Hell's Fortress (22 page)

Another explosion hit the hotel. A split second later, something whistled past Eliza’s ear. Grover stumbled, crying out in pain.

Eliza and Miriam grabbed his arms and hauled him along. He regained his feet and they raced after Steve and Fayer, now in the lead. Red tracer bullets sliced across the road to their right. They came from a supermarket parking lot, and return fire answered from a brick office building opposite.

They reached the other side of the street, and Eliza found a metal staircase that descended from the sidewalk into the underpass. When they reached the bottom, it turned out not to be a road at all, but a wide, boxy concrete culvert. These must be the storm drains the FBI agents had taken to after abandoning their armored vehicle.

After passing beneath the road, the culvert stretched across the open ground for maybe thirty yards before disappearing into a yawning hole beneath a parking garage. Peeling graffiti colored the concrete walls where they lay exposed to the sky. Bullet holes pocked the surface.

Grover was groaning and clenching his left bicep, so Eliza stopped him just before they plunged into darkness. The tunnel emitted a wet, foul odor, like a cross between a diaper pail and a bag of wet clothes left to mildew.

“Let me look.” She made to unbutton his long-sleeved shirt. He flinched away. “Come on, Grover, you’ve been hit. I’ll be careful.”

Grover nodded at Steve. “Could he do it instead?”

She stared. They could be killed by a bullet or a stray shell at any moment and Grover was too shy to take off his shirt. But he was insistent, so she looked away while Steve helped him out of his shirt.

Meanwhile, Miriam searched a pair of dead soldiers sprawled at the mouth of the tunnel, apparently looking for weapons. She came up empty-handed.

But the bodies hadn’t been completely looted. Fayer took off one man’s shirt and buttoned it over her tank top, then tugged off the second, smaller man’s boots and socks. She winced as she pulled the socks on over scraped-up feet.

Steve pulled something from Grover’s arm. The boy hissed.

“Well, look what we have here,” Steve said.

He held something up to the dim light cast from the burning hotel across the street. It was a poker chip, glossy gold and stained around the edges with Grover’s blood. Five thousand dollars.

“You’re a high-roller now.” Steve slapped it into Grover’s hand. “Bet there’s a bunch of these things back on the road. Want to go back and scavenge up a fortune?”

Grover managed a thin smile. He caught the others looking and hurriedly put his undergarments and shirt back on.

Then the gunfire picked up again and they ducked into the dank tunnel and safety.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The air grew thicker as they penetrated deeper into the tunnels, first smelling of motor oil, then changing to the stench of rotting bodies. The gunfire grew muffled and then silent after a few corners, but the walls continued to shake as periodic explosions pummeled the ground above them. Steve went first, followed by Eliza, then Fayer, Miriam, and finally Grover. They whispered and touched each other’s shoulders to stay in contact.

After a few minutes, they splashed into water up to their ankles, and before Eliza could stop her, Fayer had dropped to her knees and was gulping away. Steve tried to do the same, but Eliza pulled him back and begged him not to.

“I’m so thirsty. Please, just a mouthful.”

“Steve, you know it’s filthy. You can’t.”

“She’s right,” Fayer’s voice said hollowly as she rose to her feet. “It tastes awful. I hate to think what’s in it.”

“Didn’t stop you from guzzling like an idiot,” Miriam said.

“I couldn’t help it.”

“What if we filtered it?” Grover suggested. “We could strain it through our shirts like you’d do in the desert.”

“That’s for clearing out sediment and mosquito larvae,” Eliza said. “It won’t help with water-borne pathogens.”

“Then what do we do?” he asked. “I’m so thirsty.”

Yes, so was Eliza. It had become almost unbearable. And that was after less than a day baking in the abandoned hotel conference room. Steve said their last water delivery had come the previous evening, but they’d been thirsty for days. He and Fayer must be suffering from serious dehydration.

But at the same time, cholera had already killed tens of thousands in and around Las Vegas. Any water down here would be swimming in it. Introduced to bodies already weakened with hunger and dehydration, an infection would surely prove fatal.

On the other hand, Steve had already fought off an attack of some sort of intestinal illness. Could you build an immunity to cholera? She had no idea and it wasn’t like she could grab her phone and call Jacob to ask.

Steve was edging away as she wrestled with these worries, and she realized just in time that he was heading for the puddle anyway.

She grabbed his arm. “No, not here. I’ll find you water, I promise.”

“How will you do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll go to the surface and look.”

“It’s impossible.”

“If we don’t find water by morning, then you can drink the puddles. Can you hold on until then?”

He paused, then said, “Okay. Until morning.”

“That goes for all of you,” Eliza said. “You too, Agent Fayer.”

“Water or no water, we can’t stay down here forever,” Miriam said. “Does anyone have any ideas?”

“What about Methuselah’s tank?” Eliza asked.

“Methuselah’s what?” Grover asked.

