Entombed

FIVE

“Careful now. He could be hiding underneath one of those forklifts.”

I snorted, coming fully awake, and sat up so quickly that I banged the back of my head against the wall. I winced, barely keeping from crying out. My eyes watered as I rubbed my head. Then I held still and listened. My pulse raced from zero to ninety. I was certain someone had heard me.

“Is that true, Pete?” The speaker was a man, but I couldn’t tell who. It was hard to judge how far away he was, due to the tunnel’s echoing effects. “You hiding out over there?”

Their footsteps drew closer. I could hear them even over the distant sounds from the power plant, which meant that they were close by. I cursed myself for falling asleep. How had I allowed that to happen, and perhaps more importantly, how long had I been out? Did they know I was here? Judging by their conversation, it didn’t seem that way, but what if they were just toying with me? Trying to psyche me out? I glanced down. One of my spears was still on my lap and the other lay out of reach. It must have rolled away while I slept. I grabbed the one in my lap, gripping the shaft so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I wanted to sit up the entire way and peer out over the skids, but I resisted the urge. My only hope at that moment was that the shadows would conceal me. If they actually entered the cul-de-sac and looked over the forklifts and generators, I’d be caught. I took a deep breath and held it. The footsteps stopped.

“See anything?” I recognized the speaker as George Laidlaw, a fellow employee of the Pocahontas and up until this point, a fairly decent guy.

“No.” I knew that soft-spoken voice, as well. It was Jim Mars. “Ain’t nothing here.”

“He could be behind those skids.” A third speaker. Male, and judging from the accent, a local, but I still didn’t recognize the voice.

“Pete,” Jim called, “come on out if you’re there. I don’t like it any more than you do, but there’s no helping it. Come on out. You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

My nose suddenly began to itch. I resisted the urge to move. When my stomach gurgled, I thought for sure they had heard it.

“Go on back there,” George said. “Let’s make sure.”

“He ain’t there,” the unidentified third man said. “I still say he’s probably hiding out in the power plant. That’s sure as hell where I’d go if it was me.”

“Well, it ain’t you.”

“I’m just saying, is all.”

“And I said we need to make sure, Clyde.”

I silently thanked George for filling me in on the third man’s identity. It was Clyde Osborne, a shifty little runt from Punkin Center who worked at the hotel as a greens keeper. ‘Worked’ was a relative term, since all Clyde had ever seemed to do was take smoke breaks. He’d weighed about a buck oh five before we ran out of food, and weeks of starvation hadn’t improved his condition. He’d be no problem, if it came to a fight.

“Come on,” Jim said. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. My stomach is in knots. This don’t sit well with me.”

The footsteps shuffled closer and there was a subtle change in the lighting. Without turning my head, I looked to the right and saw shadows on the wall. Whoever it was, they were close enough that I could hear them breathing. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. My entire body tensed.

“Got him,” Clyde shouted. “He’s hunkered down back here behind this—”

Without thinking, I jumped up from my hiding place and thrust the spear at him. The jagged point stabbed the fleshy part of his shoulder, right between his arm and his chest. There was a brief second of resistance and then the spear sank into his skin. Clyde wailed. I heard the other two men holler. Something slipped from Clyde’s hand and clattered onto the floor. I glanced down and saw that it was a length of pipe that he’d apparently intended to use as a club.

“Goddamn,” he screamed. “The fucker stabbed me.”

Jim and George stood just outside the cul-de-sac, gaping at us both. George was armed with a pocketknife. Jim had a piece of two-by-four. On the closed circuit television, the zombies seemed to be watching the action, as well. I wondered if they could sense the struggle going on beneath the mountain. Grunting, I yanked my spear free. Clyde stumbled backward, his free hand pressing against his wound. Blood welled from between his fingers. I thrust the spear at him and he scrambled away. He bumped against the nearest forklift and fell down. Despite everything, I laughed. At first, the noise confused me. I wasn’t aware that it was me making the sound. Then I saw the panic in Clyde’s wide eyes, and I laughed harder. I lifted my head and stared at Jim and George.

“Who’s next? How about you, George? You want some?”

“Fuck you,” George said quietly.

“No, fuck you, you cocksucker. It doesn’t have to be this way, George. None of this has to happen. I mean, have you guys stopped for just one second and thought about what you’re doing here?”

Jim sighed. “You killed Krantz, Pete.”

“Because you guys were going to kill me. It was self-defense, man.”

“So is this.”

I groaned with frustration. “Are you really so far gone that Chuck’s idea seems like a good one?”

“It’s better than starving to death,” George said.

Jim nodded in agreement. “I want to make it back home to my family, Pete.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

He shook his head. “Sooner or later, the zombies will go away. They’re rotting. Eventually, there won’t be anything left of them. We’re just waiting for the last zombie.”

