Going Gray Read online

  In the days that followed, she worked with Peter, helping Ms. Parks with new arrivals, getting them settled in and nursing their injuries. And with each new group, she noticed that there always seemed to include one or two that died soon after arriving. Emily thought of Mr. Rainer and how he had died when he crossed the finish line too.

  The number of sick and injured climbed, and their make-shift morgue filled. They were running out of places to put the bodies. At some point, Emily no longer recognized what it meant to carry a dead body. She was just doing a job, helping out, just like everyone else. The nonchalance struck her as they carried a young boy: his skin gray and his eyes like coal. She felt torn, wanting to feel sad, imagining that it was Justin that they were carrying, but at the same time, she was a little bit relieved to not feel anything at all.

  And Emily saw something else during the days that followed. She saw Peter, and he saw her. More than once, she had caught him staring, only to see him bashfully turn away. Can I feel this way? she wondered, and considered everything that had happened. Is it right to feel something?

  That place where shadows live is often the most overlooked. Dangerous things lurk in the dark, hidden from sight, an arm’s reach from being seen. But sometimes there are miracles waiting in the shadows, and it only takes a moment of bravery to reveal them. When the urgency to find medicine and food came again, chancing a step into the darkness revealed the door leading to the service tunnel.

  By now, Emily had traveled a few times beyond the thick Mall Personnel flap doors and into the land of twisting pipes and cinder blocks, and had always shied away from the dark corners. They were haunted, after all, and she wanted nothing to do with them. And though Peter had scoured through every part of the security office, he’d never found a service map—or any map for that matter.

  But when someone mentioned pipes and conduit and that they would have had to enter the building from below, Peter’s first thoughts were of the service area. Flashing a beam of light, they’d found pipes of all sizes sprouting out of the concrete, crawling up the walls and across the ceilings, carrying the mall’s lifeline through metal arteries and veins.

  “I can’t tell what is what!” Emily confessed, confused by the snaking pipes. “I mean, how do we know what is safe and what isn’t?” Peter landed a beam of light onto the different symbols and markings, trying to make sense of them. He shrugged his shoulders, just as confused.

  “I think the larger ones are the blood and the smaller ones are the nervous system,” he answered, attempting to be coy. Even in the dark, she could see him grin, proud of his analogy. “Those are for water, and those must be for the electrical or telephone or maybe computers.” As Peter spoke, Mr. Halcomb ran his hands along one of the larger pipes, pinching his fingers against some condensation.

  “Not sure how big the service tunnel is, but safest bet is to keep your hands off the pipes altogether,” he added. “No telling which are electrical, but my guess is that if there is moisture then the pipe is carrying water. How are we doing on the hatch?”

  Peter knelt down, studying the hatch door. From the looks of the square plate, the door could have been a hundred years old; left alone, and never touched. She pressed her hand on the surface, running her palm over the raised bumps. The metal felt cool, and the small diamonds worn smooth by time.

  As if to validate what Peter had said, a slight vibration buzzed inside her fingers. There was life coming up through the service panel—the pipes carrying the blood and electrical impulses to the mall.

  “Hold your breath,” Peter warned and lurched upward on the hatch’s handle. Instinctively, Emily sucked in what air she could, pressing her lips tight: no telling what might be trapped inside. Mr. Halcomb did the same, following her lead—his big cheeks red and ballooning, but some of his air escaped in a short squelch. She tried not to laugh at the sound or the sight of him.

  The hinged side of the hatch clanked, bellowing out like a metal explosion. Mr. Halcomb winced at the sound, but motioned to Peter to try again. He yanked on the handle, straining, and then freed the hatch from its recessed seat in the concrete. A rush of damp air pushed Emily’s hair back: cold and soothing. She didn’t feel any burns or stinging like she’d expected. And when Emily teased her aching lungs with a tiny sip, she found freshness: that is, as fresh as tunnel-air can be. The tunnel-air tasted nothing like the humidity above ground: the air was fresh, clean and free of salt. With the hatch teetering on its hinges, Mr. Halcomb quickly tied off the small handle, to keep the door from closing.

