“Hello?!?” came a voice, which made me jump from my skin.
I spin in place, searching for the source, but there’s no one there. I drop the sledge and reach for my club. Hunkering low, I start to leave the vault room when the voice again rises.
“Hello?!? Can you hear me? I’m trapped! I’m trapped in here. Help me!! I’m not a zombie! I promise! I promise!! My God it’s been days. I’m going to die in here!! Help!!”
‘Shit,’ I think. ‘He’s in the vault. The guy’s locked in the safe.’
“If you can hear me,” the voice continues, “I don’t know how to open the safe, but I will die in here if you don’t get me out. It’s so dark… And there’s no food or water in here. Please!!”
‘It would be dark, wouldn’t it?’ I muse. There’s no power to the building. The air must be terrible in there, what with him probably shitting in a corner. No vents. No plumbing. No light. Just some guy, blind in the dark, smelling his own waste until he finally dies of dehydration.
“Kyle?” the voice whimpers. I shudder and step away from the safe. “Kyle, I’m sorry, okay? If that’s you out there, just… Please know that I’m sorry. We both loved her. Neither of us wanted to see her become one of them, but when she changed I had no choice. The only option was to put her down, Kyle.” The voice goes silent for the moment. Driven by curiosity I move toward the safe, as if being closer would help me understand why this person knows my name. Not only that, but who was he talking about? Sissy? Molly? Who could this be in the vault? I start racking my brain, wondering who I saw die and who I didn’t. I know that I saw Stuart and Peter die. Peter swore that Duck was dead. Is this Wood? Is Wood in there? I saw him dead, didn’t I? He was a zombie, right? Wasn’t that him?
“Who are you?” I ask the box.
Inside the person really comes to life. He starts banging and talking excitedly, “Kyle? Kyle?!? Is that you? Oh I knew you’d come back I just knew it! Please let me out, man. Please! Just like before, okay? We’re in this together, right? It’s us against the world. So open the door, man. Open the door! You can do it. Just like last time. Come on, man! Open the door.”
“I can’t…” I begin. “I don’t know how.”
“The fuck you don’t!” the voice hollers back. “I’ve seen you open tighter boxes than this dozens of times. Just come on, hurry up. I’m dying in here.”
“No, you don’t get it,” I answer.
“Is this about Rebecca? It is isn’t it? Why the fuck did you come back if you weren’t going to open the box, Kyle? Why?!? Just to torture me? To torture me on the day that I die?!? There was nothing we could do about her, Kyle! She was already dead! As soon as the hunger hit she would have tried to eat us all at her first chance. You know it! She was one of them. She was dead, Kyle. She was dead!”
The passion in his voice fades and I hear the sounds of labored breathing against the steel door.
“I loved her too!!!” roared the voice from within. The declaration was defensive and passionate and threatening.
“That’s not me,” I mumbled. The effects of the drink were wearing off, no thanks to the somberness of my current conversation.
“What?” came the answer.
“I’m not the guy you’re looking for,” I answer in a louder voice. I didn’t feel it was worth explaining the name confusion, so I kept it simple for him. “I’m not Kyle.”
“Then who are you? Can you help me? Can you open the safe?”
A straight truth or a well-meaning lie? What shall it be?
I could tell him that I would go get some tools to open the box. He would have hope at least, but of course I could never really manage to open the safe. I had no idea where to even begin. And his hope may help him live longer, which would only delay the inevitable and extend his suffering.
I decide to give it to the guy straight.
“No,” I say in a loud voice. “I can’t open the safe.”
The bank grows silent for a few long moments.
“Who are you?” the trapped man finally asks.
“Just some guy passin’ by,” I respond.
Another awkward pause marks the passing of time between us.
“My name is Sergio Anthony,” the man says. “I’m thirty-four. I had a wife, and two kids. Sabrina and Alfredo. She was an American. We had a bulldog named Bridgette. Her idea. Anyway, I was a salesman for Kruger, you know, the light bulb guys? I wanted to get in the military when I was a boy, but Allison hated the idea…”
And on and on it went. Sergio threw memories and facts at me ad nauseam. It was as though he was sharing facts as quickly as he could remember them. I tried to figure out his response; why he was dumping like this on someone he didn’t even know. My only guess was that he knew he would die in the box, and if he told me about his life, he wouldn’t die alone. Someone would know him, and maybe love him, and then care that he was dead. This way, there would be one person alive who would remember and miss Sergio Anthony.
Several times during his monologue, I debated stopping him, or just walking away. I didn’t know him, what he looked like, or who he was. To me, he would always be the ghost in the safe: Dry, withered, and smelling of shit. I cleared my throat, and was about to excuse myself when he got to his current history. At the mention of the name ‘Kyle’ my curiosity got the better of