“That might take a while.”

“I’ll wait. Sooner or later they’ll be none left. When that happens, I’ve got to get home to my family. With the zombies gone, there won’t be any law or order. I’ve got to protect my family from what comes next. I’m no good to them if I’m dead.”

“You’ve got no family to go home to!” Spittle flew from my lips. “If they were outside, then they’re as good as dead already. Don’t you see that?”

Jim flinched, and took a faltering step backward, as if I’d physically slapped him. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“That’s not true. It’s not true. We have a basement. They probably hid down there. I’m sure of it. They—”

“They’re dead,” I insisted. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you’ve got to face the facts. They’re gone, and you can’t get them back again.”

On the floor, Clyde moaned. I lashed out with my foot and kicked him.

“Shut up.”

“You stabbed me, you fucker.”

“You’re damned right I did, and I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up.” I turned my attention back to Jim and George. “It’s time we take a good, hard look at reality. We need to focus on ourselves. Everyone we love is probably dead. They’re probably walking around like the rest of those things outside.”

“That may be true,” George said, “but we’re dead, too, if we don’t eat something soon. I’m not saying Chuck’s plan is right or decent or moral, but it is necessary, Pete. You just had the bad luck of being the first to be chosen. If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry about how things turned out. We all are.”

I snorted. “Yeah, you seem real choked up about it, George. You’re a real humanitarian.”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not. It’s the truth. I puked twice on the way up here. I ain’t no killer, but I’ll do what I have to do. We all will.”

“And what about after I’m gone? Huh? What then, George? What are you guys going to do when there’s nothing left of me but bones?”

“Well, then we’ll put you in the incinerator, I guess.”

“That’s not what I mean. Eventually, you’ll get hungry again. You’ll have to pick someone else. What if it’s you, the next time? Or you, Jim? Or you, Clyde? What then? You’ll be standing in the same place where I’m standing now. Is it still going to be okay then? Come on, guys. I know things are bad, but this isn’t the way.”

“Do you have a better idea? One that doesn’t involve going outside and getting overwhelmed by the zombies? Because if so, then I’m all ears.”

“No,” I admitted, my voice faltering. “I don’t. But even if you go along with Chuck’s plan, how long do you think I’d last, once you killed me? How long before I’m inedible? A day? Two? Let’s get real—we’re talking about meat. We’ve got no way to preserve it. You’d have to kill somebody again pretty damn quick.”

“There’s a refrigerator in the kitchen,” George said. “One of those big stainless steel jobs like the kind you find in restaurants. I know it’s just part of the exhibit, but it still works. I reckon we can keep you fresh a lot longer than two days.”

I paused before responding. I felt sort of stunned. I’d forgotten all about the refrigerator. I suddenly had an image of my various organs and body parts sealed inside of Tupperware containers and stuffed into the vegetable crisper drawers.

“What if the power goes out?” I asked. “What happens then? The diesel fuel won’t last forever. One of the generators could break down.”

George shrugged. “If the power goes out, then we’ll smoke you. Charles Smith thinks we can set something up in the incinerator room to do just that.”

“You’re insane.”

“No,” George replied, “I’m not crazy. I’m just hungry. I’m hungry and I want to live. I’m sorry about this, Pete. I really am. You were a nice guy. You don’t deserve this. But I want to live. We all do. This isn’t personal. This is just the way it has to be. I want to live, and if killing you makes that happen, then so be it. Now, are you gonna come out of there like a man, or are we going to have to come get you and drag you out?”

“Don’t do this,” I begged, hating the plaintive tone in my voice. “Please…”

They both charged me at the same time, as if responding to some unspoken signal. Jim came in from the left, his makeshift club held at arm’s length like a baseball bat. George moved slower, more stealthily, creeping forward with the pocketknife at the ready. I raised the spear to meet Jim’s attack, and moved toward him, but Clyde reached out from the floor and grabbed my ankle. His fingers were warm and sticky with his blood. I could feel it through my sock. Repulsed, I jerked my foot from his grasp and kicked him hard in the chin. I heard his teeth clack together as he hurtled backward. Clyde uttered a garbled scream as blood rushed from his mouth. I remember thinking that there seemed to be a lot of it—too much blood for what I’d just done, but then Jim was upon me. He lashed out with his club, swinging hard and grunting with the effort. It was the grunt that saved me. I managed to step backward, narrowly avoiding the blow. I jabbed my spear at him, but he sidestepped it. Jim was breathing heavy. His mouth hung slack and his eyes seemed tired and unfocused. He raised his weapon to swing again, and I thrust my spear into his armpit and shoved hard. It sank in like a knife cutting through a block of cheese. Jim opened his mouth. Whether to speak or cry out, I don’t know, because all he managed to do was wheeze. His knees bent. He reached behind him, frowning in confusion, and then toppled backward, taking my spear with him.

