Salvation: Secret Apocalypse Book 5 (A Secret Apocalypse Story) (13 page)

This is where
this guy is at.

This is where I
am at.

He thought he
was going to be rescued.

I thought I was
going to live forever and save Maria and save the goddamn day.

No.

He is not going
to be rescued. No one is.

And I am not
going to live forever.

I look at my
watch. I have less than fifty hours left.

“Where are all
the guards?” Kim asks.

“They’re dead,”
Thomas answers. “Everyone is dead. We are all that is left in this part of the
Fortress.”

Ben unloads
Thomas’s rifle and hands it back to him, minus the ammunition. “You guys should
talk strategy and logistics later. But Thomas, you want my advice? Let these
people in. They’ve experienced the Oz virus up close and personal. They’ve
dealt with the infected. They’ve dealt with some very bad people. They’ve got
experience. Combat experience. And trust me; you’re going to need that very,
very soon.”

“We don’t need
combat experience,” Thomas says. “They’re not coming back. And the infected
can’t get to us in our cells. You know what we need? We need less people. We
need fewer mouths to feed. We need less noise. We need less of everything.”

This guy’s line
of thought is starting to scare me. He sees us as a threat. He sees us as
another mouth to feed. A drain on his limited resources.

An extra magnet
for the infected.

“And what makes
you think we need combat experience?” Thomas asks.

“They are
coming,” Ben says.

“Who?”

“The bad guys.
All of them. They are coming. And we can’t stay here. Not for long.”

“The death
squads are not coming back,” Thomas says. “And we’ve got food. We’ve got
security. The prison is the safest place, the only place to hide. The only
possible place we can survive. And that’s all we have to do. Survive. Just a
little while longer. This is a war of attrition.”

“We can help,”
Kim says. “We’ll carry our own weight. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

This is the
nicest possible way to gain access to the prison.

Pretty please.

With a cherry on
top.

We are awesome.

We’ll be model
citizens.

The alternative
would be to just kill this guy. Take the prison by force.

This is the way
I think now.

Kill or be
killed.

Pure and simple.

“These guys
saved my life,” Ben says. “I owe them. So they’re coming in whether you like it
or not.”

“I can’t let
that happen,” Thomas says. “I’m sorry.” He lowers his head. “You would do the
same thing in my situation.”

Thomas is
sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He is half dazed, half
concussed. He is in no position of authority. He is in no position to tell any
of us what to do.

I know this.

Ben knows this.

Everyone in the
room knows this.

Ben points the
shotgun at Thomas’s head. “You
gonna
stop me?”

Thomas bites his
lip. Shakes his head. He doesn’t want extra mouths to feed. But he finally
relents. “Fine! Come on in. Help yourselves. But these guys are your
responsibility,” he says to Ben. “They are your goddamn baggage. They screw up,
they draw attention to us,
it’s
on your head. You get
one chance. You screw up, if any of you screw up, you’re out of here.”

I guess this
means Ben was going to postpone his mission of revenge, or whatever he had planned.

A suicide
mission.

I am glad.

I already feel
safer with him around. His presence and his massive seven foot frame are very
reassuring.

Ben lowers the
shotgun and offers his hand to Thomas. “Come on, let’s go. We
gotta
give them the grand tour, tell them the golden rules
before the door to the labyrinth opens. We don’t have long.”

Ben and Thomas lead us into the prison and I can’t stop thinking about what Ben
just said.

The
door to the labyrinth opens. We don’t have long.

We follow Ben down
a corridor that becomes narrower and narrower the further we go.

The corridor
slopes downwards and eventually leads into the prison.

The design of
the prison is not what I expected at all. It’s basically a giant cylinder. It’s
about ten stories high. And the actual cells are built into the walls of the
cylinder.

We stood on the
top level. One level down is the first level of cells. There are about twenty
cells on each level.

I walk up to the
railing and peer over the edge. All the way down on the ground floor, I can see
a few plastic tables and chairs and benches that appeared to be bolted into the
floor for security purposes. I notice the stairs between each level have all
been blocked off and barricaded with what appears to be mattresses and bed
frames and chairs. It would be impossible to walk up or down the stairs.

“This place is
massive,” Jack says.

He’s right. It
is a large prison. It made me realize how many people had been living and
working down here in the Fortress. Thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. A
big enough population to require a very large prison facility. Or maybe they
were collecting criminals from other parts of the country. Other parts of the
world.

I look over the
edge of the railing again and I am overcome with a feeling of vertigo. It is a
long way to the ground floor. Ten, maybe eleven stories. I scan the levels for
signs of life. For people. But most of the cells appear to be dark and empty.