  “Smell that?” Peter asked. Emily peered into the black opening, her eyes growing wildly huge, starving for light. The air stayed fresh. “Never thought I’d smell that again.”

  “No salt,” Emily answered. “There’s no smell… because it’s below the ground, you think?”

  “Or maybe it’s because the service tunnels are below sea-level?” Mr. Halcomb added. “It could be that whatever is going on outside, can’t reach inside or dip below? Not enough anyway.”

  “Do you feel that?” Emily asked. Her voice cracked with sudden excitement. She motioned to them, telling them to watch as she hung her head in the opening again. “Look. Look at my hair!” She heard Peter and Mr. Halcomb lean in closer to her to see what it was she’d found. Long strands of her hair moved, pushed back and forth as though the service tunnel fed a giant set of lungs.

  “Well, I’ll be… ” Mr. Halcomb declared. “There’s airflow. But coming from where?”

  “Or going to where? The Food-Mart maybe?” Peter asked, reaching to run his hands through her hair.

  “Could be large fans. The kind used to equalize air pressure.” Mr. Halcomb suggested. “But I think they only do that in taller buildings. Just in case, I wouldn’t go leading with your hands, reaching into the dark. Might lose a limb.” And though Mr. Halcomb was joking, Emily’s immediate thoughts went to the green-armed monster and what it had done to Mr. Rainer’s body. The men both laughed in a silly boyish way.

  “So, we’ve got air, but no lights,” Emily interrupted. She didn’t want to walk in the dark. Large limb-cutting fan blades or limb-stealing monsters aside, she couldn’t handle walking through pitch-black blindness. She thought of her run from the car to the entrance of the mall, carrying Justin and staggering until they hit the door. The fog was crippling enough, but at least she could see her hands and she could see Justin.

  Emily sat up and searched the walls. Her flashlight’s narrow beam cut across the plain gray, revealing a panel of switches. She quickly flipped two of the switches. Nothing. Hanging her fingers on the third switch, she mouthed a few hopeful words. The third switch tripped on with a click, and a faint glow came to life from deep inside the blackness.

  When Emily turned back, looming shadows crawled up the far wall, mindlessly dancing over the opening. Peter raised his hand to cover his face, and she lowered the beam of her flashlight. She thought of Justin then, and wanted to laugh. She remembered how she’d used a flashlight once to create a gigantic finger spider on the ceiling. A coastal storm had left them without power, and they’d made a game of tag using their flashlights. She’d created the spider, stretching her fingers in a mock sinister crawl along the ceiling. She’d laughed when he screamed, frightened by the sight, darting off in search of their mother. The fond memory disappeared when Emily’s thoughts went to how her mother had died.

  “Emily?” a voice asked. “You up to this?” Warm fingers touched her arm.

  “Sorry,” she answered, turning to hide the dampness in her eyes. “Need a minute is all.”

  “I’ll head down first,” Peter said. He backed his legs into the hatch’s opening, letting the floor swallow him up as he stepped lower into the service tunnel. “Damn! It has to be twenty degrees colder in here.” Peter shook his shoulders, releasing a shiver. The motion made Emily wrap her arms around her middle.

  “Here, baby,” Ms. Parks said, joining them. The older woman coughed out a ragged breath, heaving and
trying to catch some air after rushing to be with them. She pushed her sweater onto Emily’s shoulders. “This will keep you warm, I won’t be needing it. Between my flashes and this muggy air, it’s too damn hot now anyway.” Emily nodded, not quite understanding what the older woman meant, but thankful for what she offered.

  The darkness spilled over Peter as he lowered himself into the tunnel. In the light’s harsh contrast, he could have been lowering himself into a pool of black goo; the kind she’d seen in the movies. The sight was unsettling, and she began to wonder if their trek to the Food-Mart might not be a good idea.

  “Peter!” she blurted when his head dipped into the black ooze. Fearing the worst her imagination had thrown at her, she felt the immediate stare of Mr. Halcomb and Ms. Parks, but the glance was only a brief curiosity. Emily saw his tangled mop of hair rise from the service tunnel’s opening. She saw the patch of freckles across his nose and cheeks and then she saw his shoulders. A feeling of reassurance encouraged her.

