David Bernstein - Machines of the Dead

“Me? Y ou forget who you’re talking to? I’m as low on the totem pole as it gets around here.”

“What’s Reynolds’ birthday?”

Another three round burst.

Maria shook her head. “No idea.”

“Are you nuts?” Zaun asked Jack. “You think that old trick will work?”

“Go check his desk; his computer,” Maria suggested, firing off another burst. “Maybe he wrote it down somewhere.”

Jack doubted it, but went around to Reynolds’ mahogany desk anyway. The computer was on, but Jack didn’t think the code would be on it. He started pulling out drawers, rifling through them, finding numerous papers, a letter opener, tacks, scissors, but no code. When he was done, papers lay everywhere and the drawers rested on the floor.

Frustrated, Jack kicked one of the drawers, sending it into the wall.

It was over. They were screwed. He picked up the leather-backed chair and tossed it over the desk.

“I take it you didn’t find the code?” Zaun said.

Jack was tired. He needed to sit. Taking a step back, he collided with the wall, then slid down it to the floor. His body felt heavy. So, so heavy. It was difficult holding his head up. He’d put all their lives at risk. It was his idea to go ahead and try to escape. He was the leader, whether they liked it or not. Kevin was dead, and soon they would be too, but not before the bots ate them up, draining their bodies of everything.

Reynolds had won.

Jack’s sadness turned to anger. Grinding his teeth, he said, “No,” then pounded on the floor with his hands. Standing up, he looked around. He didn’t know what to do. Without the code, it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken, captured, or killed.

“They’re getting closer, Jack,” Maria yelled.

The room went red.

He stood, grabbed the desk and heaved it onto its front, grunting as he did so. Looking at the desk, he saw a small white rectangle attached to the underside of one of the drawer slots. He grabbed the object. It was a keycard. A backup master? Turning the card over, he almost shouted with glee. Four numbers, written in black magic marker stared back at him.

With card in hand, Jack bolted back to the escape hatch and using a shaky finger, punched in the numbers. After the last key was pressed, the red light went off, the green one came on, and the door clicked open. Grabbing the handle, Jack pulled and opened the door.

Damp, cool air, swept over him, supplying a welcomed chill. He turned around and yelled to Zaun and Maria. She fired a few more bursts before the two of them ran over to him. As they stepped inside the tunnel, Jack saw armed men enter the office. He shoved his friends out of the way and slammed the door closed.

“We made it,” Zaun said, looking relieved. He patted Jack on the back.

“How did you get the code?” Maria asked.

Jack showed them the card, explaining how he found it taped to the top of one of the drawer slots.

“Simply amazing,” Maria said.

Dim, overhead LED lights, spaced about ten feet apart, lighted the tunnel. The walls were bedrock, jagged, and cool to touch. Steel support beams, like a ribcage, supported the tunnel. Jack felt like he was entering a coal mine.

Compared to where they had been, the silence was now deafening. Not a thing could be heard on the other side.

“Damn, I guess we’re a bunch of lucky bastards,” Zaun said.

Maria was on the floor, reloading the M4’s. “Well if we want to keep being lucky we better move.”

“I thought we were safe now? ” Zaun asked. “There’s no way they’re getting through that door.”

“That may be, but I don’t want to wait around and find out,” Maria said, standing and handing Zaun his weapon. “Reynolds isn’t dead, remember. He’ll know a way.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed. “No telling if they have other keycards or another way of getting to us.”

They worked their way down the tunnel. Jack figured they had a few miles before they reached the exit. Where exactly did the tunnel lead? Would there be hostiles waiting for them? Maybe Reynolds had radioed ahead and now a team of armed soldiers was coming their way. He brought it up to Maria, who had no idea, but agreed anything was possible.

As far as where the tunnel ended, Jack figured it to be somewhere on the mainland, but then thinking about it, that meant the tunnel had to go on for some length. The tunnel must lead to somewhere closer, like Queens or Brooklyn, neither a part of Manhattan, but both a part of Long Island. They would need to cross a bridge to get to the mainland. As long as they didn’t end up in some military facility, or heavily armed building, they’d be fine.

Once they were topside again, they could go to the proper authorities-even the news-and have Maria confirm Jack’s and Zaun’s story. They’d have to act fast, because whoever was funding the bot program would want it kept secret and would come after them.

About thirty minutes into the trek, the group came upon a cutout in the rock where four wide lockers rested, one having a Red Cross symbol on it. With none of the lockers having locks on them, Jack opened the first one and found stacks of MRE’s inside. He hadn’t realized it, but he was starving. It was late and he was running on fumes. He didn’t think it was a good idea to stop, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible, but he needed nourishment, and guessed the others did too.

Jack opened the next locker and found bottles of water wrapped in plastic, just like in a supermarket.

“Emergency food store,” Maria said, “in the event that people get stuck down here.”

Jack ripped open one of the packs of water and passed a bottle to her and one to Zaun. Taking one himself, he guzzled the entire contents.

“What’s in door number three?” Zaun asked.

Jack opened the next locker and found four M4’s. Eight magazines rested on shelves. Picking one up, he felt its heaviness, knowing it was loaded to capacity.

“Guess our ammo problem is solved,” he said.

“Good,” Maria said, “we used quite a bit holding off the guards.”

Jack handed the magazines to Maria and Zaun, keeping a couple for himself, then closed the door, leaving the guns. Without ammo, they were useless and they had plenty of their own weapons.

Maria began preparing a few MRE’s, opening the meals, adding water and letting them cook.

The remaining locker, Jack assumed was stocked with medical supplies. Opening it, he found bandages, wraps, ointments, sprays, splints, tourniquets, and a clear case containing four needles, each needle filled with an orange fluid. He showed them to Maria who, if she had to guess, said they were probably adrenaline shots.

“Food’s ready,” she announced.

They ate quickly and were soon on the move again, taking bandages, ointments, and the box of needles.

Ten minutes later, they came to a split in the tunnel.

“Which way?” Zaun asked.

“No idea,” Jack said, softly.

This was definitely not something he had counted on. Why two tunnels? Was one a dead end? Built to confuse any escaping party? No, that didn’t seem right. If the tunnel went under the Hudson River, it had to lead to Brooklyn or Queens, the two boroughs directly across the way from Manhattan. Maybe a tunnel went to each, but that didn’t make sense. One must go to Brooklyn or Queens, the other to the mainland, the Bronx being the closest. He didn’t want to be in the tunnel any longer than necessary, so heading to Brooklyn or Queens, most likely the passageway on the right, would get them above ground much faster than walking all the way to the Bronx, or wherever the tunnel led.

“I say we go right,” he said, explaining his thinking, and the others agreed. No one wanted to be underground any longer than need be.