At first, I thought we were lost. I thought Floyd had pulled us into the wrong tunnel.
There was just dirt around us—damp, featureless dirt. Nothing to distinguish one tunnel from another, nothing to recognize, to cling to in the dark. We’ve come too far, I told myself. We should be in the cellar by now!
I imagined us wandering, lost, through these tunnels.
The camera battery would die soon. Without its light, the darkness and dirt would swallow us whole. And then we’d be really and truly lost. We’d be buried alive.
Using our hands. Stumbling blind. Moving deeper and deeper underground.
And what would that do to Floyd? I wondered, peering into the darkness ahead. He was already freaking out. Much more of this and he’d be a complete nutjob, panicked and hyperventilating.
Finally, without warning, we reached the cellar. Floyd let out a loud sigh of relief, breath hitching in his throat. Then he pulled me from the mouth of the tunnel, out onto the concrete floor. When I paused, lifting the camera to view the empty room once again, Floyd continued on without me, dropping my arm and darting ahead into the gloom. His feet made a terrible racket as he stumbled his way up the dimly lit steps.
The door banged open above me, letting light into the cellar. After the darkness, that dim gray rectangle burned like a supernova at the top of the stairs.
When I reached the foyer, I found Floyd sitting with his back against the front door. He was digging through his pockets. After a couple of seconds, he pulled out a pill bottle and spilled a couple of oxycodones onto his shaking palm. He bolted them down and closed his eyes, his entire body falling slack with relief.
“What did you see?” I asked. When he didn’t respond, I tried again: “How about we talk about it?”
“How ’bout we shut the fuck up?” Floyd replied, his anxiety rushing out in an exhausted gasp. “How ’bout we just… shut the fuck up?”
He remained still for a couple of seconds. Then he hugged himself, rubbing at his arms like he was trying to get warm. “I was seeing things,” he said. “I just let my imagination get the best of me.”
“Then tell me what it was,” I prodded.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean,” he growled. His eyes popped open, and he fixed me with an angry glare. “This isn’t something I talk about, okay? So shut the fuck up! There ain’t going to be a tender moment here… and no fucking group hug!”
He pushed himself up off the floor and threw the door open, storming out in an angry huff. After a couple of seconds, I followed, tracing his path back through the snow.
As soon as I entered the house, I heard Floyd’s bedroom door slam shut up on the second floor. I thought about following him up but decided not to press my luck. He’d taken his pills. He’d be calmer soon. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk.
“What was that?” Charlie asked, emerging from the kitchen. “It sounded like a freight train running through the house.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just Floyd. I think I pissed him off.”
Charlie nodded dismissively, then turned back toward the kitchen. He paused at the threshold and looked back over his shoulder. “If you want to do your forum post,” he said, “you should get me your computer soon. I don’t know when Taylor’s friend’s going to show up.”
I grunted my assent, then went upstairs to grab my notebook computer. I paused briefly in the hallway outside Floyd’s door. I could hear him pacing back and forth inside his room. Whatever he’d seen down there in the tunnels, he hadn’t escaped it yet. It was still with him, chasing him back and forth, back and forth.
When I got back to the kitchen, Charlie popped open my computer and set it on the table next to his own. He immediately began shuttling through my file system, popping from window to window with uncanny agility. It was too fast for me to follow; his hands were a blur, careening back and forth atop the keyboard. After a couple of minutes, he made an encouraging sound and started typing code into his own machine.
I let him work, turning my attention to the camera.
The camera was getting dirty. Before coming to the city, I’d treated my Canon with great care. It was my prized possession, and I kept it clean, in pristine shape. In the last couple of days, however, I’d let all of that slide. Now I was dismayed to find dings and scratches all along its matte-black body. Not to mention the mud and the layer of grime where I’d been touching it with my dirty hands. I used the hem of my shirt to wipe away most of the mud, then removed the lens cap and turned the camera up toward the light. I could see specks of dirt all across the green-tinted lens, countless dots of black, marring my precision optics. I let out a deep sigh and replaced the lens cap. There was no way I was going to try to clean my good glass with a dirty shirt. I had a cleaning kit upstairs. I’d give it a good working over tonight, before I went to bed.
