Frowning, Leo grew quiet. His expression was one of deep thought. Perry was about to ask him what was the matter, when Jamal interrupted. “Damn, Mr. Watkins.”
“What?”
“I ain’t never heard you talk so much,” Jamal said. “I thought you were always grumpy and shit.”
Smiling, Perry lowered his voice. “I don’t talk much because Mrs. Watkins doesn’t give me a chance to. Every time I open my mouth to speak, she interrupts me.”
They all laughed, but the sound seemed strange to Perry, as if the concrete and darkness were unused to it. Soon enough, the laughter died. They fell silent after that. Perry lit another cigarette. The wind was picking up, and he had to cup his hand over the flame to light it. The brown leaves of a stunted, dead tree jutting up from the split concrete sidewalk rustled in the breeze. It sounded like a death rattle.
They watched the house and waited.
Perry was no longer sure what they were waiting for.
***
Paul’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he reached the bottom of the shaft. The air smelled like rotten eggs. A thin stream of foul water trickled along the tunnel floor, disappearing into the darkness. The tunnel itself was actually a large sewer pipe, big enough to allow for the flow of residential and industrial waste water and sewage, as well as runoff from the city’s storm drains. He was actually surprised that there was so little water flowing through the pipe. Given the number of houses in this part of the city, there should have been more.
He shined the flashlight around, surveying his surroundings. The tunnel was big enough for him to stand upright. The top of his head brushed against the ceiling, and flecks of rust and sticky strands of spiderwebs fell into his hair. He wondered idly if there was a way to rip these sewer pipes up from under the pavement. They’d be worth a gold mine in scrap metal.
Once he got his bearings and his vision had adjusted, Paul slogged off in the direction of the house. He walked bowlegged, his feet planted on the sides of the pipe rather than the floor, so that he wouldn’t have to wade through the water. The flashlight beam showed old high-water marks on the walls. Apparently the stream had been much higher and more forceful at some point. Now the sides of the pipe were covered with garbage. His feet shuffled through leaves, wrinkled condoms, cigarette butts, plastic bags, crumpled food wrappers, empty bottles, clumps of toilet paper, tampons, crushed beer cans, and other trash that had been washed down from the streets or flushed from one of the dwellings above. He considered fishing the aluminum cans out of the debris, but then decided they wouldn’t be worth the effort. Chances were good that he’d find much more valuable scrap inside the abandoned house.
The stench grew thicker as he proceeded down the tunnel, and Paul concentrated on breathing through his mouth. The air was humid but cold. Occasionally a fresh breeze caressed his face. Paul wondered where it was coming from. He wondered, too, about the potential for disease. Although he’d salvaged scrap from a variety of locations, this was his first time wading through a sewer. He hadn’t seen any turds floating by yet, and the water wasn’t yellow, but that didn’t mean the place was sanitary. What if there were bacteria on the walls or floating in the air? Were bacteria airborne? He didn’t know and found himself wishing that he did. There was no telling what kind of infections he could pick up down here. But he plodded dutifully on, determined to gain access to the house now that he’d come this far. Cockroaches skittered around him, running up the curved walls. The sewer was quiet, and the darkness seemed oppressive. Paul clutched his flashlight tightly, thankful that he’d brought it along. He couldn’t imagine being stuck down here without some sort of light.
Paul estimated that he’d gone about twenty yards in a straight, horizontal line, when he suddenly emerged into a crossroads of sorts. Ahead of him, the tunnel split into three pipes, each one of equal size. He shined the flashlight around, weighing his options. One pipe veered sharply to the right. Another curved slightly to the left. The one in the middle continued on straight ahead. The left and right pipes had water trickling out of them, but the middle pipe was bone-dry, save for a tiny pool of stagnant, scummy water at its opening. Tiny insects squirmed in the pool. He assumed the middle pipe was his best chance of getting under the house. The lack of water flowing from it suggested that the pipe was unused. If it was connected to the abandoned home, then that made sense. He decided to try it and forged ahead.
