The vase was there, but it was broken, shattered, the bright beam of her flashlight glinting off a number of the pieces.
But that wasn’t the most disturbing thing.
A man sat at the kitchen table, the man watching her, the man now standing and smiling and raising his arms as if awaiting a hug.
“Welcome home, Denise,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.”
As the elevator
descended, Conrad had the two of them move to either side of the car, Kyle pressed against the left corner, Gabriel the right. Then he crouched down and aimed the rifle at the center of the doors, waiting, waiting, until the elevator slowed and stopped and the doors opened.
Nothing.
Conrad motioned for Kyle and Gabriel to wait, then cautiously stepped out of the elevator. He swept his rifle from left to right, but the corridor was empty.
“It’s clear,” he said. He turned back and saw his son and Gabriel still in the elevator, their hands placed over their ears, their eyes squeezed shut, their faces scrunched up in what appeared to be pain. Conrad looked first at his son, then at Gabriel, then stepped back out into the corridor.
He looked around, not sure what he was looking for at first, but then he saw them. All along the corridor there were little cubes, quartz-encrusted rocks three inches wide and three inches long and three inches thick, maybe twenty of them in all.
Back in the elevator, he touched his son’s head, waited for his son to open his eyes, then motioned for him to follow. He did the same to Gabriel. Both of them kept their hands tight over their ears as they stepped into the corridor to follow Conrad.
They passed those Pandoras, rounded a corner, found even more Pandoras. The corridor was narrow and dark. They came to an opened door and he stopped, feeling what he’d felt that night at the Warehouse.
A large metal door had once guarded the room. Its lock completely destroyed, the door had been opened. Conrad stepped in and found even more Pandoras, stacks and stacks, not nearly as many as there had been in the Warehouse but a couple hundred at least. High-powered lamps had been set up around the room, casting shadows everywhere.
He turned back around. Kyle and Gabriel had their eyes closed tight again, and for the first time Conrad considered what was in his pocket. How easy it would be to test the theory. Thinking about the energy trapped inside, how only he could release it. Thinking about that rabbit, going from dead to living. But no, not yet. Not with Kyle still here, trapped in this building. First he had to ensure his son’s safety, a way out, then he would come back.
He started to take a step out of the room when something moved out of the shadows. He noticed it at the last moment but by then it was already too late.
James came at him low, throwing him to the ground. The rifle fell out of his hands, the broadsword clattered against the wall. The zombie kneeled on his chest and punched at his face, then got off, starting kicking him in the ribs. Conrad of course felt no pain, but that didn’t matter. The assault slowed him down, kept him down, and if he didn’t get up soon, James would tear his entire decaying body apart.
A gunshot sounded out, then another. James paused in his kicking. Conrad looked up and saw that the zombie had caught a bullet in his shoulder, some blood blossoming on his shirt. He stood there a moment, stunned, then turned and rushed at Gabriel, the older zombie standing in the doorway. Gabriel fired another round into James’s shoulder. James didn’t slow. In seconds he was on him and grabbed the rifle, pushed it back into Gabriel’s face, breaking his nose. Blood squirted everywhere. Gabriel cried out and fell to the ground.
Conrad tried getting up. He reached out, flayed his arms and legs, but it did no good. His broadsword was somewhere close by, so was the rifle, but he could find neither. And his only thought right now was his son, getting Kyle to safety, making sure that nothing—not one scratch—was inflicted on him.
Gabriel now on the ground, his face a mess, James picked up Conrad’s rifle and bent down, placed the barrel right on Gabriel’s shoulder. He said, “How do you like it?” and shot him there, Gabriel screaming, kicking his feet.
James stood up and turned, came walking back toward Conrad. Conrad had just managed to sit up when James swung his foot, his toe connecting with Conrad’s chin, sending him back to the ground. A moment later the zombie stood over him, placing a foot on his chest, holding him down. He aimed the rifle at his face. He glared down at Conrad, shook his head once, and Conrad closed his eyes, didn’t want to witness his own expiration.