After I finished inspecting the camera, I turned on the viewscreen and flipped back through the pictures I’d taken in the tunnel. Most of them were worthless. They were blurred, out of focus, or showed nothing but deep brown dirt. The pictures of the junction box, while technically fine, were incredibly boring; they were nothing but industrial detail with absolutely no hint of mystery or art. And the pictures of Floyd in the hub were too dark, his pale face floating in a sea of black, staring off into even more black. He could have been standing in any dark room, cave, or midnight forest.
I zoomed in on the last couple of shots, trying to figure out what he’d seen in those brief camera flashes, but the pictures showed nothing new—just his face, contorted in sudden horror.
I shook my head and scrolled back to a picture of the junction box. “Do you know what this is?” I asked Charlie, holding up the camera for him to see.
Charlie glanced up from his notebook. His eyes swam for a couple of seconds—out of focus, as if he’d just surfaced from a dream—before he finally managed to lock in on the camera. He took it from my hand and studied the image. “It’s a networking hub.” He found the navigation buttons and began zooming in on different parts of the picture. “I don’t recognize the product number. PDL-0001A—I’m not sure what company that would be. It certainly doesn’t look like a consumer model.”
“What does it do?” I asked. “What would somebody use it for?”
Charlie shrugged. “Standard stuff. Connecting computers in a network.” He held up the camera and pointed at the image. “Those wires are heavy-duty coax, so this setup could potentially cover quite a bit of ground. And the LEDs on top? Each indicates a live connection—a computer, another hub, a printer—so there are at least eight nodes on this network. Possibly more if they’ve chained together additional hubs.”
“Would it work for audio? Voice traffic?”
“Sure. You could send pretty much anything down this type of line. As long as it’s digitized.”
I nodded. I’d already guessed at most of these answers; it was all pretty standard stuff. It was this next bit I really wanted to know: “Let’s say you were able to get your hands on one of these lines, in the middle of a network. Would you be able to listen in? Would you be able to hear what’s going down the wire?”
Charlie paused, a concerned look on his face. “Yeah. At least theoretically, you’d be able to sniff out all of the information flowing over the network. You might not be able to understand it if it’s encrypted, but you’d be able to get it.”
I nodded and smiled.
“What is this, Dean?” Charlie asked, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Is this part of the military’s setup here in the city? Did you take this picture at the courthouse?”
For a moment, I was tempted to tell him the truth. I was tempted to tell him all about Devon’s radio, and the tunnels, and the network hidden beneath the city. But finally I decided against it. He had enough to worry about. Besides, I wanted Taylor to hear it first. When it came to this house, and the people in it, she was in charge. She would know what to do.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” I lied, forcing a smile onto my lips. “There’s abandoned computer shit all over the city. I was just wondering what it might be worth back home.”
Charlie managed a surprised flurry of blinks. Then he offered up a sly smile. “Hell, if that’s your scam, don’t waste your time with this junk.” He held up the camera, indicating the junction box on its screen. “After I finish up with your forum post, I’ll point you toward the real moneymakers… for a small cut of the profit, of course.” He let out a loud laugh, then turned back toward his computer.
There was a wide, boyish grin on his face as he got back to work. It was good to see him smile. For a time, at least, he actually looked his age.
Taylor and Danny showed up a little after sunset, carrying a cardboard box filled with booze. Bottles of Wild Turkey and Bombay Sapphire.
“Some guys in my unit went AWOL for a couple of days,” Danny explained, flashing a lopsided grin. “I covered for them, and they were so grateful, they brought me back some gifts. I thought I’d share the spoils.”
We built a fire in the living room and sat around drinking bourbon and gin out of mismatched glasses. Amanda and Mac joined us, but Charlie stayed in the kitchen, finishing up work on the thumb drive.
“Where’s everyone else?” Taylor asked.
“Sabine’s with Mama Cass,” Amanda said. “I think they’re working on something. Some type of project.”
“And Floyd’s upstairs, brooding,” I added. “As for Devon…” I just shrugged. For all I knew, the tunnel had swallowed Devon whole.
Or maybe he’s standing right across the street, I thought, watching us from his second-story window. Watching us drink. Taking notes. Planning diabolical plans.
I stared down at the bourbon in my glass. It glowed gold in the firelight, shining like liquid honey. Those first few sips had hit me hard, heightening the effects of the oxycodone in my blood. I flexed my hand and felt the skin tighten around my wounds. The pain was still there, but distant, a tickle up and down the length of my forearm. Distant, as if I were experiencing a wound on someone else’s body.