Weaponless, I stood there as George closed in on me. He moved silently, stepping over Jim’s body without even glancing down at it. He didn’t speak. I wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. If it hadn’t been for the grim determination showing in his eyes or the tiny muscle twitching in his cheek, I might have thought he was a zombie. He approached with caution, but his steps didn’t falter. He moved in a sort of crouch, head ducked low, arms pulled in tight to his body, knife at the ready.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I told him. “There’s still time, George. Put the knife down.”

He didn’t answer, nor did he pause. He continued toward me, and now his determined expression had been replaced with a look of something else.

Hunger.

George was hungry. Hell, he wasn’t just hungry. He was ravenous. I noticed for the first time the thin line of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. In that moment, he wasn’t a man at all. Instead, he reminded me of an animal. George was something primal and savage. He was a hunter.

And I was the prey.

At that moment, I felt a fear unlike anything I’d felt before. It was stronger than what I’d experienced in the movie room and more powerful than the day Alyssa left me. I imagined this was how a squirrel felt as it watched the headlights of an onrushing car. I stumbled away, hoping to reach my other spear, which was still lying on the floor behind the skid. Before I could, George seized my flapping shirttail and lunged at me. My fear dissolved into panic, consuming me. I didn’t think. I just acted. The sounds I made didn’t seem like my own—a long, keening scream that had no words. I punched and kicked and screamed, lashing out with my fists and feet, biting and head-butting and doing anything I could just to prevent the inevitable—just to stay alive for one second longer. All sound ceased. I was dimly aware that I was still screaming, but I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t see, either. Everything in the cul-de-sac, including George, became a blur. I remained in motion, delivering blow after blow, not knowing if they were connecting or not—and not really caring if they did. The important thing was to not stop.

Eventually, I did stop. The first thing I became aware of was the sound of my own breathing. I was hyperventilating. My arms hung limp at my sides, and my shoulders sagged. The floor seemed spongy and uneven, and my feet felt wet and sticky. When I glanced down with half-open eyes, I saw why. I was standing on top of what was left of George. At first, I didn’t recognize him. Both of his eyes were blackish-purple and swollen shut. His lips were split and swollen, too, and his nose resembled a squashed kiwi fruit. There was a hole in his cheek—a ragged, raw wound that looked chewed. Blood leaked from his nose and ears and the corners of his eyes. It covered the front of his shirt and had dribbled down his neck. I stared at him in confusion, wondering what had happened. Then I realized that it was me that had happened to him. I had done this. I’d killed him.

My fists were still clenched. I uncurled them, wincing with pain as I did. The knuckles on both hands were sore and bloody, and the middle finger on my left hand was starting to swell. There were cuts on my hands from George’s teeth. I licked my lips and tasted blood. At first, I thought it was mine, but it wasn’t. I’d bitten that hole in George’s cheek. I spat, wiping my mouth with my forearm. It hurt to breathe. My chest ached. I checked myself thoroughly to make sure George hadn’t stabbed or cut me. Other than the lacerations on my hands, I didn’t seem to be injured, though my shirt was torn.

I looked around for the pocketknife, but couldn’t find it. I assumed it must have been tossed aside during the fight. I got down on my hands and knees, searching for it. I found the weapon lying beneath one of the diesel generators. It had slipped beneath the skid and the plastic sheeting surrounding the unit. I pulled it free, closed the blade and slipped the knife into my pocket. Then I checked the bodies, just to make sure the three of them were dead. George wasn’t breathing, and neither was Jim. In the case of the latter, it was obvious what had killed him, but despite the obvious physical damage to George, I couldn’t believe that my beating alone had killed him. When I rolled him over, I saw that it hadn’t. The back of his head was cracked open and his hair was matted and sticky with fresh blood. He must have hit his head on the concrete when he fell. Clyde was bloodier than both Jim and George. He’d bitten the tip of his tongue off when I’d kicked him in the chin. I looked around for it, but didn’t see it anywhere, so I assumed he swallowed it. Maybe he’d choked on it, or maybe he’d bled to death. I couldn’t be sure—but then again, it didn’t really matter, as long as he was dead and not trying to eat me anymore.

A thought occurred to me then. There was no reason why Chuck and the others had to continue hunting me. If it was food they needed—if they were determined to offset starvation by eating our fellow survivors—then I’d actually done them a favor. Why hadn’t I thought of this before, when I killed Krantz? They could eat him instead. And with the bodies of George, Jim and Clyde, it was like a four-course meal. There would be enough to feed everyone.

