Infinity's Reach (18 page)

“Lucky for us,” Pilgrim said. “Are you planning to climb down the ladder and hold a lit lighter at the same time?”

I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

I tugged on the wheel atop the hatchway and it slowly began to turn. After a couple of turns, the hatch door pulled free and I swung it up with a squeak of its rusty hinges. I looked back at Pilgrim, who stood there watching me. I shrugged.

“If the lights come on, you’ll know I was successful. If they don’t, well….” I didn’t complete my sentence, trying not to think about me falling down a dark shaft to slowly die with a broken back. I flipped open my lighter and flashed it once at the entrance to the shaft. The only thing I could see was a solitary metal ladder that descended into darkness. I sighed and climbed onto the ladder and started my descent.

I descended in total darkness, feeling for the rungs with my feet as I climbed down. I sensed large openings on either side of me as I dropped, and the air, though stale, got cooler as I went down. I decided to count the rungs as I lowered myself. When I got to 252, my left foot touched down on concrete. I hesitated for a moment, then brought my right foot down as well. Not knowing how large a platform I was standing on, I turned carefully and stood very still. I pulled out my lighter and flicked it on. Then I hit the dial and adjusted the flame to provide a little more light.

I was in a room with equipment around me, with what looked to me like generators, gears and pumps. I smiled to myself, knowing how many other possibilities could have been at the bottom of that shaft. I raised my flame high above my head and tried to decide where I needed to go.

I moved slowly across the concrete floor until I found a wall. I followed the wall to the right until I found a desk and a bulletin board. There, mounted on the bulletin board, were instructions for starting the emergency generator.

Five minutes later, I jerked on a rope once, twice, three times and heard the happy chug of a gasoline-powered generator kicking on. I smiled to myself, thankful that someone had the insight to install the generator deep enough in the earth to protect it from the effects of an electromagnetic pulse. Twenty seconds later, for the first time in four years I heard the buzz and saw the flicker of fluorescent lights kicking on.

I walked back to the hatchway that had seemed so far away but really was only about 15 feet and looked up. I counted 12 levels between me and the dark opening far above me. I strained and thought I saw a small figure waving at me from the other end.

“Come on down,” I shouted up at Pilgrim.

“Level 3,” she shouted back. I had no idea what was on level 3, but I figured it was as good a start as any. Sighing, I rubbed my aching legs and started to climb the ladder again. Then I hesitated
. If I were running this place….

I looked around the room and saw it in the corner. Five minutes later, my elevator arrived on level 3 just as Pilgrim climbed down the ladder. She looked at me and then the elevator and grinned.

“Nice,” she said.

“So what’s so special about level 3?” I asked.

She pushed through double doors and led me into a barracks, complete with bunks and lockers for a company of soldiers. At the far end of the row of lockers, I could see what looked like showers.

“I didn’t get a chance at a hot shower when I was in St. Louis,” she said. “When you talked about restoring power here, I hoped they would have a barracks here. So while you were hunting for an on-switch down in the bowels of the earth, I went through that desk up there, and found a directory for the levels. I get first dibs on the shower!”

“Fine,” I said, looking back at her bright eyes surrounded by caked mud. “I won’t even peek. You can probably find some fatigues—and towels—around here as well. But I would imagine it’ll take a little while before there’s hot water.”

“A cold shower still beats bathing in a creek,” she said. She rummaged through a couple of lockers and found some clothes that she thought might fit her, then disappeared into the shower room. 

A few minutes later, I heard the hiss of the shower and eventually steam began to float out of the doorway to the showers. I wandered around the locker room until I found a desk and looked for the directory that she’d talked about. While I rummaged through the drawers, I heard her singing to herself in the next room. It had been a long time since I’d heard a woman singing, and it reminded me of my wife, back in happier days, when we were young.

I found the directory. It was a laminated yellow sheet with a diagram of each of the 12 levels, with descriptions of what was stored on that level. It also showed two entrances that appeared to be about a mile north and south of where we were. I took the directory and walked over to the doorway. Pilgrim was still singing.

“”I’m impressed,” I shouted in the doorway, my back to her.

“Mack!” she shouted. “You said you wouldn’t peek.”

“Who’s peeking?” I shouted back. “Hey, did you look at this list? They’ve got enough supplies to equip a battalion here. They’ve got everything.”

“I wonder if their equipment will still run.”

“Depends on how deep they had it in the bunker,” I said. “We’ll have to check it out.” I hesitated when I heard something clattering through the ventilation system above my head.

“Well, I didn’t think--.”

“Quiet!” I said, interrupting her. “I think I heard something.”

I stood there silently, waiting for the noise to return. In the meantime, I heard Pilgrim turn off her shower behind me. A moment later, I felt her presence behind me, wrapped in a towel.

“Is it one of those—?” She didn’t finish her question. I gestured with my head toward a large vent mounted on the opposite wall. As we watched, long tendrils reached out through the slats of the vent and pushed the door open. It fell to the floor with a bang.

Inside was something that looked vaguely like a spider, about the size of a terrier, but with a mechanical turret on its back. It swiveled the turret around, with the two tendrils it had used to open the vent sniffing the air in front of it.

“Another variation of our rabbit-killer friend,” I whispered.

Pilgrim gasped, and I looked down at the mud still caked all over my body and then at her clean, wet, hot skin. I shoved her back in the doorway and closed it between us.

“What if it comes in the vent here?” she asked.

“Just make sure it doesn’t,” I responded.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll think of something.” I looked around the barracks at anything that I could use as a weapon. All I could see was an old wooden push broom in the corner. I crept over to the broom and unscrewed the handle. I now had a pole made of thin wood to use against a laser-wielding robot with thick armor sides.