  “Yeah?” he asked, shaking off another shiver. The sight made her feel warm and cold at the same time, and she made her way to the hatch. “You ready?”

  Emily smiled at him, begrudgingly. “Wait for me.”

  And though the sweater was a few sizes too big, the warmth of it was immediate and welcome.

  “Are you guys sure you don’t want help?” Mr. Halcomb asked. “I mean one or two more sets of hands?” Blocked in shadow, she could see enough of Peter's upturned face to know his answer.

  “We’ll be okay,” she told them, but heard the reservation in her voice. “Oh, the list. We’ll need the list!”

  “In the front pocket, dear,” Ms. Parks answered. Emily needled her fingers into the thick wool weave, searching for the list. When the tip of her finger touched the edge of something sharp, she pulled out a short knife, lifting it for Ms. Parks to see. Curious. “It isn’t much, but it’s something to keep you safe. Also might help in the pharmacy.”

  “Ready?” Peter asked. The hard blue light from her flashlight cut across his face, but quickly disappeared when he moved away from the hatch. “I can’t tell how far we have to go, but keep the hatch door open—okay Mr. Halcomb?”

  “Sure. We’ll keep it open,” Mr. Halcomb said, tightening the strap, holding the hatch’s door handle. The handle clanked against the flat diamond plate, ringing on the metal that seemed to echo forever.

  “How far can you see?” Emily asked.

  “Come on down and see,” Peter answered. He stretched his arm, reaching, clutching the air, motioning for her to climb down. “I can see something a few hundred yards away, maybe less.” Emily’s foot slipped on the ladder—the sound of her shoe screeched against the metal rung. Her balance tipped, and her heart lurched into her throat. Mr. Halcomb caught hold of her arms, jolting her.

  “That was close,” he said. “Grab hold of that rung there and Peter, you guide her the rest of the way.”

  “I’m fine. I just slipped,” she admitted and felt warm embarrassment on her cheeks. Any immediate anxieties about the tunnel shrank away. And when she was about to object again to their help, Peter’s hands were on her, guiding her.

  “I’ve got you,” he exclaimed. “Six more rungs.” Emily continued her descent into the service tunnel, thanking them. And as she lowered herself, Peter’s grip became stronger, holding her, nearly lifting her. She felt strangely comforted, floating in his safety, liking that his hands were on her, touching her.

  When she reached the last ladder rung, a chill settled in her, raising fleshy bumps on her arms. The air was much colder than she’d expected, damp, yet fresh without the salt to bother her. The path in front of them was a cave made up of a single light. A dim bulb dressed a narrow path for them to travel. The beam of her flashlight darted from the ceiling to the ground, showing her a service path that was more square than round. And the walls carried a new maze of pipes which ran a long stretch, further beyond anything that she could see.

  “Follow the pipes?” she asked, motioning with her flashlight. “That is, until we get somewhere.”

  “I suppose,” Peter answered, walking around her in a tight circle. He stretched his hand, touching the wall and pulled back to pinch his fingers. “A bit damp.”

  “Which way?” she questioned, trying to think of where the Food-Mart was, and where they were standing.

  Peter aimed his flashlight behind them, revealing more tunnel. But that stretch of tunnel had no emergency lighting, keeping the path hidden.

  “Mr. Halcomb? Which way do we go?” Peter bounced his light from one side to the other, and then turned back to face Mr. Halcomb.

  “What’s behind you?”

  “That part of the tunnel has a bend,” he answered. “No lighting though. In fact, there are no pipes or electrical or anything. Seems all the pipes come up through here.”

  “Food-Mart should be the other direction.” Mr. Halcomb told them. “Follow the pipes.”

  “There is one light there, and I think I see the service tunnel branching where the Food-Mart is. That might lead to the street.”

  “Yeah, that’d be the street —” Mr. Halcomb began to say.

