Brought Down

13. Parking Lot

Julian

I can't see how this road is shorter, but the general direction seems right, so I don't argue. Garrett walks faster now, and there's anger in his movements. Not that I expect any surprises from him—the rules are still clear, I have the gun, he must do what he's told—yet his attitude annoys me. Did he really expect me to go looking for some child? We must get to the base before the night falls. To achieve that, we must remain focused. There's no time to go around rescuing wildlife.

It's just that look he gave me when I refused. As if he was... disappointed. That was the thing that's gotten to me, I guess. Ridiculous. Why would I care about his opinion? That's got to be due to the exhaustion and the hunger. They could make anyone sensitive to all kinds of stupid things.

He takes a turn, then another. The streets he's choosing are getting narrower, and I don't like it. It's also harder to keep track of our direction when taking so many turns.

"Not so fast," I call. "Why do we even go here? Let's return to the main street."

"It's blocked with ruins," he says without looking back.

"Slow down," I say. "I mean it."

"Oh, I forgot that little ladies can't go fast. What, your mini dress slows you down?"

"Why on earth do you keep calling me a lady?" Such insinuations never fail to annoy me, especially since the jacket I'm wearing could, with a stretch of imagination, pass for a military-style dress. "If you think it's funny, it's not. It's just ridiculous. And if you continue –"

While speaking, I forget to keep the distance, and he takes advantage of that. He turns and ducks down, below the gun, throwing his whole weight at my feet. I lose my balance and fly to the ground. I roll over and jump up, but before I can aim the gun, he slams into me.

My foot slips, and I roll down a short stairwell. By the bottom of it, I lose my gun and the rest of my sense of direction. I manage to get to my feet, but Garret is suddenly next to me, and he pushes me with all his might through the open door of the building to my left. I stumble inside, landing on my hands and knees. A second later, the metallic door closes with a bang.

Then, I'm in complete darkness.

Not good.

I get up and feel my way back to the door. I find the handle, and try to turn it, then just try to pull and push the door, but it doesn't budge. He must be holding it from the other side, or he's used something to block it.

"Garrett!" I shout. "Open now, or --" Or what? There's nothing I can threaten him with now. He's got the gun. "Come on, open! I got the point. You win. I'll go back with you." I pause and listen. Nothing. "Garrett!" I listen again.

Silence.

I look around. Now that my eyes have adjusted, it's not completely dark. There's several small and narrow windows high on one wall, but given the little light there is outside, they barely help in illuminating the place. It's spacious, that much I can tell. Dozens of similarly shaped carcasses stand roughly in rows. Cars—or whatever has remained of them after centuries of abandonment. 

It's a parking lot. Given the flight of stairs I have rolled down, it must be underground. It surely has another exit. I just need to find it, that's all.

I take a step and groan in pain. My elbows, knees and ribs hurt after the fall. Just a perfect addition to the hunger and the lack of sleep.

Then, I hear a sound.

I stop, trying to calm my breathing. I'm not sure about the quality of the sound until it repeats itself. Something wet, like feet on a bathroom floor. It comes from inside the building.

Holy crap.

I get back to the door and start shaking it again, but with no more success than before. The handle is clearly stuck. Something must be holding it from the outside so firmly that it's probably not Garrett himself but some object he's placed there.

Garrett is gone. He's left me here all alone.

No, not alone. That's the worst part.

Something touches my hand holding the door handle. I jerk it back and strain my eyes, but I can't see anything unusual. There's clearly no one standing between me and the door.

I force myself to touch the handle again. It's covered with a wet, slippery mass. I trace my fingers on it. Some thick substance seems to be moving down the door, covering it. I force my hand to remain in place, and the substance slowly and gently begins to engulf it.

I remove my hand, and the substance lets go reluctantly, clinging to my fingers.

I feel tingling sensation where it's touched my skin. What the?...

Then, with shock, I realize what it is.

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