Chapter 24, the tense dialogue in the dark, and the blueprint of the underground bunker.
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JOURNEY TO THE CENTER
[ LOCKDOWN: ENGAGED ]
THE SEAL
- > DATE: Thursday Night (Or maybe Friday? Down here, time is just a concept.)
- > MOOD: Claustrophobic.
- > STATUS: Descending a concrete spiral into the abyss.
The silence after the heavy steel door locked was absolute.
Above us, the muffled, heavy thudding of the armored Juggernauts beating against the steel was barely a vibration in the concrete. We were sealed in. It was pitch black, freezing cold, and the air smelled like dust and old pennies.
Brenda clicked on her heavy-duty flashlight. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating a steep, spiraling concrete stairwell that seemed to go down forever.
Mister Whiskers immediately began trotting down the stairs, his tail held high, completely unbothered by the fact that we were now entombed under a football stadium. Buster whined, pressing his massive head against Joe’s leg.
"Alright," Brenda said, her voice echoing unnervingly. "Single file. Maintain three points of contact on the handrail. If you slip and break an ankle, you become an operational liability."
We started down.
STAIRWELL THERAPY SESSION
We walked for what felt like an eternity. Three flights. Five flights. Ten flights. The temperature dropped with every floor. The psychological weight of millions of tons of dirt and concrete pressing down on us started to get to Dave.
DAVE: "How deep does this go? Are we in a tomb? We're in a tomb. We just locked ourselves in a tomb to escape the things that belong in tombs."
BRENDA: "David, modulate your breathing. Panic consumes excess oxygen. We do not know the status of the subterranean HVAC system."
DAVE: "The HVAC system?! Brenda, I don't care about the air conditioning! I care about being buried alive! What if the roof collapses? What if we get to the bottom and it's just a room full of Jalapeño Cheese Zombies waiting in the dark?"
JOE: "They'd be blind by now. And slow. Cold joints. Don't worry about the dead ones, kid. Worry about the living ones who locked this door in the first place."
"Joe brings up a valid point regarding stakeholder hostility," Brenda noted. "Expect extreme paranoia from any survivors. Keep your hands visible. David, holster the Nerf gun. It projects the wrong corporate image."
"My corporate image is currently 'unwashed man who smells like garbage juice,'" I chimed in, leaning against the cold wall for a second. "I think the Nerf gun is the least of our PR problems."
Mister Whiskers stopped on a landing a few flights down and let out a sharp, echoing MROW.
"The scout has found something," Joe said.
THE DECONTAMINATION ZONE
We hurried down the last two flights. The stairs ended abruptly at a massive, thick glass wall. Set into the glass was a heavy door with a biohazard symbol on it. Beyond the glass, illuminated by faint, flickering emergency strip lights, was a long, white-tiled hallway.
"Decontamination Chamber," Brenda read from a plaque next to the glass door. "Standard CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear) protocols."
I peered through the glass. The hallway beyond was empty. No Zom Zoms. No soldiers. Just sterile white tiles and a few discarded medical gowns. It was locked.
INTERCOM ACTIVATED
"Halt. Do not attempt to breach the glass. State your unit designation and the number of uninfected."
DAVE: "We're civilians! We're from the apartment building! We have a cat! Please let us in, the Wi-Fi out there is terrible!"
"Civilians... Did you consume any military-issued rations in the last forty-eight hours? Specifically, the cheese spread?"
ME: "No! We ate artisanal Gouda! Aged eighteen months! We are dairy snobs!"
"Prepare for the UV scrub and chemical wash. Cover your eyes. If you turn inside the chamber, you will be incinerated."
"Wait, incinerated?!" Dave yelled.
A heavy CLACK echoed as the glass door unlocked.
"Step inside," Brenda ordered. "And David? Do not scream when the chemicals hit. It is unprofessional."
BLUEPRINT: FOB ECHO
(Copied from a framed evacuation map near the Decon Chamber entrance)
ZONAL THREAT ASSESSMENT
(A) DECON CHAMBER
We are here. We are about to be sprayed with something awful.
(C) QUARANTINE
The map shows this area is under "Lockdown." Likely where they put the soldiers who ate the cheese before they realized there was no cure. Avoid at all costs.
(D) HABITATION ZONE
Our goal. Hopefully, there are cots, non-infected food, and people who aren't currently chewing on each other.
TRANSCRIPT EXTRACT
> PLAYING AUDIO FILE: DESCENT_DIALOGUE.WAV
DAVE: "My ears just popped. That means we're deep. Like, mole-people deep. Do mole-people get the zombie virus? What if we have to fight Zombie Mole-People?!"
NARRATOR: "Dave, take a deep breath. There are no mole-people."
DAVE: "You didn't think there were Crossfit Zombies two days ago! The paradigm has shifted!"
BRENDA: "David's risk assessment, while hysterical, is technically valid. We must remain agile and open to new threat vectors. However, mole-people are statistically improbable. Focus on the stairs."
JOE: "Buster doesn't like it down here. Dogs know things. The air's dead."
NARRATOR: "Well, the door is locked above us. So unless you want to go back up and ask the Juggernauts for the keypad code, we keep walking."
DAVE: "I should have updated my will. I left my Steam account to my cousin, but he doesn't even like RPGs."
FINAL STATUS
Status Update: We are standing inside the Decon Chamber. The heavy glass door has locked behind us.
WARNING LIGHTS ACTIVE
Mechanized Voice Counting Down: 10... 9... 8...
- > Joe has his arms wrapped tight around Buster.
- > Dave is holding his breath.
- > Brenda has her blazer buttoned, standing perfectly straight to receive the chemical wash.
I really hope this doesn't ruin my favorite pair of jeans. They're already covered in bin juice.