I tried freeing my spear from inside of Jim, but it was stuck on something. I didn’t want to consider what might be obstructing it—bone, probably. Maybe one of his ribs? Each time I tugged on the shaft, another gout of blood bubbled out of his mouth. He’d shit and pissed himself in death, and when I jiggled the spear, his body moved, making wet, squelching sounds. The stench was atrocious. Finally, I gave up and retrieved the second spear from where it lay. Then, gripping it in my hand, I stepped over their corpses and peeked around the cul-de-sac wall.

The corridor was empty and quiet. The only sound was the ever-present rumbling of the generators in the power plant. I decided that I was sick of skulking around and hiding. There was no sense in it anymore, given that the others were dead. All I had to do was explain it to Chuck and his followers. I stretched, turning my head from side to side and cracking my joints. Then I walked down the hall, spear in hand. The lights seemed brighter than before, and the corridor seemed even longer. As the adrenalin left my body, my stomach began to ache again.

All of us had begun to suffer the physical, emotional and mental side-effects of starvation. A few of the women had stopped getting their periods. Some of us had gotten weird rashes, or began losing hair. Drew had battled a bad case of diarrhea, which had left him weak and dehydrated until it stopped. I’d suffered from constipation, depression, social withdrawal and insomnia. I don’t know if they were directly related to my lack of food, since the symptoms had first manifested themselves with the divorce. All of us were more irritable, and if the events of the last few hours were any indication, the others were now transitioning from irritability to full-blown psychotic episodes. I’d have to choose my words carefully when I confronted Chuck. I didn’t want to challenge his Alpha Male status. Obviously, it was something that was important to him. I couldn’t be perceived as a threat. But more importantly, I needed to appear reasonable and logical. I needed to persuade him that I no longer needed to die. Indeed, I’d killed so that the rest of them wouldn’t have to. They didn’t need to worry about it. The blood was on my hands, and from it, the others would stay alive a little while longer.

The lights buzzed overhead, the sound faint and ghostly. I clutched my spear tighter. Something moaned behind me. I spun around and gasped, my eyes widening. Clyde stumbled into the corridor, supporting himself with one hand against the wall. His other arm hung limp at his side. He was hunched over, but he lifted his head and stared at me with half-lidded eyes. The blood on his face made his skin seem stark and pale and ghostly. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were bright red.

“I thought I killed you,” I said. My voice seemed to echo down the hall.

“Uck oo, Eet… oer ucker…”

“I can’t understand you, Clyde.”

“Uck oo!” Clyde raised his hand and gave me the finger, relying on universal sign language to communicate for him.

“Listen…” I laid the spear down on the floor and held up my hands. “We don’t have to do this, Clyde. You’re hurt. You’re hurt real bad. Let me go get you some help. You don’t have to kill me. If you guys are determined to resort to cannibalism, then I won’t stand in your way. But it doesn’t have to be me that you eat. We can start with Krantz, Jim and George. Okay?”

Clyde drooled blood.

“Okay?” I asked again.

“Uck oo!”

“Fuck me? No, fuck you, Clyde. You’ve got two choices. You can sit down right here and let me get you some help, or I can finish the fucking job and make sure you’re the first course at dinner tonight. Now, which do you prefer?”

He stared at me, his mouth hanging open, his wounded, bloody tongue lolling from between his lips like a dead fish. He swayed back and forth, and then slumped to the floor with a sigh. It was a slow, laborious process, and he grunted with pain as he pushed his back against the wall. His eyes never left me. They seemed accusatory, angry and distrustful.

“Good,” I said, softening my voice. “That’s good. Now you just stay right there, Clyde. I’ll go work everything out with Chuck and get you some help. Stay calm and don’t move. Just rest. I’ll be back. Okay?”

He didn’t respond, and I wondered if he understood me at all. A string of bloody drool dribbled down his chin. Then Clyde nodded slowly, and I saw a cautious hope in his gaze. The tension seemed to go out of his body. He closed his eyes. His head and shoulders sagged, and his chin drooped against his chest. I stood there for a moment, watching him, making sure that he wouldn’t get back up and claw his way after me after I’d turned my back on him, but he didn’t move. Were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, or the occasional twitch of his legs and feet, I’d have thought he was dead. I resisted the urge to prod him with my shoe. In truth, seeing him like that, I felt sorry for Clyde. I didn’t feel guilt. At that point, I was beyond guilt. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe it was a mental defense mechanism—my psyche’s way of shielding me from the crushing totality that I’d murdered three people and injured a fourth. Yes, it had been in self-defense, but at that moment, the facts didn’t matter. Maybe you can’t understand that. Maybe you have to have killed someone to sympathize with how I felt. I pitied Clyde, but I was also secure in the certainty that he’d brought it on himself.

