Randy Terri's Arc

Chapter 6 of 11

Randy descended the stairs with Sinclair close behind, their flashlights cutting through the emergency-lit corridor that stretched deeper than the vault door had suggested. The air tasted stale but breathable, filtered through systems that still worked after decades. They reached sublevel three twenty minutes later, moving past rusted doors and cable conduits until the hallway opened into a chamber with numbered steel doors identical to the photograph. Randy counted seven doors total, each with a small window at eye level and a manual lock that required a key he didn't have. He moved to the first door and looked through the glass. Inside was a narrow room with a metal cot, a sink, and walls covered in handwritten notes he couldn't read from this distance. The second and third doors showed similar rooms, but the fourth door's window had been covered from the inside with something dark and fibrous. A sound echoed down the stairwell behind them — footsteps on metal, descending fast. Randy pulled Sinclair into an alcove and killed his flashlight. Through the darkness he could see the stairwell entrance fifty feet away, and a moment later a figure appeared carrying a battery lamp and moving with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. The person walked straight to the security booth they'd passed on the upper level, then stopped and turned back toward the stairs. Randy stayed frozen in the alcove, watching the lamp's glow sweep across the chamber's entrance. The figure pulled something from their jacket — a periscope with scratched metal tubing — and angled it toward the numbered doors, checking each window systematically before returning to the stairs and climbing back up. Randy waited until the footsteps faded completely before stepping out of the alcove. He walked to the fourth door and pressed his face against the window, trying to see past whatever blocked the glass. The material shifted slightly, revealing a narrow gap, and through it he saw a hand pressed against the other side of the window — pale skin, fingers spread wide, perfectly still. Randy stepped back from the door and looked at Sinclair, who had gone rigid at the sight. Someone was alive down here, and whoever had just descended those stairs with the periscope knew it and was monitoring them from above.