Brian Keene: Entombed

Muffled voices echoed in the corridor, unintelligible beneath the DVD soundtrack. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. Drew and I stared at each other. One set of footsteps walked away. I took a deep breath and held it. Then the doorknob started to turn. Exhaling, I leaped over the chairs and dove behind the Eisenhower bust display just as the door started to open.

“Where is he, Drew?”

I recognized the speaker from his voice. It was Krantz, one of Chuck’s cronies. I’m not sure what he’d done before the zombies took over. I don’t think he ever mentioned it. Whatever his previous vocation, down here in the bunker, he’d been a toadie and a boot-licker—one of those guys who attach themselves to the alpha male of the pack and do whatever they ask in an effort to be accepted, liked and protected. He was in his mid-forties, balding, and cursed with the worst case of Rosacea I’d ever seen. He had chronically bloodshot, runny eyes and his face was a network of spider-web veins. His nose looked like a rotten fruit. When we’d first entered the bunker, he’d also had a prodigious gut. Now, like the rest of us, he’d undergone drastic weight loss. The lack of food had just made his skin condition that much worse.

“Hey, Krantz. I was just coming to find you guys.”

Drew sounded nervous. I held my breath, wondering if Krantz would notice. He did.

“Don’t bullshit me, Drew. I’m not in the mood. Where’s your buddy?”

“Pete?”

“No, the fucking Tooth Fairy.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Drew. I mean it. This can go one of two ways for you, and I don’t think you’ll like the second option.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is. Seriously. I came to look for him. Figure he’d be in here, since he spends a lot of time watching movies. But he wasn’t. I was just about to head back and tell you guys. Is the meeting over?”

Instead of responding, Krantz began to search the room. I heard his footsteps, slow and deliberate. Drew coughed. On the screen, the credits rolled.

“He’s not in here. Maybe he’s asleep.”

“So who was watching this cartoon, then? I doubt that it turned itself on.”

“I guess he must have been in here before.”

“And where is he now?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“You’re lying, Drew.”

I peeked out from behind my hiding place. Krantz was standing directly in front of me, but he had his back turned. His hands were on his hips. Drew was facing him. Drew’s expression had gone slack.

“Come on,” Krantz said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“You can explain this to Chuck.”

“Explain what?”

“Why you’re lying. Why you’re hiding Pete. Maybe we’ll just go with you instead. Might make things easier all around.”

Drew shook his head. “I’m telling you, I don’t know where Pete is. I’m not lying. I just—”

He moved fast, surprising both Krantz and myself. One moment he was talking, and the next, he’d thrown a punch at Krantz’s throat, connecting with the man’s Adam’s apple. Krantz stumbled backward, grasping at his neck, and toppled to the floor. He made choking sounds, and when he saw me, his eyes went wide, bulging in their sockets. He thrashed on the floor, writhing, trying to breathe and failing miserably. He reached for me with one hand.

Without thinking about it, I pushed Eisenhower’s bronze bust off of its pedestal, dropping it directly onto Krantz’s head. The sound was like an overripe watermelon bursting. Blood splattered all over me, and then I couldn’t see Krantz’s eyes anymore. His arms and legs jittered, and a dark, wet stain appeared on the crotch of his pants. Then he lay still.

“Holy shit…” Drew gaped.

I stood up. The room smelled like piss. My vision was blurry. I wiped my eyes with my hands, smearing Krantz’s blood. I took a step toward Drew and my foot slipped in the gore.

“Holy shit,” Drew said again. “I guess he doesn’t have to worry about his Rosacea anymore.”

He giggled, but it was a strange, bleak sound. There was no humor in Drew’s voice, and his expression was grim. I knew how he felt. I tried to swallow, and found that I couldn’t. My stomach fluttered.

“Tell them I did this,” I said.

“But then they’ll—”

“Tell them” I interrupted. “Otherwise, they’ll be after you, too. Tell them you and he came in here, and I surprised you both.”

“But—”

“We don’t have time to argue, Drew. I’ve got to go.”

I stuck my head into the hall. The coast was clear. There was no sign of whoever else Krantz had been talking to. Maybe they were searching another room. Whatever the case, I made a break for it, praying they wouldn’t step back into the hall at that moment. I glanced back only once, and saw Drew staring after me, clearly still in shock. He lifted one hand and waved at me.

Then I ran.

I guess it would help if I described the bunker’s layout. It feels like a labyrinth until you learn your way around, but once you get used to it, the layout is pretty straightforward. The bunker covers just over one-hundred and thirteen thousand square feet. If you entered it from the hotel (which was currently occupied by hordes of zombies), after the blast door, you’d walk down a short corridor which opened into the dining room. This is a large area. It had to be, when you consider how many people would have eaten there in the event of a nuclear war. Beyond the dining room was the infirmary, pharmacy, dorm rooms and several lounges, as well as the library and the media room. Most of these had been converted into exhibits for the tours. They still had some of the original equipment and supplies that the government had kept here when the bunker was still active. Sadly, none of these supplies included food.

As I ran, I thought about hiding in one of the dorm rooms or the infirmary, but quickly decided against it. Given their close proximity to the dining room, that was where most of the others would be. My only choice was to go in the other direction, deeper into the mountain. The corridor I fled down was the same as all of the other hallways in the facility—garish white linoleum floors and drab, featureless concrete walls. The monotony was broken only by the occasional exhibit or ‘Exit’ sign. Those exit signs were the biggest joke of all. The irony hadn’t been lost on any of us. There was no exit from the bunker, except in death.

I raced by the restrooms and then through a set of double doors, which led into another corridor. On my left was the incinerator room. It was diesel-powered and burned hot enough to incinerate human bones. The government had intended it to be that way, in case survivors in the bunker had to dispose of their dead, or rid the facility of radioactive or contaminated clothing. Before the arrival of the zombies, the hotel had used the incinerator to burn up trash, so it was well-stocked with diesel fuel. Since first coming down here, we’d run it a few times to keep warm, but it had mostly sat empty.

I paused in front of the incinerator room and listened. The hallway was quiet. I turned around and peeked through the double doors. The corridor was still empty. If the others had discovered Krantz’s death, then they hadn’t organized yet. Even still, the hunt was on now. They’d be coming for me soon. My heart pounded, pulsing in my throat. Common sense dictated that I should keep running, but I was scared and tired and panicked, and I decided instead to hide inside the incinerator room. I went inside and closed the door behind me, debating whether or not to turn on the lights. With the door shut, it was so dark inside that I couldn’t see anything, and after stumbling around for a few seconds, I fumbled for the light switch. It felt sticky and cold beneath my fingers. I clicked it on and the fluorescents buzzed to life overhead, flooding the room with their harsh brilliance.