CRYERS (8 page)

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 inside 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.

“I was the one what woke it up,” Lawson said. “See
those three buttons?” Cobe looked away from the glass and saw them in a single
line under the window. The first was white, the second red, and the last one
was green. “I pressed the white button, and that voice we heard earlier told me
to wait twelve hours while the thing inside woke up. I tried the red one next
and was warned it would only take another minute or so.”

“And the green one?”

Lawson shook his head at the boy. “Didn’t touch it.
Figured it might pop another door open and let the damn thing out. Even armed
as I was, I didn’t want to take the risk.”

Cobe could hardly blame him. Willem and Trot had
already stepped back out into the hallway. Lawson stood beside the door, his
hand back at his holster, ready to leave next. “You said you were the one that
woke it up…when was that?”

“First time I was ever here; the same time as when I
shot the howler dead over at that desk.”

“How long ago?”

“Thirty-four…maybe thirty-five years.”

They left the silent screaming
cat’s tomb and travelled down the corridor without trying any more doors. Their
fear of discovering people in the same state as Smudge overrode any remaining
curiosity. Cobe didn’t know what claustrophobia was, because he’d been born and
raised in a walled community. As bleak and hopeless as it was, Burn still
offered open skies and a sense of knowing where he and his family were.

Cobe didn’t know where he was now.
His world had turned upside down. Family numbers had been cut in half. The
choking sense of dread he felt—buried half a mile, if not farther, beneath the
ground, where dead things were still living—wasn’t making matters better. “When
are we going to get what we came for?” he asked the lawman.

“Books are below,” Lawson answered,
pointing down at the floor. “Eighteen levels down.”

Trot didn’t understand the word. “Levels?”

“Floors. Eighteen more floors like
this, all with hallways, doors, and rooms.”

“Eighteen more?” Willem wasn’t
impressed. He swung his arm in circles. “Gawdamn! We’ll be walking around this
place for days…Just for a bunch of stupid, ol’ books.”

“There ain’t no need to poke around
on each level. There’s a quicker way through the heart of the place.”

No sooner had he said it, they came
to a recessed area in the wall. Two heavy doors, open a foot in the center
where they were designed to shut tight, were set into it. Willem looked into
the dark space and Lawson grabbed the waist of his pants. “Easy now; you don’t
wanna step in there.”

Willem whistled and the sound
echoed. “That’s the deepest hole I ever seen.” He stepped back and allowed his
brother a peek. It was the deepest hole Cobe had ever seen, too. The square
shaft disappeared into complete blackness another hundred feet down. For all
Cobe knew, it may have just kept going on forever.

“That would’ve been the easiest way
down,” Lawson muttered. “Elevators were built to carry folks level to level in
seconds.”

“I ain’t going in there,” Willem
protested. “Don’t care how far it is.”

“We won’t have to.” Lawson went to
another door beside the elevator and opened it. The ancient metal hinges
squealed. “We’re taking the stairs.”

They went down, floor after floor.
It was slow going; Trot’s legs weren’t made for stairs. His left foot popped
out to the side each time he lowered it to the next step. He eventually figured
a rhythm where he didn’t have to use it at all by gripping the handrail and
sliding down, his right leg hopping step after step. His big foot clanged with
every hop, echoing off down below them.

There were signs at each floor
indicating where they were—for all the good it did them. They had started at
Level
A
, and were now passing
C
. It was following the letters of the
alphabet, Cobe realized. People and pets with names beginning in early letters
were ‘put to rest’ above.

Down and down they went. As they
left Level
H
, Cobe saw the floor sign
for
I
combined with
J
. That explained why there were only
eighteen levels instead of twenty-six. There probably weren’t as many people
with names beginning with Is and Js.
Q
,
undoubtedly, shared space with
P
or
possibly
R
. He wondered if the cats and
dogs farther below named Xeepa, Yippy, and Zaloo all rested on a single floor.

Lawson got tired of waiting for
Trot. He wrapped an arm around the man and helped him along. Trot grinned up at
him thankfully. “Sorry…I’m slow.”

“In more ways than one.” The grin
vanished. “Should’ve left you with Dust. It’ll be a lot harder workin’ our way
back up.”

They came upon Level
XYZ
fifteen minutes later, but the
stairs kept heading down. The sign below read ARMORY. “We’ll find everything we
need here.” He was about to open the door when a loud crash sounded somewhere
above. They craned their heads up into the stairwell and searched for the
noise’s source. A second bang followed it, not as loud. Something was rattling
along the metal steps far above.

Willem whispered, “I thought you
said the place was empty.”

“I said that?” Three sets of
terrified, unblinking eyes answered him. “Appears I was mistaken.” He tapped
the gun at his side. “Not to worry. So long as I’m carrying this, there ain’t
nothin’ living or dead I can’t put down.”

“The door won’t open.” Cobe was
twisting the handle unsuccessfully.

“It’s because this floor has to
remain sealed…free of air.” Lawson pushed him out of the way and pressed the
hidden button located on the handle’s underside. “The rooms above, those with
people lying inside cylinders, and the ones like this for storage, they were
meant to go long stretches of time without the folks and contents…going bad.”

Cobe was beginning to understand. There
was a click, and the door popped open an inch. It wasn’t the hiss of air
escaping from the other side he was hearing—it was the sound of air finally
returning. “Long stretches…thirty-five years long?”