“An armored car,” Steve said. “We got it from some old survivalist. We left it in an abandoned factory.”

“Do you remember where?” Eliza asked.

“For all we know, it’s buried in rubble,” Fayer said. She sounded stronger after her drink, and Eliza wondered if she’d made a mistake denying Steve a mouthful or two.

“Or stolen,” he said.

Eliza wasn’t so sure. “You said it was an air conditioner factory?”

“That’s right,” Steve said.

“Nobody is looting AC units these days. And Las Vegas is a big place. Even with all the troops fighting, there’s a good chance the factory has been untouched since you took to the storm drains. Could you find it again?”

“Sure, if we’re above ground,” Steve said. “In the daylight. But if we come up, people will start shooting.”

“I agree,” Fayer said. “We have to stay down here. It’s too dangerous up top.”

“
Everything
is dangerous right now,” Miriam said. “Even sitting here. Soldiers could come around that corner any minute. Or heck, starving hordes of cannibals might tear us apart.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Eliza said.

“Point is, we’re wasting time. There’s nowhere safe, so we may as well start moving.”

All five of them agreed with this much, and with no better ideas, they decided to make an attempt to find the abandoned factory via the drainage tunnels. Apparently, the tunnels went on for miles and miles, but it was difficult to navigate them in the dark, so the first step was to find another entrance so they could pop out long enough to get their bearings. They groped their way forward, making slow progress.

There were other survivors in the tunnels. Eliza heard breathing, saw lights snuff out as they came around the corner, smelled a hint of burning kerosene, or saw a wood fire quickly doused. Once, she caught a glimpse of a mattress and several thin, filthy children staring, before someone hastily turned off a lantern.

“I’d feel a lot better with guns and flashlights,” Miriam said when they’d put some distance between themselves and the children.

“They’re just kids,” Eliza said.

“What do you think they’ve done to stay alive down here? What do you think they’ve done for food and water?”

At last the tunnel emerged into open air again, emptying into a gravelly wash as it passed beneath the road. The gunfire sounded distant, so Eliza and Steve risked climbing the bank to the street for a better look. Up above, they found more deserted roads, with darkened duplexes, crummy cinder-block houses, and a partially collapsed strip mall across the street. Fires burned to the south and west, and the gun battles continued in those directions as well.

They located the Strip and the burning hotels and office buildings downtown, maybe a mile distant.

“Glad we’re out of there,” Eliza said.

“Yeah, but in the wrong direction,” Steve said. “We’ve been going east. We need to get west of the Strip and north of Highway 95.”

They returned to the edge of the tunnels, where the other three waited. Eliza gave the bad news.

“We passed another culvert about ten minutes ago,” Fayer said. “It seemed like one of the main lines. If we took that, it would cut us back under the city and to the west. If we can get under the freeway and then north of 95, we’ll be safer.”

“I can’t go back in there,” Grover said. “Not until I get water.”

“What choice do we have?” Eliza asked.

“If you have to leave me, I understand.”

“We’re not leaving anyone,” she said.

Fayer bent over with her hands on her knees. Steve leaned against the concrete and slid to the ground. He looked almost fatally exhausted. Miriam put her hands on her hips and started to say something, then turned away with a sigh.

This was no good. Get settled here and they’d never get going again.

Eliza kicked at the rubbish buried in the sediment that had collected on the side of the drainage canal. She pried loose a two-liter soda bottle, tapped it to dump out the sand, then blew into it to pop out the collapsed sides.

Miriam came over. “What have you got?”

“Something to hold water. Stay with the others. I’ll see what I can find.”

“I’m going too.”

Eliza nodded. “Okay. Let’s go. The rest of you, go back underground. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Eliza and Miriam climbed out of the culvert and crossed the street to the strip mall Eliza had spotted earlier. Darkened signs advertised a liquor store, payday loans, and a Mexican bodega. The first two stores were collapsed and the bodega had been looted to the floorboards. Cautiously, they made their way onto a side street and into the surrounding subdivisions.

It was a poor, working-class neighborhood, now in ruins. The houses that hadn’t burned had suffered from looters. There wasn’t a scrap of food or water in any of them. No clothes, no mattresses. The furniture was missing, probably burned for fuel. And the taps were dry. Even the toilet bowls and tanks held no water. With no other options, they continued down the street, house by house.

After nearly an hour of fruitless searching, their luck turned. It started with Miriam spotting a pair of dead soldiers sprawled in the street. Others had stripped their boots, but one of the soldiers, his body nearly cut in two by gunfire, had a pistol holstered at his waist that Miriam discovered when she rolled him over.

She lifted it to the moonlight, then checked the magazine. “Now we’re talking. Grab me that holster, will you?”