After arming myself with the spear again, I started back down the corridor, passing by the restroom and heading toward the power plant. The roar of the generators grew louder and I could feel the floor vibrating slightly beneath my feet as I drew closer to the power plant. I turned around once, just to make sure Clyde was still there. He was. Then I focused my attention in front of me. A sign on the power plant door warned me of electrical hazards. That made me grin. Getting electrocuted seemed to be the least of my problems right now. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The noise immediately quadrupled in volume. To say it was loud inside the power plant was an understatement. Loud didn’t begin to describe it. Deafening was much more apt. It was the kind of noise you felt in your chest. I was used to it, of course. I had to experience it every time I’d given a tour. Still, after a few moments, my ears began to throb. If there was anyone inside the area, I’d never hear them, but on a more positive note, they wouldn’t hear me either. The room was huge, taking up most of the bunker’s upper level, and there were plenty of places for me to hide. In addition to the generators, the power plant held our massive fresh water tank and the center of the air filtration system. There was all sorts of other equipment, too. I was clueless to their origin or purpose, even as a tour guide and employee of the hotel. I’d never been mechanically inclined, and we’d never had to talk about them during the tour. But I didn’t need to know what they were to hide behind or beneath them. There were plenty of dark corners and catwalks and areas filled with pipes and conduit and wires. Between that and the noise, I could have hid in the power plant indefinitely. It occurred to me then that the power plant should have been my first choice. Maybe if I’d gone there instead of to the blast door, Jim and George would still be alive.

Despite the extremity of the power plant, I took my time, proceeding cautiously. If I encountered someone inside here, I’d have a hard time reasoning with them if they couldn’t hear me. It would be better to confront my pursuers outside of the area. I passed by a large, wheeled toolbox, the kind you usually saw in an automotive garage. It had belonged to one of our maintenance men. I paused for a moment, considering raiding it for more weapons. I experimented with the drawers and discovered that the toolbox wasn’t locked. I rooted through it. It was full of everything you’d expect—wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, gauges, shop rags, pneumatic and compressed air parts, and various mechanical odds and ends. I found a cigarette lighter and half a pack of matches. I grabbed both and stuffed them in my pocket. I also took a flat-end screwdriver and a box-cutter. I pushed the button on the box-cutter and the razor slid out of the end. The blade was rusty, but sharp. I pushed the button back down and stuck both the razor knife and the screwdriver in my back pocket. I considered taking one of the claw hammers but then decided to keep my spear instead. It would give me more reach should I need it. I hoped that I no longer would.

There were other potentially useful items scattered throughout the power plant. I opened a locker and found cans of gasoline, kerosene, and industrial solvents. Fire extinguishers and emergency eye-wash stations hung on the walls. A grease gun dangled from a length of angle iron. A long, black hose lay coiled on a skid. There were mops and whisk brooms in a corner, along with a wheeled mop bucket. There was also a portable sump pump, a wet-vac, and other pieces of equipment. I made a note of their location, and then continued on my way.

At the far end of the power plant was a stairwell that led back down to the bunker’s lower level. I stood at the door for a moment, gathering my resolve. It would be futile to try to listen for someone on the other side, so I simply pushed the door open and stepped back, in case there was somebody waiting. There wasn’t, so I stepped out into the stairwell. The thick door slammed shut behind me, immediately muffling the monotonous, numbing thrum of the generators. I looked out over the metal handrail and glanced below. The overhead lights were almost burned out, reduced to a single working bulb, but despite the shadows, I could see that the stairwell was empty. There was a landing halfway down, followed by another set of stairs with a door at the bottom. Nodding to myself, I started down. My arms and legs felt shaky—whether from hunger or nervousness, or maybe both. I reached the landing without incident and was just about to go down the second set of stairs when the door at the bottom opened. I retreated a few steps, my heart rate instantly pounding, and flattened myself against the wall. I realized at that moment that I was screwed. If I made a break for it, whoever was coming up the stairs would see me running and know where I’d gone. I had no choice but to confront them, and hope that they’d listen to reason.

Footsteps padded up the concrete stairs, echoing off the walls. The generators rumbled above me. Then a figure emerged onto the landing. I leaped forward and thrust my spear at them.

“Hold it!”

The figure cried out, startled. I recognized the voice. Then he stepped into the light.

“Pete? Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Drew?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for you.” He glanced down at my spear. The point was only inches from his stomach. “You planning on sticking me with that thing?”

“Sorry.” I lowered my weapon. “I thought they’d killed you.”

“No. Chuck was really pissed, but he let me go after I told them I’d help look for you. I was just coming to do that now. Here.” He held up a bottle of water and offered it to me. “I thought you might be able to use that.”