A gunshot, then another gunshot, and Conrad jumped both times, not feeling the bullets rip into his body but knowing they had anyway. He only felt the pressure lift from his chest, and when he opened his eyes James was still standing above him. Only now the zombie’s eyes had gone glassy, his face suddenly pale, and the rifle in his hands started to sway. Then he fell forward, knocking his head on the ground, and first Conrad saw what had become of his back, the ravaged bullet holes, then he saw his son standing only a few feet away, a rifle shaking in his hands.
Conrad rolled away and got to his feet. He went straight to Kyle. He knelt down in front of his son, took the rifle away, and embraced him.
Kyle was sobbing, his body trembling, saying, “He was gonna hurt you, Dad, he was gonna hurt you,” and Conrad told him that it was okay, that he had done good, that everything was going to be okay.
They stayed that way for just a few moments, holding each other, before Conrad remembered they had to keep moving. He stood up, motioned for his son to leave the room. He bent and picked up the rifle, picked up his broadsword, then approached Gabriel, who still lay on the ground, his face covered in blood.
Gabriel’s eyes moved to look at him, and he said, “I … can’t,” in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.
“Yes you can,” Conrad said. “You can and you will.”
He held out his hand. He kept it there. Gabriel just stared back at it, not moving, until finally Conrad had to lean down and grip his arm, pull the zombie to his feet. He ushered both Gabriel and his son out into the corridor, then paused when he noticed a flashlight on the ground. He picked that up too, stuck it beneath his arm, and then he was out in the corridor again, moving, Kyle behind him, Gabriel limping as he brought up the rear.
Around another corner, at the end of the corridor, was the metal door. The entrance into the Labyrinth.
Conrad turned toward Gabriel. He meant to hand the rifle to him so he could try opening the door himself, when the zombie slumped to the floor. The light here was poor, so he turned on the flashlight and aimed the beam at Gabriel’s face. It had taken on a preternatural paleness. Conrad lowered the beam. Every place the zombie had been wounded tonight—both arms, his leg, his shoulder—was dark with blood.
Gabriel once more said, “I … can’t.”
Conrad looked down at Kyle, who looked back at him. His son thankfully had not yet been hurt. Conrad planned to see to it that he never was. But first he had to open this door.
He approached his son, handed him the flashlight. He set the rifle and the broadsword aside on the ground. He then forced another smile, patted Kyle’s head, and turned to the metal door. He grabbed the wheel. He tried turning it. He tried again. He went to try it a third time when Kyle stepped up beside him, placed his own living hands on the wheel.
Conrad looked down at him, nodded, and they tried turning it once more. Nothing for a few seconds, then, slowly, it began to move. They worked at it, pulling and pulling, and soon the wheel was loose enough to spin. Then, moments later, the door was opened.
Inside was a world of darkness.
Conrad turned back to his son. He grabbed the rifle from off the ground, handed it to him. “Do you think if you had to do it again, you could handle this?”
Kyle nodded.
“Then take it. Don’t let it go.”
He turned back to Gabriel, the zombie’s eyes barely open, his hand held over his chest. Conrad crouched next to him and said, “I need you to do me a favor.”
“My heart … isn’t beating as fast … as normal.”
“I need you to take my son through the Labyrinth.”
Gabriel’s eyes opened just a little bit more, stared straight back at Conrad.
“I need you to take him to safety.”
Gabriel stared past him a moment, his mouth slightly agape. “You’re not coming … with us?”
“I can’t.”
“But—” Gabriel stopped himself, for the first time noticing the slight bulge in Conrad’s pocket. “I know … what you’re thinking. But … it might not … even work.”
“If I don’t stop Philip now, he’ll never stop. He’ll keep coming for Kyle, and Denise, and anyone else I care about.”
Gabriel opened his mouth, started to say something, when Kyle said, “Dad? Dad, what’s wrong?”