Each level of
cells doesn’t quite wrap around the cylinder. So each level forms a kind of
horseshoe design. The gap is directly opposite from where we are standing. This
gap, this section of the wall is made of what appears to be black steel. From
the ceiling to the ground floor.

Thomas points to
the black section of wall. “That is the doorway to the labyrinth. It opens at
six pm every night. Closes at six am. At night, when this door opens, we lock
ourselves up. It is the only way to stay hidden. It is the only way to stay
protected.”

“Protected from
what?” I ask stupidly.

“The infected. The
labyrinth is completely overrun with them.”

The doorway to
the labyrinth is as tall as the cylinder is high, and maybe twice the width of
one of the cells. The black color of the doorway makes it look like some kind
of monolithic structure. I am about to ask questions. What the hell is the
labyrinth? What’s the point? Why does it open and close? Why is there a
labyrinth connected to a goddamn prison?

But I am
interrupted.

“Halt! Who goes
there?”

“It’s just us,
Harry,” Thomas says.

There is someone
hidden on the stairway, behind a mattress and a bed frame. He had been pointing
a gun at us, but then he lowered it once Thomas told him to relax.

Harry steps out
from his hiding place. “I’m sorry, Tom. I tried to stop him. But there’s really
no stopping someone of that size. He’s too damn big. Unless I was to shoot him.
But I really didn’t want to shoot him. Plus you said no noise.”

“It’s fine,”
Thomas says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And besides,” Harry
continues, “Ben said he was leaving. I figured that was a good thing. One less
mouth to feed, you know?”

“
It’s
fine,” Thomas repeats. “Really.”

“Why are you
even back here?” Harry asks Ben.

“The newbies are
under my protection,” Ben says. “Do you understand?”

“Newbies? Who
are these people?”

“Good question,”
Thomas says. “Hopefully we can find out sooner rather than later.”

“I’m Rebecca,” I
say. “This is Kim and Jack. We’re not going to cause any trouble. We’re just
survivors. Just like you people.”

“When I say,
find out who you are,” Thomas adds. “I don’t mean your names.”

“We’re good
people,” Kim reassures.

“I hope so.”

I got the
feeling they’d recently had some trouble.

Cabin fever.

Freak outs.

Power struggles.

Struggles for
food.

Water.

Shelter.

Wouldn’t
surprise me.

“How many people
are living down here?” I ask.

“Not many,”
Thomas says. “A few. A handful. We were the only ones smart enough to hide and
wait. Wait for the day time. Wait for the infected to move back into the
labyrinth.”

“What the hell
are you talking about?” Jack says. “What’s the deal with the labyrinth?”

“This prison is basically
unguarded,” Thomas replies. “And that’s because there is no need for guards.”
He points to the doorway again. “At night, that door opens. It leads into the
labyrinth. And we are free to escape. They told us we could have freedom. If we
wanted it. If we made it through the labyrinth. But the labyrinth is crawling
with infected. And no one has ever made it. At least, we don't think anyone has
ever made it. We don’t really know.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one has ever made it
back. It is impossible to survive in there.”

“Except for one man,” Harry adds.
“Well, he was a kid really. A soldier.”

“A soldier?” I ask. “A kid?”

“I can’t remember his name,”
Thomas says. “He was only here for a few days. Less than two weeks. He was
crazy. But yeah, he survived. Don’t know how. He would run off into the
labyrinth when the door opened. Spend all night in there. Come back just before
the door closed. I think he was exploring it. I think he was trying to map it
out.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I’ll show you.”

We make our way down to the
ground floor. We can’t use the stairs because they have been barricaded with mattresses
and bed frames from the unused cells. So we have to use the retractable fire
escape ladders between each level.

This takes a long time. But I
guess it was a necessary precaution.

We eventually climb down to the
ground floor. Plastic tables and chairs are spaced out evenly apart. As
suspected, they are bolted into the concrete floor for security. On the ground
floor, the huge metallic entrance to the labyrinth towers over us. It is
slightly curved because it is built into the wall. It is part of the cylinder,
like a door to a vault. To the right of the monolithic doorway, is the entry to
the cafeteria and shower facilities, according to a sign on the wall.

Thomas and Harry lead us to the
one and only cell that still contains any bedding. It is directly opposite the
entrance to the labyrinth.

“This was his cell,” Thomas says.

I notice blood and skin stuck to
the bars of the cell. A few loose teeth on the ground. More blood.

The walls of the cell are covered
in writing and drawings. And what appears to be a rough sketch of a map.

There is so much
writing on the walls. Most of it is tiny and barely legible.

Some of the
drawings are larger.

Drawings of
monsters and zombies.

Everyone
is in danger.

I
will come for you.

I
will come for you.

“Wait, who lived
in this cell?” I ask.