“Longer, in some cases. A
whole
lot longer.” They entered a dark
space, a room of cavernous proportions, shrouded in shadows and dark, hulking
shapes. Lawson found a series of switches on the wall next to the door and
clicked them on. The room slowly lit in dull mauve. Trot squeaked and Willem
whistled as the shapes revealed themselves. They were massive cabinets of steel
with glass door fronts. Inside were shelves and racks filled with
violent-looking weapons, similar to the ones Lawson carried at his side and on
his back. There were small pistols and large revolvers cushioned on their sides
in gray, bubbly material. Long rifles stood on end, one after another, silent
and cold, in a seemingly endless line.

Cobe tapped the glass of one
cabinet. It sounded thick and impenetrable.

As if reading his thoughts, Lawson
smacked the glass with the butt of his gun using a considerable amount of
force. “They weren’t made for easy entry.”

“I wasn’t trying to get inside.”

“You want one?”

“One what?”

“A gun. Maybe one of them smaller
pieces to start with.”

Cobe shook his head. “I don’t think
so.”

Lawson made a face like something
stunk in the room. “Gotta learn sometime how to defend yerself. I might not
always be around to look out for you and yer brother.”

“I don’t want a gun.”

“Suit yerself.” He squatted down,
his old knees cracking, and slid a door open that looked like wood but wasn’t.
These two-foot high cabinets without glass were at the bottom of each display
case. Lawson rummaged around briefly through the small boxes stacked neatly
inside. They were arranged by color. He grabbed two yellow boxes and a red one.
He peered up at Cobe. “Ammunition.” The lawman started to slide the door shut but
stopped halfway. He reached back in for a black box with small, white printing.
“In case you change yer mind.” He stood, dug into the pocket of his shirt, and
produced a little gold key flecked with rust. The key slipped into a lock on the
glass case’s center that Cobe hadn’t noticed until now. The cabinet opened and
Lawson pulled one of the smaller revolvers from its snug, gray bed. He tucked
it into the waist of his pants and locked the cabinet back up.

“Can I have a gun?” Willem asked.

Lawson looked the scrawny boy up
and down. “Where would you carry it?”

“In my hand.”

“It would get awfully heavy after a
time…Where would you put it when yer arm got sore?”

Cobe could see that look in his
brother’s eyes. He feared Willem might tell the lawman he’d shove it up his
gnarly, old ass for safekeeping. Instead he told Lawson he’d just keep on
holding it; his one arm was strong, and it never got tired.

“Good to know.” Lawson grinned. “I’ll
keep that in mind when we get into trouble. He looked at Trot, cowering near
the door. “What about you? Aren’t you going to ask for one, too?”

Trot shook his head. “Too dumb to
use one. Might blow another hole in my bum.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said all
day.”

Trot placed his ear against the
closed door. “I can still hear those sounds. They’re getting closer.”

“Keep listening. I’ll take the boys
and get us some books.”

Cobe and Willem followed him past a
hundred more feet of cabinets filled with guns. Neither said a word; Cobe was
afraid the lawman would attempt to change his mind and make him carry a weapon,
and Willem was pissed off and sullen because he couldn’t.

The boy paused at the last glass
window. “What kind of gun is that?” It was longer than Willem was tall, with a
barrel thicker than both of his legs.

“Rocket launcher. I fired one off
years ago outside; ain’t had no desire to use another one since. Hell of a
noisy thing, and damn destructive. Unless yer planning on blowin’ up a
building, there ain’t much use for ‘em.”

“What about the green balls beside
it?”

“Grenades. Hold the handle, pull
the pin on top, and throw for all yer life’s worth. Makes about the same amount
of damage.” Lawson handed the ammunition boxes off to Cobe and opened the
cabinet with his dirty, gold key. He shoved a grenade into each back pocket and
closed it up again. “These might come in handy, actually.”

They came to a small office with a
big window that the boys could see their reflections in. Inside was a desk—its
top holding black trays piled with messy stacks of paper. Behind it was a shelf
containing more books than Cobe had ever seen in one place. He started counting
them by spines and stopped when he reached twenty. Who could’ve written s
o much
stuff? How could there have been
so many people able to read and write that could even understand them? He
remembered how sprawling the alphabetized levels were above, and had his
answer. But still…There must have been a hundred or more books in front of
them.

“There’s rooms on other levels
where it’s nothin’
but
books.
Thousands of ‘em. Go on—grab one a piece, and take one fer Trot.”

Willem reached for the most
colorful—a thick, yellow spine with bold black letters that read
The Shining
. Cobe went for one of the
multiple titles with the ABZE logo. Lawson grabbed his wrist before he could
pull the book out. “Use yer imagination some. The folks on Victory Island ain’t
interested in the workings of this place.”

Cobe picked out a black spine,
thicker than Willem’s, with white lettering—
Great
Expectations
. “Will this do?”

Lawson shrugged. “I reckon. Seen a
copy or two already on the island, but the folks there don’t seem to mind none.”

“There’s more of the exact same
book?” Willem asked. “Why would they make two of them?”

“They used to make hundreds the
same. There were a lot of people back when this place was running…cut down on
havin’ to share.”

They started back the way they’d came.
At first, Cobe thought they had wandered down a different aisle—Trot wasn’t
waiting for them at the stairwell doorway. He saw the scowl deepen on Lawson’s
face. There were spatters of fresh blood on the tiles disappearing under the
door’s edge.

“Aw, shit.” Lawson pulled out his
gun.