Nodding eagerly, I took the bottle from him. It was still cold and the plastic was covered with condensation. It felt wonderful. I rubbed it against my sweaty forehead and then unscrewed the cap and drank greedily, gulping it down. Water dribbled down my chin. I drank it all and then sighed.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome. Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“So where have you been?” Drew asked. “They went ape-shit when they figured out you’d escaped the incinerator room. Chuck sent Jim, George and Clyde up here to look for you, along with the Chinese guy.”

The Chinese guy—we called him that because none of us knew his name. He didn’t speak a word of English and none of us spoke Chinese. His communication with our group had been accomplished through a series of hand gestures and grunts. He was nice enough. Middle-aged, slightly overweight (at least, when we first came here), but with a full, thick head of hair. He hadn’t bothered anybody and nobody bothered him. I’d often wondered how he ended up at The Pocahontas. Had he been a guest? Had he been there with anybody else, and if so, how come they hadn’t made it down to the bunker with him? Were they among the zombies now, or had he come alone?

“I didn’t run into the Chinese guy,” I said.

“He came back down a little bit ago,” Drew explained. “To be honest, I don’t think he completely understands what’s going on. I mean, he voted and everything, but who knows if he understood what we were voting on. Chuck sent him up here with the others but then he came back down again, looking confused. He kept saying ‘Dui bu chi’ or something like that. Whatever that means. That’s when Chuck sent me up here instead.”

I grinned. “Good for Chinese dude. If we ever get out of here, I’ll have to remember to buy him a beer. Where are the others?”

“Waiting downstairs.” Drew glanced over his shoulder at the door, and then turned back to me. “Did you see Jim and the others?”

I nodded.

“What happened?”

“They’re dead. Well, Jim and George are dead. Clyde’s still alive, but he’s hurt. I fucked him up pretty bad, I think.”

“You killed them?”

“I had to. They would have killed me if I hadn’t.”

Drew nodded slowly. “Yeah, they would have. Jesus, what’s become of us, Pete? This whole kill or be killed thing really sucks.”

“Yes, it does. But I don’t see that we have an option, Drew.”

“No, I guess we don’t.”

“I was thinking about trying to reason with Chuck. Make some kind of deal. With Jim, George and Krantz all dead, it’s not like they have to eat me anymore. If they’re so set on eating each other, they can start with them.”

“Do you think Chuck and the others will agree to that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You saw them last. What was their temperature like?”

“Chuck’s pretty damned livid. He’s never been your biggest fan to begin with. This hasn’t helped.”

“We got off on the wrong foot. Maybe he just needs to get to know me better.”

It took Drew a moment to realize that I was making a joke. When he did, a slight smile crossed his face. He seemed uneasy and nervous. I chided myself for being so inconsiderate. Here was my one friend, the one person I could count on not to stick me in the back, and I was making him stand out here in the open while the hunt was still in progress.

“So,” Drew asked finally. “What now?”

I shrugged again. “I guess I go and face the music. If they won’t listen to reason, then we’ve got a fight on our hands. But I don’t want to endanger you any more than I already have. You should stay here. I’ll confront Chuck by myself.”

“No, I’ll go with you. He’s in the lunch room, with most of the others. If you go by yourself, there’s a chance someone might see you and attack first and then ask questions later. If I’m with you, I might be able to get them to hold off.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Drew.”

“You didn’t ask me to. I volunteered. Besides, I told Chuck I’d look for you. This way, I can show him that I did as he asked. Might buy me some slack with him.”

“Okay,” I agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. I don’t know. Maybe it was my conscience trying to counterbalance the murders I’d just committed, but at that moment, I was more scared of Drew paying the consequences for my actions than I was of losing my own life. Drew was a good guy. He was my friend—the only real friend I had down here in the bunker. Allowing Chuck and the others to punish him for something I’d done would be a form of betrayal, and I couldn’t do that to him. Not after everything that had happened.

We started down the stairs. When we reached the door on the lower level, Drew paused, eyeing my spear.

“I’d feel a lot better if I had a weapon, too.”

“Here.” I pulled the screwdriver out of my back pocket and handed it to him. “Use this. It ain’t much, but if you stab somebody, it should do the job. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“Let’s hope so.”

I put my ear to the door and listened. It was quiet. Drew had said that Chuck and most of the others were in the lunchroom. Given the silence on the other side of the door, there was a good chance that the hallway was currently unoccupied. If my luck held out, maybe we could make it to the lunchroom without an altercation. If I approached Chuck with deference and respect, maybe this whole thing could be turned around before it went any further.

“So are we going, or what?” Drew whispered.

Nodding, I opened the door.

