"I got one," he said triumphantly, though thatmeant he was just one flashlight closer to having to enter the tunnel with theothers.
****
They stood at the entrance of the tunnel, havingrefreshed themselves in the search for flashlights. In the end, they had allcome up with flashlights. Katie had even found a bag of chips sitting insomeone's car. They passed the crinkly bag back and forth. Mort savored thesalty, crunch of the chips as he plopped a few in his mouth, before passing itoff to his right, where Blake did the same. By the time the bag had all gonethrough them the fourth time, they were gone. Katie crumpled the bag up andtossed it on the ground.
"Hey, careful there. Don't want to get a ticket forlittering," Clara quipped, though no one laughed. Behind them, a line ofthe dead was making its way down the hill in the distance. Time was runningout.
The tunnel was a yawning maw of blackness. Mort shudderedas he looked at it. There could be an army of those things just waiting inthere, and they wouldn't even know it. They could be marching down that tunnelright at them, one of the hordes, ready to drift out of the blackness, armsraised in desirous want.
Mort held the small flashlight in his hand, and thenclicked it on. Its beam was woefully inadequate, and the blue-white lightseemed to be swallowed up by the blackness about ten-feet into the tunnel. Theother flashlights weren't much better.
For a while, Mort thought they were all just going tostand there, but then Lou stepped forward. If it wasn't for Lou, Mort wouldhave stayed glued to the ground, but once he took that step, the othersfollowed suit, and unless Mort wanted to endure the apocalypse alone, he had tofollow. So he did.
He marveled at his own stupidity, and wondered when hehad become so dependent upon others. Mort had always been a lone wolf, whichwas easy when your whole goal was to turn away people and be left alone. Peoplewere violent. People were mean. They would stab you in the back at a moment'snotice.
And yet, he found himself drawn to these other people.Maybe not Katie, but the others, they were alright. They didn't look at him theway that people used to look at him. He used to be a piece of garbage,something that other people ignored. Now he had value. He could kill thosethings. With his hammer in his hand, Mort could bash in the skull of the livingdead and send them to the ground permanently. For the first time in his life,he was wanted. He had value, and he liked it.
If he left the others, he would be worthless again. Awandering zero who would most likely wind up as a meal for the masses. He couldleave; everything in his body screamed at him to take off, turn back around,and never look back. The screams in his head became louder as he stepped intothe shadow of the tunnel, his skin chilling instantly in the darkness.
It was cold in the tunnel. The footing was dangerous, andhe was tempted to keep his flashlight trained on the ground to avoid trippingand falling. That was the last thing that he needed with his knee. It was stillrecovering, and he had made a point of stretching it whenever he woke up, orwhenever they had a chance to take a break. Stretching helped relieve some ofthe stiffness, but at the end of the night, it was always swollen and aching.He had burned through his supply of pain pills, swallowing the last in themovie theater. What was left was a dull ache that always throbbed at the edgesof his mind.
Shiny rails ran down the middle of the tunnel, crossedwith treacherous concrete ties sunk into jagged gray rocks, that slid under hisfeet. He alternated between shining his flashlight into the distance andlooking down. The last thing he wanted was to aggravate his knee or break hisankle.
They walked slowly in the darkness, and time stretchedout before him, spreading like a blanket in the darkness. Though they moved atan even pace, he noticed that his breathing became labored, as if he had beenspeed-walking through the tunnel. The temperature seemed to cool the furtherinto the tunnel they went. Bits of moisture drifted down the walls of thetunnels, and the clack of sliding rocks echoed off those glistening walls witheach step they took.
There was no sign of the dead. Maybe they were just as afraidof the dark as they were. He hoped so, he really did.
Mort stuck close to Blake, knowing that should anythinghappen, they would probably hear it first, everyone except for Blake and hisdamaged ears. He regarded the man out of the corner of his eye. He neverthought he would be friends with someone like Blake. He was a country boy, but notthe "good ol' boy" type of country. To Mort, he was like the forest;he was the gentle strength of trees rising up into the sky, spindly but strongbecause of their deep roots. He didn't know where the words came from, but itwas the only way he could think to describe the man.
Their bond had grown over the last month. Mort consideredhim a true friend, something that he had never actually had. His life had beenabout self-preservation, looking out for himself, and that meant avoiding others.But now, he looked out for Blake too, and even the others. But should he? Wouldit get him killed? It was a question that made him uncomfortable. It was aquestion he was unable to answer.
He was not operating under some misguided notion ofnobility. Giving up one's life for anything was a crime as far as he wasconcerned. Life was the only thing he really had. The ability to breathe andrun and survive... that's the only thing a person could ever own. To give awaythat ability so that another person could keep their own breath, so thatanother person could sruvive... that was inconceivable to him. Yet, when heasked
