The soldier looked at the watch on his wrist, "Twoo'clock."
"Thanks," he said and then strolled past theguard to the glass doors of the Coliseum. Outside, he saw a soldier smoking,his brown skin illuminated by a brief puff of the cigarette. Zeke had run outof smokes earlier in the day. He felt the pull of nicotine. He pushed on thedoor, and was immediately assaulted by a combination of noise and smell. Thenight was sticky hot. A bank of clouds had moved in during the night, trappingthe day's heat. The glow of the moon shone behind the clouds.
"Can I bum one of those?" he said loud enoughto be heard over the buzzing of the dead.
The soldier looked at him, the strain of the situationetched on his face. Lou sensed his hesitation. In the man's brain, he was goingthrough the typical cost-benefit analysis that any smoker does whenever someoneasks to bum a cigarette. Should I give him one? If I do, how many do I haveleft for myself? Can I get more cigarettes if I need to? If I don't give himone, will the person get mad or violent? Do I have to see this person again?
The man reached in his pocket and held the pack out tohim. Great, generics. But beggars can't be choosers, so he held out his handand pulled a cigarette from the packet. He put it to his lips, and then leanedforward when the soldier held out his lighter, cupping his hands so the windwouldn't blow out the flame, not that there was any actual wind to do so.
Lou inhaled, and they stood smoking in silence, two blackmen, united by their color and the decay around them. "You think we'regoing to make it?" Lou asked.
The question caught the soldier off guard. "Man, Idon't know. Things are looking bad." The soldier blew smoke into the air.
"Are we safe here?" Lou asked.
The man thought about it for a while. In between puffs,he said, "For now."
"What are you going to do when things go bad?"
The man looked at him, smiled and said, "I'm gonnause every bullet I got. Maybe get out of here while the gettin's good."
Lou nodded, indicating that he thought it was a goodidea. "Any idea what's going to happen to everyone in here?" Theslight smile that was on the man's face drifted away, and the look that wasleft behind was one of sincere sadness. "Lot of people gonna die."
Lou hated the man for the answer, but he appreciated hishonesty. "Any idea how a man like me can get one of those?" Loupointed to the soldier's rifle.
The soldier stopped looking at Lou. He was tight-lipped,and no answer was forthcoming.
"C'mon, man. We're all in this together. I got everyright to defend myself. What happened to the right to bear arms?"
"You have no rights when martial law is in effect.The last thing we need is a bunch of high strung motherfuckers walking aroundthis place with loaded weapons in their hands."
"I'm not talking about now, I'm talking about whenthings go bad. You leave us without weapons then, and it's like you're pullingthe trigger yourself."
The soldier dropped his cigarette on the concrete andground it out with his foot. "You want to see something?"
Lou knew the question was more than just a question. Itwas an answer without being an answer, the type of question that really meant,"I'm gonna show you where the weapons are, but you never heard it fromme."
"Of course," Lou responded.
Without speaking the soldier walked onto the concourse.They circled around the arena for fifty yards, and then the man stopped,looking both ways down the concourse. Seeing no prying eyes, the man pulled aside door open, and they descended into the bowels of the Coliseum via a set ofgloomy stairs.
At the bottom, the soldier opened the door a crack andlooked out. Seeing no one around, he walked with purpose down the nondescripthallway. Blue metal doors appeared on either side of the corridor.
As the soldier walked past a door that looked like anyother, he pointed at it. It was a brief gesture, and Lou would have missed itif he hadn't been paying close attention to the man. Lou looked at the numberabove the door. Number 27. He burned the number in his mind as they continuedtheir trek through the bottom of the Coliseum.
Without warning, the soldier turned and began yelling athim, "What are you doing down here? Citizens are supposed to stay on thestadium level."
Lou was confused for a second, but then another uniformedsoldier appeared around the bend of the lower concourse.
"What do we have here?" the new soldier asked.
Lou understood now. The soldier was caught, and now hewas doing what he had to do. Lou played along.
"I was just exploring."
"C'mon. You know you can't be back here." Thesoldier grabbed him by the arm and marched him back the way they had come. Thenew soldier followed along for good measure.
"Goddamn civilians are worse than a damn child onChristmas, poking their nose in where it don't belong," the new soldiersaid.
"Tell me about it."
Lou played the part of stupid civilian. "I was justseeing if they had a couch or something down here. Those cots are killing myback."
"You'll just have to make do," the new soldiersaid.
When they reached the concourse, the original soldiershoved him roughly and said, "Stay up here. Downstairs is offlimits."
"You got it," Lou said.
The two soldiers walked off in the direction of the frontdoors of the Coliseum. The soldier that had helped him looked back over hisshoulder and Lou nodded in his direction. The soldier gave him a nod in return,and then he was gone, around the curve of the concourse.
"What was that all about?"
Lou jumped and spun around. It was just Zeke, his clothesrumpled and a smile on his face.
"Just getting a little help for the end of theworld."
"Sounds good to me," Zeke said.
They bumped fists and then walked back into the arena,while Lou told him about room #27
