After arming myself with the spear again, I started back down the corridor, passing by the restroom and heading toward the power plant. The roar of the generators grew louder and I could feel the floor vibrating slightly beneath my feet as I drew closer to the power plant. I turned around once, just to make sure Clyde was still there. He was. Then I focused my attention in front of me. A sign on the power plant door warned me of electrical hazards. That made me grin. Getting electrocuted seemed to be the least of my problems right now. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The noise immediately quadrupled in volume. To say it was loud inside the power plant was an understatement. Loud didn’t begin to describe it. Deafening was much more apt. It was the kind of noise you felt in your chest. I was used to it, of course. I had to experience it every time I’d given a tour. Still, after a few moments, my ears began to throb. If there was anyone inside the area, I’d never hear them, but on a more positive note, they wouldn’t hear me either. The room was huge, taking up most of the bunker’s upper level, and there were plenty of places for me to hide. In addition to the generators, the power plant held our massive fresh water tank and the center of the air filtration system. There was all sorts of other equipment, too. I was clueless to their origin or purpose, even as a tour guide and employee of the hotel. I’d never been mechanically inclined, and we’d never had to talk about them during the tour. But I didn’t need to know what they were to hide behind or beneath them. There were plenty of dark corners and catwalks and areas filled with pipes and conduit and wires. Between that and the noise, I could have hid in the power plant indefinitely. It occurred to me then that the power plant should have been my first choice. Maybe if I’d gone there instead of to the blast door, Jim and George would still be alive.
Despite the extremity of the power plant, I took my time, proceeding cautiously. If I encountered someone inside here, I’d have a hard time reasoning with them if they couldn’t hear me. It would be better to confront my pursuers outside of the area. I passed by a large, wheeled toolbox, the kind you usually saw in an automotive garage. It had belonged to one of our maintenance men. I paused for a moment, considering raiding it for more weapons. I experimented with the drawers and discovered that the toolbox wasn’t locked. I rooted through it. It was full of everything you’d expect—wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, gauges, shop rags, pneumatic and compressed air parts, and various mechanical odds and ends. I found a cigarette lighter and half a pack of matches. I grabbed both and stuffed them in my pocket. I also took a flat-end screwdriver and a box-cutter. I pushed the button on the box-cutter and the razor slid out of the end. The blade was rusty, but sharp. I pushed the button back down and stuck both the razor knife and the screwdriver in my back pocket. I considered taking one of the claw hammers but then decided to keep my spear instead. It would give me more reach should I need it. I hoped that I no longer would.
There were other potentially useful items scattered throughout the power plant. I opened a locker and found cans of gasoline, kerosene, and industrial solvents. Fire extinguishers and emergency eye-wash stations hung on the walls. A grease gun dangled from a length of angle iron. A long, black hose lay coiled on a skid. There were mops and whisk brooms in a corner, along with a wheeled mop bucket. There was also a portable sump pump, a wet-vac, and other pieces of equipment. I made a note of their location, and then continued on my way.
At the far end of the power plant was a stairwell that led back down to the bunker’s lower level. I stood at the door for a moment, gathering my resolve. It would be futile to try to listen for someone on the other side, so I simply pushed the door open and stepped back, in case there was somebody waiting. There wasn’t, so I stepped out into the stairwell. The thick door slammed shut behind me, immediately muffling the monotonous, numbing thrum of the generators. I looked out over the metal handrail and glanced below. The overhead lights were almost burned out, reduced to a single working bulb, but despite the shadows, I could see that the stairwell was empty. There was a landing halfway down, followed by another set of stairs with a door at the bottom. Nodding to myself, I started down. My arms and legs felt shaky—whether from hunger or nervousness, or maybe both. I reached the landing without incident and was just about to go down the second set of stairs when the door at the bottom opened. I retreated a few steps, my heart rate instantly pounding, and flattened myself against the wall. I realized at that moment that I was screwed. If I made a break for it, whoever was coming up the stairs would see me running and know where I’d gone. I had no choice but to confront them, and hope that they’d listen to reason.
Footsteps padded up the concrete stairs, echoing off the walls. The generators rumbled above me. Then a figure emerged onto the landing. I leaped forward and thrust my spear at them.
“Hold it!”
The figure cried out, startled. I recognized the voice. Then he stepped into the light.
“Pete? Jesus fucking Christ…”
“Drew?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for you.” He glanced down at my spear. The point was only inches from his stomach. “You planning on sticking me with that thing?”
“Sorry.” I lowered my weapon. “I thought they’d killed you.”
“No. Chuck was really pissed, but he let me go after I told them I’d help look for you. I was just coming to do that now. Here.” He held up a bottle of water and offered it to me. “I thought you might be able to use that.”
Nodding eagerly, I took the bottle from him. It was still cold and the plastic was covered with condensation. It felt wonderful. I rubbed it against my sweaty forehead and then unscrewed the cap and drank greedily, gulping it down. Water dribbled down my chin. I drank it all and then sighed.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“You’re welcome. Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“So where have you been?” Drew asked. “They went ape-shit when they figured out you’d escaped the incinerator room. Chuck sent Jim, George and Clyde up here to look for you, along with the Chinese guy.”
The Chinese guy—we called him that because none of us knew his name. He didn’t speak a word of English and none of us spoke Chinese. His communication with our group had been accomplished through a series of hand gestures and grunts. He was nice enough. Middle-aged, slightly overweight (at least, when we first came here), but with a full, thick head of hair. He hadn’t bothered anybody and nobody bothered him. I’d often wondered how he ended up at The Pocahontas. Had he been a guest? Had he been there with anybody else, and if so, how come they hadn’t made it down to the bunker with him? Were they among the zombies now, or had he come alone?
“I didn’t run into the Chinese guy,” I said.
“He came back down a little bit ago,” Drew explained. “To be honest, I don’t think he completely understands what’s going on. I mean, he voted and everything, but who knows if he understood what we were voting on. Chuck sent him up here with the others but then he came back down again, looking confused. He kept saying ‘Dui bu chi’ or something like that. Whatever that means. That’s when Chuck sent me up here instead.”