A few minutes later, a figure slinking down the opposite side of the street sent them scrambling into one of the yards for cover. It was only a coyote, but while still in the yard, Eliza found a concrete cistern for collecting rainwater. Other cisterns they’d spotted had been drained, but this one had somehow remained undetected and was half-full.

The water was warm and tasted of rust. She didn’t care. Taking turns with Miriam, Eliza drank until her stomach hurt, then she filled the empty soda bottle. They found a plastic watering can in a backyard shed and filled this too.

The other three practically wept in relief when they returned bearing water. Eliza handed over the watering can to Grover and Fayer, then sat with Steve to force him to take tiny sips from the soda bottle. After he’d downed maybe a third, she made him wait twenty minutes. While he did, she washed his hands and face, and poured some on the back of his neck.

“Don’t waste it,” he protested.

“There’s more where this came from. I only wish I could get you food.”

“There’s food in the armored car.” Fresh optimism warmed his voice. “And it’s good stuff too. That crazy survivalist knew what he was doing.”

Steve leaned back and sighed as she washed and cooled his neck. He was so thin and dirty, but she relished the feeling of her hands against his skin. So many months without a word and now he was here, by her side. She had despaired of ever seeing him again. It was almost a miracle. Almost enough to heal her wounded faith.

When only a few swallows remained in the soda bottle, she let Steve drink the rest. Fayer and Grover shared out the watering can, drinking some, and running the rest over their heads and hands. When it was empty, Miriam and Eliza went to refill the containers. Upon their return, the group reentered the tunnels.

Their luck continued to improve. After another forty minutes below ground, they emerged to find that they’d hooked north of the airport to the edge of the Strip. The gunfire had diminished to sporadic bursts, although several buildings were still spewing flame. Steve was able to figure out where they were by a pair of intact street signs marking an intersection. Reoriented, they returned to the darkness.

Dawn stained the western horizon by the time they finally picked their way out of the tunnels and emerged in the open air.

Exhausted and dirty, their water gone again, the five companions stood in the open air enjoying a breeze that momentarily washed away the bitter, choking smoke. The FBI agents took their bearings and declared that they were close. When they set off again, Fayer brought up the rear, hands over her belly and frowning as if with discomfort. Eliza dropped back to ask if she was okay, and the woman shrugged and said too much water on an empty stomach had given her cramps. Except nobody else seemed to be suffering the same symptoms.

What about Fayer’s moment of weakness, when she’d gulped at the filthy puddle? That had only been seven or eight hours earlier. Even if the water had been contaminated, Eliza doubted the symptoms would have come on so quickly.

A pair of jets rumbled over the city. Flashes of light emerged from their tails, hanging in the air like the dying embers of a fireworks display. Flares, to throw off surface-to-air missiles. More explosions rocked the downtown.

“Keep moving,” Steve said. “We’re close.”

He led them down a wide, vacant boulevard lined with palm trees. At first glance, this part of the city looked untouched, but bullet holes riddled the cement sound barriers, and a few minutes later they came upon a pile of body bags, the dead stacked five deep and extending the length of a city block. They crossed the street to get away from the bodies, and walked past them in silence. The sun rose in the sky, but it was cooler than the previous day, almost chilly, as the northern air masses pushed south again.

Ten minutes later they found the industrial park where the FBI agents had stashed their vehicle. The warehouses, factories, and storage units lay silent. Fire had gutted some of the buildings, while others sat among piles of garbage that had blown against their foundations like so many plastic and paper tumbleweeds.

Steve brought them through an unlocked chain link gate, then to a warehouse next to the main factory building.

“The back way is blocked, so we’ll have to go through here.”

He drew open a rising bay door with a noisy clank. A dozen or so squatters lay in the middle of the floor or slumped against the walls. They’d made nests of blankets and mattresses. The room reeked of blood and sweat and feces.

Miriam drew her pistol. “FBI. Everybody out of the building.”

None of them moved, but simply froze as if too terrified or weak to comply.

Miriam repeated her orders, her voice harsh and demanding. Then she let out a sound halfway between a hacking cough and a groan. “Never mind.” She dropped the nose of her gun and moved cautiously into the open bay.

As Eliza entered with the others and her eyes adjusted, she saw what had caused Miriam’s reaction. The people hadn’t responded because they were dead. Sick or starving, they had found refuge in the loading bay, then simply died where they lay.

Eliza had grown almost immune to death by now, and struggled to see the hollow, dehydrated bodies as humans. She joined Miriam, Steve, and Fayer in going through their possessions. They found several plastic milk jugs filled with water, but no food. No weapons or anything else of value.

“Um, Eliza?” Grover said. “You’d better check this out.”

He had backed against one of the empty walls rather than participate in the search and now stood over a big plastic bin with his shirt pulled up over his mouth and nose.

When Eliza came over, the stench greeted her like a wall. She covered her mouth with her hand and forced herself to look. The bin was a latrine. The contents looked like Cream of Wheat.

“Why does it look like that?” he asked.