“The what? The nurse?” hissed the Hunter. Then it finally dawned on him and he groaned and held his forehead with one hand. “Oh no,” he said miserably. “It’s you, ain’t it, Old Man?”
“None other!” cackled Lampert. “Old as dirt and twice as filthy! Is that you, Senor Psycho?”
The Hunter groaned again but didn’t bother to reply.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” came Lampert’s voice. He coughed a while before he went on. “Well, mister tough guy,” he rasped, “it looks like the tables are turned, now don’t it? Be ironic if it wasn’t so trite. Anyway, you’re in here with us, now. You and me and Cass and a whole mine-full of loonies and deformed freaks. An’ I gotta tellya, of all the fun places I been on this little excursion, this is definitely the worst. Shit, even the cannibals were better than this! Well, I guess that’s how it goes these days, but then again, who’d of thunk it, you know? I mean, damn!”
Lampert laughed again but it quickly devolved into a coughing fit. To tell the truth, the Old Man didn’t sound so good. Kind of labored and weak.
The Hunter scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned again. What the hell had happened? How had they gotten here? Christ, what the hell had he gotten himself into now? Underground god-damn mutants? And, even more importantly, how the hell was he going to get out of it? Nothing presented itself, but then he’d learned over the years that, however hopeless things seemed, there was always a way. You just had to wait and watch and pick the right moment to act. What he’d done all his life.
What was more, he now knew that he wasn’t alone. Even if his fellow captives were folks he’d lately kidnapped, and thus perhaps a bit unreceptive, the very idea was a comfort; he wasn’t the only sane man in the nuthouse. Grimly, he went over to the can of lima beans, picked it up, and began shoveling them into his mouth.
It was the next day (or night; it was impossible to tell) that they brought him a cellmate. Unceremoniously tossed into the cave by a couple of big freaks, naked and bruised with a bloody bandage on his thigh, his new roomie was an average-sized, black-haired man of stocky build with a thick mustache and the dark skin of a Latino. Struggling to his knees, the newcomer looked around the cave and shook his head disgustedly.
“Fuck,” he said simply. “Wouldn’t you just fuckin’ know it.”
The Hunter offered the rusty water can. “Here,” he said. “It tastes bad, but so far it ain’t killed me.”
The man greedily took the can and drank. “Gracias,” he said. For what seemed like a long time, he stared at the Hunter, who could almost hear the gears grinding, before posing an obvious question. “Who are you?” he asked. “I mean, I know you ain’t Army, an’ you ain’t PF, neither. So where you come from? Who the hell are you?”
“Shipman,” said the Hunter. “And no, I ain’t from New America. Well, I’m no citizen, anyway, but I was hired by the Governor. Sort of a freelance job. What about you? You got a name?”
“Rodriguez,” said the man. “Chui Rodriguez. But everyone calls me CJ.”
“You’re Army?”
The man didn’t reply at first; instead he eyed the Hunter again, much more intently, before giving a shrug.
“Yeah, I’m Army,” he said. “But that’s about all I’m gonna say. Cause, no offense pal, but I don’t know you from shit. For all I know you could be some kinda rat. A plant, you know?”
The Hunter nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “I guess you got no reason to trust me. But don’t forget, the same thing goes for you. I got no reason to trust you, neither.”
They eyeballed each other for a while before CJ finally snorted and let out a bitter laugh. “Aw, to hell with it!” he said, shaking his head. “At this point, I seriously doubt that it even matters anymore. Whole goddamn world is dyin’ an’ here we are, stuck in a filthy hole and ready to turn on each other like fuckin’ chickens in a cockfight! That’s fucked up, esse.”
The Hunter allowed a thin smile and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a fucked-up world now, ain’t it? Well, first things first, CJ. Let’s get you something to wear…”
Chapter Forty-Six
Traveling these days can be a real nuisance. What with the body scans and the sedation and restraints, not to mention the time spent, wasted on runways and fighting adverse weather, it makes you just want to stay home. But not anymore! Now available in most major cities, US Transairways announces new Sub-Orbital Service aboard its fleet of state-of the-art XS4000 Rocket Planes! Just pass a simple physical screening and personality profile and then sit back and be amazed! New York to London in under an hour! Chicago to Tokyo in four hours or less! No more waiting, no more grogginess from all those medications! Using safe, proven technology from NASA’s Operation Mars, our new SO Service will change your mind about travel!
Chafing to get started, imagining Howard Lampert’s ancient body getting more ancient by the second, Justin didn’t think too much about Bowler’s change of heart. When the younger man appeared next morning, ready to descend into the tunnels with them, he more or less just chalked it up to the fellow’s mercurial nature. Teresa, though, was more circumspect and gave Bowler a suspicious look.
“Change yer mind, hey?” she said. “How come? Las’ night, you said no fuckin’ way.”
Bowler shrugged and stared back at her evenly. “Y’all might need me,” he said. “After all, I’m the only one who’s been down there, ain’t I? And besides, we all gotta, like, stick together, don’t we? Safety in numbers an’ all that.”
Justin stepped in. “Yes, yes,” he said, clapping Bowler on the shoulder, “of course we need to stick together. Now, can we get going? Please?”
And so they did, climbing down first into the pit and then, switching on their flashlights, into a long, narrow passage in complete darkness. The Kid, after some obvious internal debate, came climbing down last and trailed along at Teresa’s hip like a frightened pet. Justin led the way, but there wasn’t much leading to do, since the tunnel proceeded straight, level, and uncluttered, for as far as they could see. Interested in the construction, he shone his light on the walls and ceiling and saw that this was a man-made passage, marked with regular scoring and cuts, and supported every twenty yards or so by creosote-smeared wooden trestles.
“Is this a mine?” he wondered aloud, his voice echoing eerily. “It’s certainly not a natural cave.”
“Looks like it,” said Erin Swails. “Can’t think of any other reason for tunnels like this.”
“And what is that smell?” asked Justin. “Like some kind of animal. Like at the zoo.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty rank, alright.”
They walked for quite a while, instinctively crouched, and the tunnel kept on straight and level. They’d gone at least a mile when Justin finally called a rest break. As the others had some water, he directed his light down the tunnel, but there was nothing to see except more tunnel. He turned to Bowler.
“How long is this thing?” he asked. “How far do we have to go?”
Bowler shrugged lackadaisically. “Pretty far,” he said. “Like I said, these holes go on forever. Miles an’ miles. But, I dunno, we should come to a, like, intersection, pretty soon, an’ after that there’s all kindsa tunnels, up an’ down and all over.”
Justin frowned. “That sounds as if it would be easy to get lost. Are you sure you can find your way back?”