"Anybody there…? ” I call out, holding tight to the gun as I turn yet another corner in yet another poorly lit stretch of cave. “Clementine…?”
The only answer comes from the fire alarm, whose howl rings hard at the base of my skull.
A minute ago, I thought I heard the muffled thuds of Palmiotti running, but now…
Nothing but alarm.
Racing forward and holding the gun out in front of me, I lick the salty bits of sweat from my lips. At first, I told myself it was nerves. It’s not. The deeper I go, the hotter it gets.
This isn’t just the maintenance area of the cave. By the hum that rumbles just below the fire alarm, this is where all the HVAC and mechanical equipment is.
Picking up speed, I rush past a dusty spray-painted Car Wash sign and some still-soapy sponges, yet as I turn the next corner, there’s a sudden dead end.
On my right, there’s a door for an Emergency Exit. But straight ahead, built into the construction wall, there’s a swinging panel that… huh… is still swinging.
My fingers tighten around the trigger. There’s no question where they are. I can wait here for help. I can play it absolutely safe. But if either of them gets away…
I take my first step toward the wooden wall, and the fire alarm stops, leaving me in a sudden vacuum of silence that’s so severe, the only sound that exists is that phantom hum that follows you home when you leave a loud rock concert.
Straight ahead, the doggie door continues to swing, squeaking off-key.
Below my feet, with every step, bits of rock pop like glass.
In the distance, there’s a chirp I can’t place.
But what hits me like an axe in the stomach-as I approach the swinging panel and use the barrel of the gun to shove it open-is that there’s not a single noise coming from inside.