Chuck and five others were waiting on the other side. With him were the Chinese guy, Emma Straub, Mike Blazi, Jeff Antonio, and Dave Lombardo. I’ve already told you about the Chinese guy. Emma was a young woman who had worked upstairs in the hotel’s candy shop. She’d been very pretty before starvation had begun ravaging her face and body. Mike, Jeff and Dave were documentary filmmakers who had been staying at the Pocahontas and playing lots of golf, until the zombies showed up and ruined their game. None of them were armed but there was murder in their eyes.

Chuck grinned. “Hi, Pete. Welcome! So glad you could join us.”

“Shit.”

I let go of the door. It started to swing shut, but Dave reached out and grabbed it with one hand. I backed up, not wanting to turn my back on them, and felt the flat, hard edge of Drew’s screwdriver press into my shirt, right above my kidney. I stiffened.

“Sorry, Pete,” he said. “I’m really sorry. Just don’t move, okay?”

“Drew, what the hell is going on?”

“They were going to kill me if I didn’t help find you. I’m sorry, dude. I really am. But I didn’t survive those walking fucking corpses just to end up being killed down here.”

“You stupid motherfucker…”

“Enough of that,” Chuck said. “Good job, Drew. Now do me a favor? Run upstairs and tell those other worthless ass-clowns to get back down here.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re dead,” Drew told him. “And before you do anything to Pete, I think we ought to hear him out.”

Dave and Chuck stepped toward me. I tried to move away, but all that did was drive the screwdriver harder against my back. Any more pressure and the tip would break my skin.

“It’s true,” I said. “George and Jim are dead, and Clyde is hurt pretty bad. I left him upstairs. He needs medical attention.”

“So,” Chuck said, “in addition to Krantz, you’ve murdered two more of my people.”

“They’re not your people, Chuck. They’re just people—survivors, trying to stay alive. Yes, I killed them, but it was in self-defense, and it was no different than what you plan to do to me.”

“We’re doing what we have to,” Emma said. “To survive.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. Don’t you guys see? Krantz, Jim and George—that’s enough to feed all of you for months, if you prepare their bodies now, before they start to rot. You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to kill anyone! I’ve done all the hard work for you. There’s no reason this has to go on a minute longer. Let’s just all calm down and take a deep breath, okay?”

Behind me, I felt the pressure from the screwdriver tip ease a little. Drew’s breath tickled the back of my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I ignored him.

The Chinese guy looked at each of us, trying to figure out what was going on. Emma, Jeff and Mike paused, seemingly surprised by this revelation. They glanced at each other, and then at Chuck, who appeared nonplussed. He was still grinning. Dave was not. Dave stared straight into my eyes, unblinking. I glanced down and noticed with some unease that he had a bulge in the front of his pants. Dave liked what was happening, and that made him my first target, should things not play out the way I’d hoped them to.

Chuck turned to Jeff and Mike. “Go upstairs and get Jim and George’s bodies. Put them with Krantz.

They nodded, and then stepped toward me. Drew backed up so that I could move aside, and in doing so, removed the screwdriver from my back. Dave had to step aside, as well, so that Jeff and Mike could slip past us and up the stairs. Mike couldn’t meet my eyes, but Jeff did.

“It was nothing personal,” he told me. “I hope you understand that.”

I shrugged. “The bodies are down near the blast door, where the forklifts are parked. That’s where you’ll find Clyde, too.”

“Okay.”

They started up the stairs, leaving me at the bottom of the stairwell with Drew, Chuck, Dave, Emma and the Chinese guy. Emma and the Chinese guy were still in the hallway. The others were crowded around me, close enough that I could smell their stink. Above us, the echoes of Mike and Jeff’s footsteps quickly faded. I heard the door open and close as they entered the power plant.

Chuck’s grin returned. “Dave, take Pete’s weapon, will you?”

Flinching, I tightened my grip on the spear. “Are we cool now, Chuck?”

“Oh, we’re very cool. You’ve done us the favor of providing food for the group. I’ll repay the favor with a quick death.”

Dave and Chuck lunged at me simultaneously. Dave grabbed the spear and tried to rip it from my hands, but I held on tight. Behind me, I heard Drew cry out in surprise. Without looking, I stomped hard on his foot. He yelped, and I heard the screwdriver clatter to the floor. Chuck grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked hard as I kneed Dave in the balls. The big man grunted, and the air whooshed from his lungs and into my face. It reeked. He stumbled backward, cradling his groin, and slammed into the wall. The door slammed shut, blocking Emma and the Chinese guy from view. I hollered as Chuck pulled my hair. He twisted, trying to force my head down.

“Let go of me, motherfucker.”

“This is my bunker,” Chuck spat. “My people. My fucking people! You don’t question me and get away with it, Pete. You made me look bad.”