Immediately the air grew fouler. There was the ammoniacal tang of urine and the sharper reek of feces, but there was something else, as well. Something he couldn’t identify. It reminded him of the meat department at the grocery store, but he wasn’t sure why. Paul cringed at the stench. His eyes watered. Instead of watching his step, he shined the light ahead, trying to find the stench’s source. His attention remained focused on the walls. He’d only gone a few more feet when the floor suddenly disappeared beneath him.
With a startled cry, Paul plummeted downward. He managed to hang on to his flashlight, even as he splashed into a pool of cold, greasy liquid. The stench grew overwhelming. Sputtering, Paul kicked his feet, trying desperately to find a bottom. Instead, his feet found empty space. He dog-paddled and glanced around, terrified. He realized that the revolting liquid—whatever it might be—was more like paste than water, as if it was semicongealed. There was solid matter floating in it, but he couldn’t tell what it was. The space was pitch-black, save for his flashlight beam, which was pointed above. He readjusted it and shined the light around.
Paul shrieked.
He was swimming in a toxic, brown and gray and black stew of human waste and toilet paper and . . . something else. It stunned him when he realized what the other matter was. Human bones—skulls, femurs, mandibles with teeth still attached, clavicle, ribs, and shattered, unidentifiable fragments—all coated with the viscous, stinking liquid. A quick glance confirmed that there were enough human bones in the pool to assemble dozens, if not hundreds, of skeletons. There were animal bones, as well—rats, birds, and other city creatures; he even spotted a few dog and cat skulls. He recognized what they belonged to from several family trips to various natural history museums. The stench rising from the pool filled his nose, threatening to overwhelm him. He flailed, reaching up with his arms. Gray and brown sludge dripped down them, splattering his face. The foul liquid had the consistency of syrup.
Despite his terror and overwhelming disgust, Paul remembered a newspaper article he’d read several years ago, about a government agent—ATF or FBI, he couldn’t remember which. The man had been staking out a group of domestic terrorists in the backwoods of West Virginia.
His cover got blown. When they caught him, the group killed the agent by drowning him in an outhouse. Paul couldn’t think of a worse way to die than drowning in shit.
“Help,” he screamed. “Somebody help me!”
His voice echoed back to him from somewhere to his left. Paul shined the light in that direction and gasped. There was a stone ledge rising several feet above the pool. Beyond it was a vast chamber that seemed to be a natural cavern. Limestone glinted in the flashlight beam.
Gagging, Paul swam for the ledge. His fingers slipped on the stone as he tried to pull himself up. Inch by inch, he worked his way free, making squelching noises as the slime sucked at his shoulders, waist, and legs. When he’d finally freed himself, Paul collapsed on the ledge, sobbing.
The stone felt cool against his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Filth bubbled out of his nose and ran out of the corners of his mouth. He retched, but was unable to vomit. He desperately wanted to, if only to clear his system of the foulness he’d ingested. Paul opened his eyes again and groaned. The cave seemed to be spinning. Paul thought that he might pass out.
Then something grabbed him, and he did pass out, but not before he got a glimpse of it.
He was still screaming when his consciousness faded.
ELEVEN
Kerri, Heather, Javier, and Brett crawled through the stifling horizontal shaft. Javier was in the lead. He had Brett’s belt coiled around his clenched fist and kept the buckle beneath his fingers so it wouldn’t jingle. Javier was followed closely by Heather. Kerri squirmed along behind her. Brett brought up the rear, struggling to keep up with them. They kept stopping so he could catch up, but then he’d quietly urge them to keep going. Kerri supposed that Brett knew just how serious his situation was. He was trying to sound brave, but the fear in his voice was still there. He left a bloody trail in his wake.
The crawlspace tunnel was snug, and the walls brushed against their shoulders and hips as they crawled forward. The air smelled stale and was thick with the smell of feces. Not the nasty odor of rat droppings—that was bad enough, but this was far worse. It was a cloying, nauseating stench. Kerri tried to figure out what the crawlspace had been used for, but she couldn’t come up with any rational explanation. It was made of wood rather