I glanced up and caught Amanda midsentence: “—so hard. I thought he was dead for sure!”
“Yeah,” Danny said. “Fucker’s lucky to be alive. He fell three stories and walked away with nothing but a bad bruise and a sprained foot.” Danny paused, and a thoughtful look came across his face. “Of course, he hasn’t said anything yet, and we can’t figure out what happened. He’s in some type of… waking coma. The medics have to keep him sedated all the time; otherwise he tries to get up and walk away. It’s like that’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Walk. Like that’s the only thing left in his head.”
I shivered, remembering how it had looked: the soldier plummeting from the hospital window, hitting the ground hard, then getting up and lurching away.
“They aren’t planning any more expeditions into the hospital,” Danny said, shaking his head. “Everyone’s frustrated. We aren’t getting anywhere, running into walls and cliff faces everywhere we turn. And we have no idea what to do next.” After a moment of thoughtful silence, he raised his glass and smiled. “Let’s drink to the military—science and religion, but with guns!”
Amanda laughed. “Hear, hear!” she said, raising her glass.
I took a small sip from my drink. I was already feeling tipsy, and if I wanted to stay conscious, I knew I’d have to take it easy.
Taylor scooted over to my side and clinked her glass against mine. She smiled at me. It was a warm smile, but there was a hint of a question in her steepled brow. “So tell me,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What happened with Floyd? Why’s he brooding?”
Before answering her question, I cast a quick glance around the room. Amanda, Mac, and Danny had moved closer to the fireplace; they were warming their hands and laughing, their voices rich and loud in the first flush of intoxication. Charlie was still in the kitchen. For the moment, Taylor and I had a certain amount of privacy. We’d found our own little world here, seated at the foot of the sofa.
“We followed Devon across the street,” I said, glancing over toward the living-room window. Right now, the window was nothing but a dark square blacked out by the night, but I remembered the view from across the street. Standing at his perch, Devon would have a clear view of our conversation. “He’s been spying on us, spying on the house. With binoculars.” I didn’t mention the radio. “But that’s not what bothered Floyd… We found something over there, under the house. Tunnels.”
Taylor nodded. There was concern on her face but no surprise. She skated right over the part about Devon’s spying, making me think she already knew, or at least suspected. “What did Floyd see?” she asked instead. “What did he see down there?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d been expecting questions, but nothing that direct. “I don’t know,” I said when I once again found my voice. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
She read the confusion on my face and patted me on the forearm. “That’s just what happens,” she said. “That’s what the city does. To each of us.”
She nodded toward my drink and smiled coyly. “Now drink up. Tomorrow we can worry. Tomorrow we can plan. Tonight…” Her smile grew, and she once again clinked her glass against mine. “Tonight we have booze.”
“Come on, Dean. Let’s go upstairs.” Her voice was a hushed whisper against my ear. An audible smile. “We should be together. The three of us.”
Taylor smiled and ran the back of her fingers across my cheek. I pulled away, laughing. I could feel hot blood rushing through my flesh. I was drunk, fucked up, and the whole situation seemed unreal.
Danny and Taylor each grabbed an arm and helped me to my feet. The room swayed for a moment, and then we headed for the stairs.
“You up for this?” Taylor whispered in my ear.
“Yeah,” I said with a surprised laugh. “I guess I am.”
We staggered into Taylor’s room, and my head spun in the darkness. Then Taylor struck a match and started lighting candles. There were a half dozen total, and she laughed as she stumbled about the room, from candle to candle, trying to keep the match lit.
Danny put his hand on my shoulder, and I turned to meet his grinning face. “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. No. Never fooled around with any guys. I never had the inclination. No offense,” I added lamely.
“Well, it’s just like with girls,” he assured me.
“Only manlier,” Taylor said.
“Only better!” Danny corrected.
This struck me as extremely funny, and I started to giggle. I should have been nervous, I guess, given the situation and my white-bread upbringing, but I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling much of anything. I was trapped inside an envelope of perfect, comfortable warmth, and nothing bad could reach me here. The feeling only seemed to grow as Taylor took my hand and pulled me down onto the bed.