  “But don’t go in that direction,” Ms. Parks interrupted. “You might get lost.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Halcomb continued. “No maps, so stay in this service tunnel, just get to the store and come back. There is no telling how many other directions the street access might take you.”

  “What about this other tunnel behind us?” Emily asked, fixing her flashlight on the empty walls. With no pipes or light, she looked upon it like a dead limb, but still, it had to go somewhere. “Maybe we can map the tunnels?”

  “Map the tunnel?” Mr. Halcomb raised his wiry brows and considered the idea. He glanced over at Ms. Parks, nodding his head. “Not sure where that branch goes… parking garage, or the ocean maybe, that seems to be the right direction. I like your idea.”

  “Keep a light on up there so that we can see the opening on the way back,” Peter added. His hand went to Emily’s arm, cradling her elbow between his fingers. “You ready?”

  Emily offered a quick nod, but inside she wasn’t sure. Shooting the flashlight beam into the dead limb, she tried to listen for the ocean. A faint echo of water dripping came to her, but that was all. No ocean. In her mind, she imagined the green-armed monster at the end of the tunnel, salivating in anticipation of his next meal. But then she thought of the ocean machine her father worked on, and the dead body without any burns. Monster or no monster, she was going to come back down and find out where the other path led to.

  “I’m ready.”

  XI

  TUNNELS AND MARKETS

  The tunnel echoed every sound that Emily made, and soon both her and Peter decided that staying quiet was probably the safest thing to do. A squeak sang out, likely frightened by their approach, and then scurried ahead of them. Emily cast the end of her flashlight toward the sound, catching the glint of two beady eyes: small and black. Another squeak came, and the small rodent was running again.

  “Was that a mouse?” she asked, and shook her shoulders jokingly bothered. The truth was that she rather enjoyed the smaller animals: the furrier, the better.

  “Might’ve been a rat!”

  Emily cringed.

  Peter swung his flashlight like a pendulum, bouncing from side to side, catching a stir of activity as hairy blurs disappeared behind the pipes. This time, when a long naked tail slithered out of the light, Emily shook for real.

  “Rats!” he answered, his tone sharp. “Probably driven inside too. Same as us.”

  “Do you think there are a lot of them?”

  “Can’t tell, but I’m hearing something. And most of the sound is coming from the pipes. Like it's their own private highway.”

  Emily startled when Peter cupped her shoulder with his hand. He motioned to their left and beamed his light in that direction. She glimpsed one of the fleshy tails before it dashed into the dark, escaping
the light as if it had burned them. But it was what the rats did next that stirred a deeper fear. They perched themselves behind one of the slender pipes, standing on another pipe below it, and resting their paws in front of them. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn that the rats were watching them. A half dozen, maybe more, stared, motionless, lined up like a knock-down carnival game—three balls, three throws, knock one down and win a prize.

  “Why aren’t they running?” she asked, curious.

  “I think they’re waiting for us. Following us.” Peter exclaimed. “Have been for a while now.”

  “Food.”

  “Food? Could be.”

  “If they are in here with us, then they’re going to be looking for food.” Emily shined her flashlight at one of the bigger rats. Round gleaming eyes stared back at her, patiently. “At least I think that’s what they are doing.” Emily kicked the tip of her shoe, stubbing her toe on the ground. The rats didn’t move. Frustrated, she looked for something to throw, but the service tunnel was surprisingly clean.

  “Let’s get moving,” Peter told her, setting his flashlight in the direction of the lone light. “I don’t want to stay down here any longer than we have to. And I don’t want to give them rats anything to think about.”

  “Think about what?” she asked, but then considered what he meant and didn’t like the humor of it.

  “I think I might be a bit too tough for their taste, but you’d probably chew up nice and easy,” he laughed.

  Peter stepped ahead of her, whipping around in a single turn, his flashlight perched beneath his chin, shining a flood of blue light on his face. The image was terrifying. Emily tensed. “You look exceptionally tender Clarice!” He hissed the name, bellowing a raucous laugh that echoed all around her. The sound was surprisingly good—very haunted house, she supposed. Feet pattered along the pipes, answering his mock cry, running in both directions.