I realized then that for Chuck, this wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t about starving to death. It was about power. With a scream, I jerked away from him. A fistful of my hair ripped free. I thrust my spear blindly, jabbing Chuck in the side. Dave moaned on the floor. Chuck yelled something unintelligible. I spun around and with my right palm, I slammed Drew’s head against the wall. Then I ran back up the stairs.

“Get him!” Chuck’s enraged cry boomed, echoing in the stairwell.

I heard footsteps pursuing me, but rather than turn around to see who it was, I ran faster, scrambling up the stairs two at a time. My scalp felt hot, and I was pretty sure I was bleeding, but I didn’t care. I rounded the corner and fled up the second flight of stairs. I half expected the door to the power plant to burst open as Jeff and Mike returned to investigate the commotion, but then I remembered that they wouldn’t be able to hear us over the generators.

Fingers grasped at my shirttail, pulling me backward. I swung the spear like a club, lashing out at whoever was behind me. The spear whistled through the air and then I connected with my pursuer’s head with a loud, solid whack. They grunted, and slipped. I heard them scrabbling on the stairs, along with Chuck’s cursing and commands and Dave’s moans. I reached the door, yanked it open, and bolted into the power plant. There was no immediate sign of Jeff and Mike. The door slammed shut behind me, then banged open again a split second later as Drew charged into the room. I turned and faced him. He was panting hard and his face was red. His eyes widened and he held up his hands.

“Pete, listen to me…”

I charged him, my face twisted with rage. Drew’s eyes got even wider. Then he turned around and fled. My spear thrust clanged uselessly against the closing door.

My first instinct was to chase him, but instead, I shoved my spear through the door handle so that they couldn’t open it from that end. Then, keeping an eye out for Jeff and Mike, I raced over to one of the work stations I’d spotted earlier. I grabbed a can of gasoline, twisted off the cap and poured the contents into the mop bucket. Then I stuffed an oily shop rag in my pocket and wheeled the bucket over to the door. Using my lighter, I lit the rag on fire. Then, as it slowly burned, I pulled the spear free and opened the door.

Chuck, Drew and Dave were halfway up the second landing. Drew and Dave were side-by-side. Chuck was just behind them. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Drew’s face was flushed, and his lip was swollen and bleeding. Apparently, Dave or Chuck had convinced him to turn around again. They faltered when they saw me with the burning rag. I held it out, letting it dangle in the air. The flames climbed higher, singeing the hair on my knuckles and hand. I didn’t care. In truth, I barely felt it.

Without a word, I nudged the bucket forward with my foot and sent it rolling toward the stairs. I dropped the flaming shop rag into it and jumped back. The effect was instantaneous. There was a loud ‘whoom’ and a bright flare as the gasoline caught on fire.

“Shit,” Dave yelled. “Get the fuck back!”

His warning came too late. The mop bucket reached the top stair and tilted over with a loud crash, spilling flaming gasoline toward them. Fire raced down the stairs, licking Drew and Dave’s feet and flowing toward Chuck. He jumped to the bottom of the landing, rolled, and fled down the next flight of stairs. Drew and Dave tried running, too, but they couldn’t outrun the fire creeping up their legs. Both men screamed. Drew tripped and fell, pulling Dave down with him. Their shrieks grew louder as the flames engulfed them. The stairwell filled with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Their hair caught fire next. Despite everything, my stomach grumbled. I closed my eyes to block out the horrible sight, and the smell changed. The stench of burning human flesh became the aroma of roasting pork. I thought back to the day that Alyssa and I got married. The caterer provided an open pit pig roast for our wedding reception, which was held outdoors. All of the guests had agreed that it was a great meal. Whenever anybody talked about that day, the first thing they invariably mentioned was how good the food had been. Alyssa’s father had eaten three servings of roasted pork, and would have eaten more if the disc jockey hadn’t called him front and center to dance with Alyssa to “Daddy’s Little Girl”.

Drew and Dave were both fully engulfed in flames now. They rolled down the stairs, shrieking and beating at themselves. The smoke made my eyes water.

The smell made my mouth water.

The fire alarm began to wail. A second later, the bunker’s automatic sprinkler system kicked on, showering the stairwell with water. Drew and Dave popped and sizzled. I stood there at the top of the stairs, stretched out my arms and tilted my head upward, letting the spray wash over me. I opened my mouth and drank greedily. I groaned in pleasure as the water ran down my head and chest and back. It felt like a baptism. I wondered what Eisenhower’s bronze head would have thought of me, had it been able to see me at that moment. Would it have been proud? And what about Alyssa? If she could have seen me at that moment, would she have seen me for the man I really was? Would she have been proud? Would she have regretted her decision?

I decided that I really didn’t care anymore.

“Fuck her and fuck them. Fuck them all.”

I was tired of being the prey. It was time to become the hunter. Nodding in satisfaction, I ducked back into the power plant and made preparations for war.