Richard Kadrey - Dead Set

Out in the corridor, she fell back against the wall. She wanted to curl up on the floor, close her eyes, and scream like the woman strapped to the chair. She wanted to throw up or to cry. Instead, she kept her head down and looked for a sign or mark, anything that might point to an exit.

Zoe heard a faint metallic jingling of keys. Turning, she saw the two guards she’d seen upstairs. They were going into a stairwell at the end of the corridor. Zoe held the clothes in front of her and followed them. The moment she was out of sight of the door, she dropped the clothes. She almost left the broom behind, but at the last second decided to keep it.

At the bottom of the stairs, rows of prison cells spread out as far as she could see in all directions. Most were empty, but the blood on the floor and red trails of slithering snake bodies made her wonder if the prisoners down here had suffered the same fate as the hypnotized souls at the café. This isn’t a palace, thought Zoe. It’s a feeding trough.

Voices echoed faintly from the far reaches of the dungeon. Sweeping again, she moved through what seemed like miles of empty, bloody pens.

She weaved her way between rows of filthy timeworn cells with bars so corroded that the rust was pitted and black. It almost looked as if with a little help, you might be able to snap one of the bars in two. But the guards would hear you, she thought, and you’d have to get past them. And the wolf-men enforcers. And snakes.

And Hecate.

At a crossroads where a cellful of dying dead hissed and grabbed for her as she passed, Zoe stopped. The low voices were much closer. When she started sweeping down a new row of cells, the sound stopped. But it didn’t matter. She’d already seen them.

A hundred people were locked in a hundred separate cells. Men and women, old and young. None said anything as she went past. They seemed too afraid, not sure if she was one of them or one of Hecate’s spies. “Valentine?” she asked quietly. An old woman in a cell to Zoe’s right pointed her bony finger farther down the line. Zoe nodded thanks and ran from cell to cell whispering, “Valentine?”

“Here!”

She rushed to the corner cell, and there he was. Valentine looked even dirtier and more ragged than before. The wolf men’s claws had shredded his clothes and he had a bloody gash across his forehead. When he stood, one of his metal legs was bent badly to the side. He dipped and rose with each step. Still, he smiled when he saw her and they hugged each other as well as they could through the bars.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m not really sure. I was on my way out of the city,” said Zoe. She added hopefully, “Rescuing you, maybe?”

“That so?” asked Valentine. “Did you bring an army? Do you have keys? Do you have a plan?”

Zoe knew his voice well enough to hear the undertone of sarcasm, and it hurt, mostly because she knew he was right.

“No. Nothing,” she said finally. “I just couldn’t leave with you thinking that I’d run off and forgotten you.”

Valentine wrapped his metal hand around Zoe’s where she clung to one of the bars. “I’d never think that,” he told her. “Not in a million years. Which is about how long Hecate will lock you up if she catches you here.”

Zoe looked around. “Is Mr. Prosper here? Maybe he knows a way out-”

“Prosper’s gone,” said Valentine. “They gave him to those things. The ones that live on the unlit streets.”

“Oh.” Much as Zoe hated Mr. Prosper, she didn’t figure that even he deserved that kind of end. “Can’t you get out on your own? Your arms are metal. Can’t you break these old bars?” She grabbed the one she’d been holding with both hands and pulled. It didn’t budge.

Valentine shook his head. “We’ve all thought that and we’ve all tried. The bars might be rotten, on the outside, but they’re still solid. Forget it.”

Zoe stepped back from the cell, looking it over, hoping she could find a weak spot. One of the little snakes swooped down and chittered around her head. She swatted at it with her hand and it flew away.

“They’ve seen you. You have to leave here,” said Valentine urgently. “Please, you’ve made it this far. Go back to the tunnel and keep going.”

A couple more of the snakes flew down at Zoe. They dive-bombed her head and yanked strands of hair painfully from her head before flying off.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to save you,” Zoe said.

“Yeah, but you tried. No one’s ever done that for me before. Thanks,” said Valentine. “Now go, before someone else spots you.”

From far away came the sound of a rough, angry voice. “What?” it yelled. “Where?” This was followed by the squeaking of the snakes and the sound of thundering footsteps.

Valentine squeezed Zoe’s arm.

“Show us where she is!” Angry wolf growls joined in with the human voices.

“Run!” shouted Valentine. He released her arm and pointed to the rear of the prison. “That way. Go to the end of the row and bear right. There’s a door. I saw stairs on the other side.”

Zoe wanted to say said something, but the stricken look on Valentine’s face stopped her. She dropped the broom and began to run as fast as she could.

“Where is she?” Zoe heard the guards screaming at the prisoners. “Which of you was talking to her?” She heard something snap and break. She slowed and almost turned back, but ran again when she realized that the sound was the broom.

Ahead was a rusted metal door of decayed diamond plate. She pushed through and ran into the gloom. The stairwell looked normal, like you’d see in any office-building basement. Zoe noticed a slide lock on the door and threw it, sealing the dungeon level closed. She craned her neck trying to get a a sense of whether there was anything dangerous up the stairs, but she couldn’t see anything. The sound of crashing in the other room got louder. She started up the stairs. Her footfalls on the metal steps echoed off the walls. She tried running in a lighter way, putting her weight on the balls of her feet and not her heels. Even with the new bandage, this hurt her ankle, but she kept going.

From below came the high, eerie low of wolf calls. A second later, answering calls came from over her head. They were trying to trap her, catch her between two wolf packs. She stopped for a second and tried a door. It was locked. She tried another at the next landing. It was locked, too. Below her, someone pounded on the dungeon door, trying to get through.

Zoe ran up to the next floor. The stairwell was cluttered with boxes and old desks and chairs. She fell against the door and opened it a few inches. A wolf man’s arm shot through the opening and grabbed for her. She tried to slam the door shut, but caught the wolf enforcer’s arm. There was nothing she could do but brace one leg against the stairs and lean her shoulder against the door to hold it closed. Sharp claws ripped at her coat as the wolf man’s arm flailed in the small opening, trying to pull free. She was trapped. She couldn’t let go of the door and she couldn’t get it closed. Snarls and howls resounded through the opening and filled the stairwell with animal fury. As hard as she pushed, the wolf man was too strong. Inch by inch the door crept open.

She took a chance and reached into her pocket. Her hand landed on the straight razor. She pulled it out and snapped it open, slashing at the wolf man’s arm with all her strength. The enforcer howled in pain. Warm red blood ran down the wall and splashed into her eyes, but she kept slashing. The wolf grabbed the blade, but Zoe pulled it free, slashing its hand. With one more howl of pain, the wolf arm pulled back through the opening and Zoe slammed the door shut.