Conrad turned, bent down, and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I promised nothing’s going to hurt you, and I mean it.” He took his hands away briefly, long enough to extract his wedding band from his finger. He held it out to Kyle, who just stood there, his body shaking even harder, fully sobbing. “When you see your mom again, give this to her. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her … I wish things could have been different. And tell her that I love her. Tell her that all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.”
“No, Dad,” Kyle sobbed, “no, please.”
“Yes. You can do this, Kyle. I believe you can. I
know
you can.”
Kyle took the ring with a shaking hand. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father. Into his ear he kept saying, “No, Daddy, please, no,” and Conrad closed his eyes and held his son’s living body tight, not wanting to let go. But he had to let go, he had no choice, so he opened his eyes again, said, “I love you, buddy,” and pushed his son away.
Gabriel had risen and moved behind Kyle, and the moment Conrad pushed his son away, Gabriel grabbed him. The zombie started to walk Kyle back into the dark, Kyle yelling and crying and saying no, please, no, daddy, no. Then they were in the dark and Conrad grabbed the door, pushed it shut, spun the wheel to lock it in place.
It was that simple: the door was closed and the wheel was turned and once more there was something separating the living from the dead.
“You know, Denise,
I just don’t get it. I’ve been sitting here for awhile, just waiting for you to show, and I’m looking around at this house and I’m thinking: your husband, one of the best Hunters in the world, son of the
greatest
Hunter of all time, has lived most of his existence in this dumpy little place. And I have to ask myself,
Why?
”
The man stood by the kitchen table, maybe fifteen feet away from her.
“I mean, no offense to you, Denise, but this house, it’s just so
ordinary
. And Conrad, well, yeah he is a coward, yeah he is a traitor, but he comes from greatness. And this house here, this stupid little dump, it’s like a slap in his old man’s expired face.”
Denise had her back against the counter, trapped. If she went left or right, the man would only have to take a few steps to intercept her.
“Come on, Denise, say something. I don’t want to stand here all night and listen to myself talk. The truth is I want to get back to the Herculean. Philip said he’d hold off on expiring Conrad as long as possible, but knowing Philip, he won’t wait long.”
She made a noise, a soft sort of whimper, and the man smiled.
“That’s right, Denise. General Hager has your husband. He has your son too. In fact, your son was used for bait tonight. You see, Conrad tried to break him out of Psyche and … well, he didn’t get very far. Now for all I know Conrad’s already expired, him and your boy, so really, when you think about it, there’s not much you have to exist for anymore, is there?”
Keeping the flashlight aimed at the man’s face, she looked around for some kind of weapon.
“By the way, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s Michael. I worked with your husband before he became a complete coward. Do you know anything about that? About him, you know, afraid to kill that adult zombie?”
He took a step forward. She pressed herself back into the counter, still looking at the floor, at the counter, at the sink.
“What are you doing, Denise?”
It was too dark to see the clutter surrounding her, so she used the flashlight, sweeping it here and there.
Taking another step, he said, “Looking for a weapon?”
That toaster on the floor, scattered plates and dishes on the counter, and in the sink—
“Why, you wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”
—in the sink she spotted a steak knife among forks and spoons.
“Denise,” he said, halfway to her now, taking his time, “I asked you a question. It’s rude for you not to answer me.”
Inching toward the sink, she swung the flashlight back to the man. He was very close now, just feet away, smiling and shaking his head.
“But do you know how you can make it up to me?”
The man now less than five feet away, she reached into the sink, cutting her hand on the broken plates and dishes, grasped the handle of the steak knife, just as he lunged forward and placed his strong hands on her shoulders, turned her around so she was looking directly into his black eyes.
“Just a kiss, Denise, and we’ll call it even. How does that sound to you?”
Conrad realized at
once he’d made a terrible mistake. He shouldn’t have sent his son and Gabriel into the dark by themselves like that. He should have gone with them, taken them to safety himself, then came back. But that wouldn’t have worked either, and he knew it. Time was running out, Philip was probably already on his way, and Conrad had to hurry.