Free CRYERS by Geoff North

“Ain’t yer fault, Trot. I should’ve left you up top to keep Dust
company.”
    A tear fell from Trot’s eye. He wiped
it away quickly, hoping the others—and especially Lawson—wouldn’t notice. “I’m
sorry. It’s just all so strange…there ain’t nothing like this back in Burn.
I’ll do what you say. I’ll stay close and won’t touch nothing no more.”
    Lawson started down the hall. Cobe
and Willem asked more about the lights and the odd tangles of narrow ropes tied
in with the pipes. He shrugged and kept moving. “It would take a lifetime or
two learning how places like this worked. There’s light, it’s warm enough, and
the air is fit to breathe. That’s all you need to know.”
    It started to feel like an unending
dream to Cobe the farther they went. The tunnel curved this way and that. People
had built this, he thought, hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Where had they found all the material? Where
had they all gone?
    The circular passageway came to an end and merged with a rectangular
one. Lawson pointed to a sign above and behind their heads. It indicated a name
for the area they had just travelled through. He told them all to remember
where they were, in case any of them became separated from the rest. Cobe
studied the words:
    LEVEL A SUB-JUNCTION 12
    EMERGENCY EXIT
B
    He didn’t know what they meant, and since the lawman
was the only other one that could read, he couldn’t see the point of anyone
else even looking at them—unless they committed the sign’s shape and letters to
memory. Willem might be able to do that, but not Trot.
    There were doors lining this hallway, spaced on either
side, twenty feet apart. Willem tested the metal handle of one and Lawson
snapped at him. “If you don’t know where it goes, don’t touch.”
    The boy asked, “You know where they go?”
    Lawson shrugged. “Some. Most are locked.”
    “Maybe there’s food inside this one.” Willem ran his
finger along the faded black letters set in the center of the door that read
JANITORIAL.
    “No food,” the lawman answered, and walked on. They
turned a corner and he stopped at the first door to their right. Lawson gripped
the handle tightly and there was a click. Cobe heard a hissing sound as the
door popped open an inch. Lawson removed his hand and it continued to open
slowly outward on its own accord. Willem swore and Trot made a squeaking noise.
    “How’s it doing that?” Cobe asked. He peeked into the
widening space. “There someone on the other side?”
    “Ain’t no one in this place no more,” the lawman
replied. Cobe noticed his hand was now resting on the handle of his gun. No one that you’re aware of .
    They entered a small, dimly lit room. The door started
to swing back closed all on its own. There was another hissing sound as it
sealed itself tight. The lights grew a little brighter. There was a desk on the
far side with a rotted corpse sprawled over the surface. Trot pulled on the
door handle, attempting to get out, but the door wouldn’t open.
    “Relax,” Lawson said. “That thing’s been dead for
years.”
    Willem crept forward and stared at the grisly remains.
It was more bone than anything, with a few bits of dried flesh clinging to the
ribs and leg bones. He touched the skin and it flaked away like dried paper.
    “What did I tell you ‘bout touching things?” Lawson
asked.
    Cobe stood behind his brother. “Is that a howler?”
    “It was.”
    Cobe’s eyes were drawn to the grotesquely long nails
on its fingers and toes. They were long and curled in, like gray talons. There
were little chunks of matter surrounding the thing’s head, and larger pieces
littered the floor directly beneath. They looked like balls of dust sitting in
a pool of dried blood.
    “What…happened to it?”
    “I blew the side of its head off a long time ago when
it tried to tear my throat out. That crap on the floor is what’s left of the
brains.”
    Cobe and Willem stepped back at the same time.