As I watched, the tendrils on the robot sniffed the air, and then it started off in the direction of the shower-room door. I suspected that the shower was putting off heat that it could sense. Halfway across the floor, it stopped as if it noticed something else. I hesitated again when I saw that it was turning my direction. I looked again at the mud that caked me, and realized that it had dried and in several cases, had begun to flake off.

It sniffed the air for a long moment, then decided to continue on to the shower door. It paused at the closed shower door, then I saw the laser begin to cut through the metal door.

“It’s cutting through!” I heard Pilgrim shout from the other side.

“I know!” I shouted back.

“Do something!”

I shook my head, trying to decide what the wisest course of action was. Finally I launched myself and my broomstick at the robot. I jammed the broomstick under the side of the robot, and flipped it over. The laser flashed wildly in all directions, but I jumped on the underside of the robot with both feet. I stood on the belly of the robot in my bare feet while looking for an off switch, but there was none. Frustrated, I finally decided to pick the robot up. Despite its small size, the robot weighed close to 50 pounds. I grabbed it with both hands, its legs clutching at me, trying to make me let it go. The laser fired wildly in all directions.

I carried the robot as fast as I could back to the hatch where Pilgrim had climbed down. As it fired the laser and grabbed at me, I tossed the spider-like mechanism down the shaft. It bounced off the sides as it fell to the mechanical pit nine floors below.

“Is it dead?” I heard Pilgrim say from behind me. I turned to see her standing there, already dressed in fatigues.

I shook my head. “No, but I bought us some time. I took a look at it, though, and I ’spect that a well-aimed shot from a 12-gauge will take care of it.”

“There’s a locker of weapons up one level. I can get us some shotguns while you get your shower,” Pilgrim said.

“Let’s both go,” I said. “My shower can wait.”

We went up one floor and loaded up on weapons and ammunition. Pilgrim chose twin 45 automatic pistols and a crossbow. I chose an M1 automatic rifle with a grenade launcher and a wicked-looking 8-gauge trench gun. When the spider robot returned, I took great pleasure in dispatching it with one shot from my trench gun. Then Pilgrim stood guard while I got my shower and got changed.

Despite the unnerving attack that afternoon, the rest of the time went smoothly. We visited the fourth floor for some MREs and other food supplies. Then we visited the garage on the 11
th
floor where we had our pick of vehicles. I found a dirt bike, loaded it with enough gas to get me back to Wickliffe, and fired it up. It started with the first crank.

“I’ll travel a lot faster alone,” I said. “I should be back in 24 hours. I know of a buyer who’ll be thrilled with what we found.”

“Buyer? What about all that talk about America and taking back St. Louis?”

“It’ll happen,” I said. “But we need to be paid for our efforts. This guy will give us a mountain of caps for this bunker.”

“I don’t want a mountain of caps,” Pilgrim said. “I want to do what’s right. I want to go west to House of the Interpreter and then Camp Zion.”

“Listen,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re young. Still idealistic. Trust me. Taking payment for this stuff is the best for everyone involved. I’ll be back in 24 hours.”

I saw Pilgrim’s face fall, and I felt like I’d betrayed her. But I was no soldier, and I knew she wasn’t either. My philosophy was to leave war to the professionals.

I left her standing there in the garage, two 45s in her hands. I took a passageway north to the secret entrance on the other side of that hill, and exited in the dead of night. It took me about four hours to get back to the Muddy and find our canoe.

Despite what I’d told her, I decided to give the bunker over to the National Guard. By the next afternoon, I was back to the bunker with two dozen guardsmen. This time, we went in via the secret north entrance.

They were amazed and grateful for the treasure that Pilgrim and I surrendered to them in the name of freedom. But despite hours of searching, I didn’t find Pilgrim anywhere in the premises. She had headed west.
  
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22. HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER

INFINITY: HOT SPRINGS, ARKANSAS: DAY 1579

I really did know what I was doing when I took the second dirt bike and rode west from the hidden bunker. I do admit that I was dismayed by Mack Hawley’s parting comment and attitude about making money, which turned into pot-boiling anger. And it didn’t settle down with time. In fact, I felt if I were to stay there I would have shot him as soon as he returned.

And I did believe that he would return. That was never a doubt in my mind. The question was whether I
wanted
him to return. I had spent the past two years fending for myself, and in many cases, fending off men just like Mack Hawley. I hadn’t seen a lot of humankindness, and after meeting Faithful, I didn’t want more of the same.

And so I took off, probably two hours after Mack did. I followed his example and siphoned gas from one of the Humvees there, and dumped it into the small tank of the dirt bike. Then I cranked it and was on my way.

I didn’t stop to consider that I had never ridden a motorcycle before. It took a good three hours for me to learn how the headlight worked, how to shift up and down and where the brake and clutch were. It also didn’t help that I was leaving in the middle of the night.

But on the other hand, I was glad there was no one on the roads. Riding a noisy motorcycle on the road gathered enough attention as it was. Add to that the fact that my wanted poster was on every fencepost, bulletin board and wooden shed from Cincinnati to who knows how far west, and you have a pretty good idea why I chose to stick to the back roads.

And that also explains why it took me a week to travel what would have taken a little over four hours if things would have been normal again. It was only 250 miles, Hot Springs was a straight shot southwest from Poplar Bluff as the crow flies. But I’d learned a thing or two in the past two years. Going fast was not always best.

Riding a motorcycle was a luxury, I knew, and chances were it would catch up with me. Some dark night someone would hit me over the head to get my bike, or maybe someone would shoot me out of the saddle when I was riding by.