Brian Keene: Entombed

“You can’t sleep now,” Alyssa said. “They’ll find you if you do. Fall asleep now and you’ll never wake up.”

I chuckled. “The way I feel right now? That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Besides, if I don’t wake up, then I can be with you. We’ll both be ghosts. We can finally be together again.”

“We will be together again,” Alyssa promised. “You just have to find me first.”

“I’m trying.”

“Then you have to try harder. Do whatever you have to do to survive, and then find me.”

I was getting pretty frustrated with Alyssa’s riddles and hide-and-seek games, and was just opening my mouth to tell her so when I heard footsteps in the hall outside. My fatigue vanished, replaced with a new surge of panic. My pulse began to pound again, drowning out Alyssa’s voice. I glanced around, frantically looking for a place to hide. My options were limited. The library had no nooks or crannies. Other than the bookshelves, the room held only a few long tables, a half dozen metal folding chairs, and an empty newspaper display rack. When the bunker had been active, the rack would have held current newspapers from various cities across the country. The government had changed the papers weekly—our tax dollars at work. The newspapers hung from long, grooved wooden poles that looked almost like swords. Other than these, the only other things in the library were a few small plaques that were affixed to the wall and one of the shelves. Each one gave visitors information about the library in addition to the tour guide’s usual spiel.

I ducked down beneath one of the tables and held my breath. The footsteps halted right outside the library door. Then there was silence. I waited for what seemed like minutes before whoever was outside slowly moved on again. Moments later, I heard the dining room doors bang open and shut.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crawled out from under the table and stood up. I must have done so too quickly, because my dizziness returned. I reached out and grabbed the table and waited for it to pass. My vision narrowed, as if I was looking down a tunnel, and my ears began to ring again. I bowed my head, closed my eyes and focused on breathing through my nose with short, measured breaths. I sat down on the floor and waited for the spell to pass. This time, it took a lot longer for my senses to return to normal, and even when they did, I still had a slight twinge of vertigo. It got worse every time I breathed through my nose, as if my sinuses and ears were blocked. I tried moving my jaw back and forth to ease the sensation, but it hurt too much to keep doing, and I stopped.

“Blood sugar,” I whispered. “Starvation. Hunger. All the physical exertion and damage I’ve taken today. Exhaustion. Pain. It’s a wonder I’m still awake at all. I need to keep moving. I am a shark.”

“Quiet,” Alyssa scolded. “You’re talking out loud. Someone will hear you.”

“I don’t care anymore,” I said. “Let them hear me. Let them all come. I’m sick and tired of this shit. All I want to do is sleep, but they won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“You’re talking funny. Listen to yourself, Pete. Your speech is slurred, and you’re sitting there weaving back and forth like a drunk on a barstool. If they catch you in here, they’ll kill you, and then you’ll never find me.”

“You’re right.” Sighing, I stood up slowly. My muscles ached in protest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I lied to you and that I hurt you. I’m sorry about Hannah and I’m sorry that—”

Footsteps sounded down the outside corridor again. They were faster than before. I crawled beneath the table just as they stopped in front of the door. I hoped that Alyssa wouldn’t chose that moment to say anything, and luckily, she didn’t. Seconds later, the library door opened. It was hard to see from my vantage point under the table, but I saw one pair of feet and jeans-clad legs standing in the doorway, bathed in the red glow of the emergency light. I held my breath and didn’t move. I was afraid to even pull out my razor knife or screwdriver. Any movement, no matter how subtle or slow, might give my location away. Instead, I waited. The person stepped into the room and slowly crossed the floor. I could hear their breathing from underneath the table. It was loud and rapid. They stopped just a few feet from my hiding place and stood still. I could tell by the direction their feet were pointing in that the intruder was facing in my direction. I tensed, preparing myself to scramble out from under the table and attack.

The intruder lowered one hand, letting it rest beside their hip. Their fingers twitched, as if they were nervous. I could tell by the fingernails that it was Nicole. I’d know those fingernails anywhere. I remembered admiring them back when we’d first come underground. They were long and well-kept and lacquered with purple nail polish with little specks of glitter in it. I’d thought them exotic—not the kind of thing you normally saw in West Virginia. The same could be said of her body jewelry and multiple piercings. She had silver studs or tiny gems not just in her ears, but in her nose, eyebrows, and lips, as well. She’d told me once that her nipples, belly button, labia and clitoris were pierced, too, but had gently rebuffed my efforts to verify this. I’d been disappointed, but not at all surprised. The only gold that Nicole wore was her wedding ring, and she talked about her little boy and her partner all the time. I think she’d grown accustomed to the idea that they were gone, but her grief hadn’t let her move on. Maybe she would have, in time. Maybe she’d have moved on with me. And maybe I would have let her—if she hadn’t been one of the fuckers trying to eat me. Now those fingernails were chipped and faded, and the glitter had long since worn away. So had any emotion or sympathy I’d felt for her.

Nicole stood there, still as a statue, and I noticed that there was something in her other hand. I had to look twice, certain that the emergency lighting was playing tricks on my eyes. She was clutching an aerosol can of industrial solvent—the kind used for loosening rusted bolts or lubricating machine gears. The cap was off and a small, plastic straw was sticking out of the nozzle. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the canister, and her thumb remained on top of the nozzle at all times. Her hand was still trembling slightly, and the can jostled against her thigh. When I looked closer, I saw that her legs were shaking, too.

She’s terrified, I thought. All I’ve got to do is wait for her to turn around, and then…

I eased my hand behind my back, slowly reaching for the razor knife.

“Hello?”

I held my breath.

“Hello?”

Nicole’s voice sounded very small and afraid. I stopped moving, and waited. After a moment, she spoke again. This time, she whispered.

“Pete? Are you there? It’s me. Nicole. If you’re in here, just listen, okay? I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want any part of this. Not anymore. I’m sorry that I went along with it. I don’t know why I did. You were always really sweet to me. I guess I was just scared, and I didn’t want the others to turn on me instead. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

I have to admit, I was moved by the sincerity in her voice. Yet still I hesitated. A part of me wanted to call out to her, to let her know that it was okay and that she had nothing to fear from me, but a bigger part of me remembered my betrayal at Drew’s hands. This could be another trick—some scheme devised by Chuck and the others to lull me into a false sense of security, and then, when I came out of hiding—straight into the refrigerator I’d go, chopped and butchered like a side of beef. Instead of coming out, I waited. My muscles began to cramp from sitting still for so long, but at least my dizziness had finally passed. My headache throbbed in time with my pulse.