had been traveling for most of an hour. Khan was surprised it had taken him so long to ask the question. Johnny’s mind seemed to operate on a delay, always trailing behind the moment.

  “To find an old friend,” Khan answered.

  “And then?”

  “Then I’m going to help my family. Do you have family, Johnny?”

  “Not any more. At least I don’t think so.”

  Khan nodded, choosing not to point out that if Johnny was in doubt, his family was probably dead.

  They reached the base of a parking complex. Khan craned his head up at the sky. “What do you say we have ourselves a look around?” h
e asked.

  “I’m game.”

  They entered the parking structure and climbed floor by floor, Khan’s eyes searching the recessed places where the light did not reach, sweat breaking out on his skin. He remembered the hassle of finding parking spots in these places and decided it was one of the things he didn’t miss.

  The final ramp led them up to the roof. The clouds were thicker now, a bubbling, mashed-potato look that promised rain or perhaps snow. It was cold enough for the latter. The wind cut at them, stealing the heat from their bodies.