State of Decay

rolled the bike down to the freight elevator and rode it right in and cut the engine. With the tip of my boot, I kicked the button marked 8; bottom floor.

The underground part was as nasty as the part up top, and it looked like no one had been down there for years either, except for a set of wheel tracks that looked like they came from a hand truck, and some footprints following them. Another set followed them down and to the right.

Walking the bike, I followed the tracks, and sure enough, they went right where I was going: a green metal door marked C. The tracks went through the door, but when I pushed it, there was no give. I tried the handle and it was locked, so I banged on the door. No one answered. I was alone down there.

It didn’t matter. Wachalowski said just bring the stuff, leave it, and don’t ask questions. After I dropped it off, there was a bar nearby where I could knock back a few and watch some TV, then go back and check on him. I could do that.

I dropped the stuff next to the door in a pile, as he said: four gallons of water in two plastic containers, one bundle of plastic ties, a sharp knife, a first-aid kit, a battery-powered lamp, a length of chain, a padlock, and three clean towels. I wondered what it was for.

If he was still alive when I came back, maybe I’d ask.

Nico Wachalowski—Guardian Metro Storage Facility

Getting the box turned out to be the easy part. I never found out how it was managed; I just told them where to send it. I picked an old unit in an underground storage facility that I’d rented back when I left the country. When I came back, I never reclaimed anything in it; in fact, I never set eyes on it again until that night. I hadn’t been down there in many years, and from the looks of it, neither had anyone else. When I arrived, a fresh set of dolly tracks stood out in the crud slicked over the metal floor, and there it was, left next to the rusted door to my locker.

Noakes pinged me over the JZI. Wachalowski, where are you?

Following a lead.

In Dandridge?

If you know where I am, then why do you ask?

You—

I cut the connection.

Getting the box was easy. Opening it was another thing altogether. On the floor of the mostly empty storage cell, under a ton of street and subway with the steel shutters pulled and only the light of a flashlight to see by, I sat and stared at that box for an hour.

Back in the grinder, when those things pulled me down into that tunnel, something happened to me. A piece of that memory never returned, and I was glad for that, but I remembered the pain and the horror as they began to tear me apart. When my last tour ended, they honored me, gave me a medal, and recommended I go home. Now, more than any other time since, I felt like I was being dragged down through that tunnel again.

Incoming message.

A drop of brown water dripped from above, and landed with a solid pat on the surface of the box. I should have faced Faye long ago. I’d owed it to her.

Now I had to face her as a revivor.

The words “incoming message” floated across my vision again.

I closed my eyes, shutting out the silver box.

This is Wachalowski.

Agent Wachalowski, this is Bob MacReady from Heinlein Industries.

If you’re contacting me like this, can I assume my request for a follow-up interview is being denied?

You can.

I’ll get a court order.

No, you won’t.

He was probably right about that. Heinlein had powerful allies in all kinds of high places, and they had decided to take the safe path. Getting a judge to issue a grant like that and having it stick would probably be beyond my means alone.

Do your superiors know you’re talking to me? I asked him.

Yes.

What is it that they want you to tell me?

That Heinlein is not behind this.

I never said I thought you were.

I’ve done some digging, Agent. Our name has come up in conjunction with your investigation too many times to be dismissed as coincidence. You must at least suspect it.

If he knew that, Heinlein had some pretty deep contacts. I opened my eyes and went back to staring at the box on the other side of the room.

Why are you telling me this?

Because despite how it may look, Heinlein is not involved. No one here knows why Cross was killed. Heinlein Industries, understandably, doesn’t want their shell peeled back too far, but Cross was a good man. He was respected here.

Sometimes circumstances make for hard choices.

Agreed, but that isn’t what happened here. I can’t make you believe that, but it’s true.

Cross stumbled on something; that I was sure of. That it was something sanctioned by Heinlein Industries and that they were behind his death I found unlikely, because I couldn’t make a huge entity like Heinlein and a relatively small-time criminal like Tai fit together. It was related to Heinlein, though. Whatever Cross had found, it got him killed, along with the others.

Another drop of water drummed onto the top of the box, then trickled down one side.

Just answer me one thing, I said.

If I can.

How much of a person really makes the transition, after reanimation?

I think there’s only one way to truly know, Agent.

I thought of the young girl’s body I found in that bathroom, back when the whole thing started. I didn’t get it then, but it was the first time I’d thought of a revivor as something human, and I wondered whether I was unraveling. Part of me only wanted to see the case through to the end no matter what the cost, but another part, a simpler, selfish part, had lost something and wanted it back. I wanted the lost years back. I wanted to forget what happened when those things pulled me underground.

I wanted Faye back.

But Faye was gone. I told myself that the thing in the box was not her. It was dangerous to believe otherwise.

Thanks, MacReady.

Thank you for listening, Agent.

Is there anything else?

Yes.

And that is?

Don’t open the box.

The connection terminated.

I stood up then and crossed the room. I lit the lamp and put it down in the middle of the floor as I went. The locker became illuminated in flickering light, causing roaches to scatter.

It’s now or never.

I pulled the box open. There was a high-pitched hiss as the cover came free, and a cold white mist puffed out