“A Japanese
guy,” Thomas answers. “A soldier. Like I said, can’t remember his name. He
didn’t really say a whole lot. As you can see by the walls of his cell, and by
the fact that he chose to live on the ground floor, he was a crazy son of a
bitch. Guy was messed up. We all just kept well clear of him.”

“His name was
Kenji,” I whisper. “Is. His name is Kenji.”

“Kenji,” Thomas
repeats. “Yeah, that rings a bell,”

How?
How did he get here? What the hell happened at the outpost?

Thomas is shaking
his head as he looks at the walls of the cell. “But like I said, he was crazy.
We didn’t talk to him. We didn’t interact. He was thrown in here one night. Not
sure by who. I don’t think it was the General or his men. But then again, who
knows? We were all asleep. Or trying to sleep. We were keeping quiet. We
couldn’t see who it was. We could only hear the doors opening. The cell door
opening. Loudest thing in the world. The infected came that night. A lot of
them. He spent the first night on the top level. Moved down here the next day.
Spent all day writing on the walls. Scratching on the walls. He wouldn’t talk
to any of us. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He barely slept.” Thomas
takes a closer look at the walls of Kenji’s cell. “Looks like some of it is
written in blood. Did you guys know him?”

“Yeah,” I say.
“He was part of our group. He was…”

Our friend.

A protector.

A goddamn
warrior.

I turn to Ben.
“Did you see him? Did you speak with him?”

“No,” Ben says. “
I was
knocked out. I was unconscious. I was banged up pretty bad. I was passing in
and out. I didn’t see him. Didn’t get a chance to speak with him. Apparently he
came and saw me.” Ben shrugs his shoulders. “Apparently he left not long after
that.”

“Yeah,” Thomas
says. “He left. Ran off into the labyrinth. Haven’t seen him since. So I’m
guessing he’s dead.”

“Why would you
say that?” I ask.

Thomas shrugs
his shoulders. “He would leave each night. As soon as the door to the labyrinth
opened. He refused to lock himself in his cell. I would wait for as long as I
could. I would try and convince him to hide. That it was in his best interest.
That it was in the best interest of the group. But I couldn’t convince him.
Even when I threatened him with violence, I couldn’t convince him.” Thomas is
trying to read some more of the writing on the walls.
“
He would run off
each night,” he continues. “But he would always come back. Right before the
doorway to the labyrinth closed. I must admit, he had the timing down to
perfection. But honestly, I couldn’t believe it the first time he made it
back.”

“Why not?” I
ask.

“Because that
labyrinth is a death trap. No one comes back. No one ever comes back. Except
for this guy. I don’t know how he did it. Anyway, he left a couple of days ago
and we haven’t seen him since.”

“He’s dead,”
Harry says.

The walls of the
cell are covered in writing. And drawings. It almost looks like a whole bunch
of journal entries. “Why was he doing it?” I ask. “Why? What was the point?”

“He was trying
to solve it,” Thomas answers.

“Solve it?”

“Solve the
labyrinth. He was trying to find a way out. Not sure if he succeeded. Not sure
if he accomplished much.” Thomas points to the maps and the notes on the cell
walls. “As you can see, it doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense. So yeah,
the guy was crazy.”

“He’s not
crazy,” Jack says. “He was trying to help you guys. He was trying...”

“Kenji.” I whisper his name and I
can’t believe it.

He was here.

But he’s gone now.

No one
comes back. No one ever comes back.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says. “He’s
been gone for a while now. Five days. I think. Longest he's ever been gone.”

I point to the doorway of the
labyrinth. “What’s in there?”

“The infected. A lot of infected.
But I’ve never been in there. I’m just going on what the death squad told us.
And what Kenji told us. Or rather, what he wrote on the walls of his cells.”

Some of the writing is in
charcoal. Some words had been scratched into the concrete with a piece of
metal.

I can’t take my eyes off the drawings.

They are eerily accurate
depictions of infected zombies and monsters and mutations.

A picture of a gas mask.

The drawings of the monsters are
similar to the things we had seen in the town of Hope, and the thing that had
attacked us at the outpost, the last place I saw Kenji, the last place that any
of us saw Kenji.

“But it doesn’t
matter,” Thomas says. “None of this matters. He’s dead now.”

“You don’t know
that,” I say. “You don’t.”

“Look, he hasn’t
been back in five days,” Thomas says. “It was after he saw Ben, actually. Once
he knew he was recovering, he left. He’s never been gone this long. He’s never
been gone more than a day. You don’t understand, the place is full of infected.
And apparently, according to these drawings, it’s also full of monsters. The
fact that Kenji made it back so many times at all is a miracle in itself. But
you have to face the reality. He’s been gone for five whole days now. He’s a
dead man walking. Literally. He’s probably infected. I’m sorry.”