Taylor propped herself up on one elbow and leaned out over my body. She used her free hand to stroke my face, tracing my unshaven jawline before moving up to my ear. Her touch was soft and tentative, but the act itself—her body over mine, the feel of her breath against my cheek—seemed incredibly intimate. My body responded to her touch, desire and need erupting like a bloom of heat inside my muscles. There was a dreamy look on Taylor’s face, and I reached out to pull her close, but she caught my hands and pushed them back down, moving to lift the sweatshirt off my chest.
The air was cold. Her hand was colder still as she moved it up and down my naked flesh.
There was a sudden pressure against my crotch, and I tensed in surprise. I looked up and found Danny sitting at the foot of the bed, his hand kneading the flesh beneath my jeans.
“Relax,” he said.
I leaned back and watched Taylor’s face as Danny unbuttoned my pants. I was surprised at the intensity of her gaze; she looked absolutely spellbound—transfixed—as she watched Danny tease my cock free. Lust. It was lust in her eyes. She wants me. Immediately, my cock pulsed rock hard, even before Danny wrapped his hand around its shaft.
“Nice,” he muttered. Then my entire cock was engulfed in his hot mouth.
I groaned loudly, shutting my eyes at the intensity of the sensation.
Danny’s blowjob was like nothing I’d ever had before. The girls I’d been with had all been tentative and gentle, like they were afraid they’d break my cock if they worked it too hard. Danny knew better. I put my hands on the back of his head and started to thrust in and out. He took it without complaint.
I heard a loud, mechanical click and opened my eyes. Taylor was kneeling beside me with my camera pressed up against her face. She was shooting pictures down the length of my body. I let out a surprised, breathless laugh, then reached up and grabbed her breast. I could feel an erect nipple through her shirt; I could feel her heart beating wildly inside her chest.
At my touch, she let out a surprised gasp and dropped the camera to the bed. Her hands darted up and immediately covered her face.
Before I could pull my hand back, she was pushing me away. She kept one hand on her face, hiding her eyes and nose and mouth, and grabbed my wrist with the other. Her grip was strong as she pushed my hand back down to the bed.
Right then, Danny’s mouth went into overdrive, tightening and speeding up. My legs tensed involuntarily, and I let out a low groan. After a couple more seconds, the friction of his tongue pushed me into climax, and my rigid body fell limp.
When I recovered enough to open my eyes, I found Taylor watching me carefully. Her hands were back down in her lap, gripping the hem of her shirt. Her complexion looked ashen in the candlelight; the smile she gave me looked forced and a little bit grave.
“You really needed that, didn’t you?” Danny said, wiping his hand across his mouth. “I could feel it.”
Taylor smiled down at me and nodded, as if in agreement. Then she reached out and grabbed my hand. I could feel her body quivering as her fingers gripped me tight.
I ended up giving Danny a handjob while Taylor watched. After what he’d done for me, I figured it was the least I could do.
His cock felt odd in my hand. He was thicker than me and uncircumcised. And his scrotum was smooth and hairless.
He let out a loud growl as he came. Then he collapsed back against the bed and muttered a single breathless laugh. It was an absurd sound, without meaning or reason. He reached over the side of the bed and lifted a bottle of Wild Turkey into view.
The three of us lay in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. I took deep swallows. Whatever clarity I’d had during the adrenaline-sharp sex, it quickly began to fade.
I was warm. I shut my eyes every time the room began to swim.
I opened my eyes and found Danny and Taylor huddled together at the door. Danny had his boots in one hand and the bottle of Wild Turkey in the other. When he saw my eyes flicker open, he flashed me a smile and a quick nod. Then he gave Taylor a peck on the cheek and disappeared into the dark hallway.
I closed my eyes again.
Later.
The room was dark, and I could feel Taylor moving beside me. Tentative fingers brushed against my arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her mouth a couple of inches behind my ear. She was nothing but a voice in the darkness, floating, disembodied. “I should have told you. I just… sometimes—most times, really—I can’t be touched. I just… can’t abide it.” Her voice was breathy, tripping over the emotion in her throat. “But I didn’t want that to come between us. I didn’t want to scare you away.”
I should have said something. Right then. Right there. I should have reassured her. It doesn’t matter. Or: Together we’ll figure it out. Or maybe: I really don’t give a shit if we’re touching or not. I’d be happy just standing ten feet away from you. But I couldn’t manage it. I couldn’t say a thing.
I grunted incoherently and fell back asleep.