Rain cascaded down the stairs as she walked up the slick steps. Its scent greeted her, a smell she was becoming both familiar with and fond of. As lightning flashed, she waited for its boom to follow. It shook the walls of the building. She hoped it wouldn’t hail again. Upstairs, she avoided places where the ceiling leaked and stayed to the drier parts. She pulled out the map, studied it once more, then tucked it back inside her bag.
At the doorway to the building, she stared out over the monochromatic landscape. Water flooded the gray streets, gushing down the gutters, carrying trash and jagged pieces of glass and metal.
She jogged out of the building, making sure she was alone. She turned right at the corner, sprinted down two blocks, and headed left. The X lay just a couple blocks up. She closed the distance, then double-checked the map, trying to shield it under her hood. She counted the number of intersections. The map showed the right number of buildings for the corner with the X, though in the drawing they were still standing. Now they lay in ruins around her, but at least the foundations were the same. This was it.
But she couldn’t figure out what the X represented. She looked back at the map, and saw that it was just off to the left of the building in front of her.
As the rain pattered down on her hood, she sprinted to the spot. The ground squished under her boots. She mucked around in the dirt, then tripped on a piece of metal sticking up from the sludge.
She knelt down, finding a handle in the dirt. She grabbed it and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. She came around the other side, planted her feet on the ground, and yanked up with all her strength. Following a sucking sound, a door wrenched open in the muddy soup. She strained to open it all the way, pushing it back on rusted hinges.
She didn’t relish the idea of jumping down into the blackness.
She fished around her tool bag, pulled out her headlamp, and cinched it on. Flicking on the beam, she knelt over the darkness and peered inside. An old iron ladder led down to a cement conduit of some sort. It was dry down there, though the rain started to splatter through the open door.
Tucking the map back in her bag, she turned and descended the ladder, closing the door above her.
As she stepped off at the bottom, the reek of mildew greeted her. She was at the end of a tunnel. She walked in the only direction she could, the beam playing over smooth, curved concrete on both sides. The ceiling was low, so she had to duck to walk through it. She came to a T-intersection and decided to turn right. Moving cautiously, she remained alert for any sound of the things that liked the dark. She came to another intersection and bore right again, turning right at every crossing so she wouldn’t get lost. Two more rights led her to a dead end, so she turned back and chose a different path.
Finally the tunnels opened into a spacious room. In its center, an old canvas tarp covered something large. A great iron double door stood at the other end.
She approached the tarp. Lifting one corner, she aimed her headlamp beneath it. Then she flung off the tarp altogether.
It was a vehicle like the ones out on the street. But some things were different. It still had four wheels, with a circular object protruding in front of the seat. But the clearance beneath was a lot higher, and the wheels were larger. Thick rubber rings encircled the metal ones, but they were flat where they touched the floor. Mounted on top of the vehicle were shiny black panels. They looked a little like the UV charger on her PRD and headlamp, but these were huge and bulky, more primitive, less sleek. They took up the entire top of the car.
She tried the door handle, lifting it to no avail. A small round metal piece with a slot was mounted just below it. She bent down, studying it. She’d seen this same thing on the vehicles outside.
She stuck her fingernail in the slot. Then she thought of the flat metal piece. She dug in her tool bag, closing her fingers around it. She slid it inside, and it fit perfectly. She tried the handle. No change. So she put it in again. Nothing. Then she tried twisting the serrated object, and heard a click. This time she pulled up on the handle and the door swung open. She sat down on the seat, placing her hands on the skeletal wheel before her. She gave it a turn and heard the flattened wheels squeaking on the cement.
Another slot lay just beneath the wheel. She stuck the metal piece in again and twisted. Nothing happened. Then she remembered the note on the map: Allow five hours’ charging time.
She withdrew the metal piece. It was a key. A primitive metal key that worked mechanically rather than electronically. It was brilliant in its own way, so simplistic. You didn’t have to worry about this kind of key losing its charge or going on the fritz like the TWRs always did. It would work every time. Genius.
She had to know how this vehicle worked. How would she get sunlight down here to charge it? If she could get this vehicle to start, even if the Rovers were across the country, she could make it to them so much faster.
She looked at the double door across the room. She climbed out of the vehicle and walked to it. It was held shut on her side by a series of bolts, so she threw them open and tugged on one of the doors. It came open with a deafening squeal and whine of rusted hinges. The car would fit through the
