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Rector didn’t mind the silence and its utter lack of rotters. Exhaustion had settled on him like a cast-iron coat and dampened everything else—his nervousness, his faint, morbid eagerness and dread about seeing the undead, and even his irritation at Houjin.
He said, “It’s all right with me. Like the nuns always say, we should count our blessings. Let’s go see ol’ what’s-his-name and get this over with. ”
Over the rickety bridge they went, single file, without even the frail handrail they’d had on the fire escapes. Rector used the cane to help himself balance, but he didn’t look down. There was nothing to see, he told himself. No hordes of rotters; not even a single shambler. Nothing but fuzzy tinted air, looking deceptively like a plush yellow cushion that might catch him if he fell.
Into the next building they went, through another door t
hat used to be a window. The lanterns were still useful inside the old hotel, for the interior was all boarded up. Houjin had to visibly restrain himself from gloating about the lanterns, but what could you expect from a kid like that? If he gloated every time he was right, no one would ever put up with him.
Zeke got excited and led the way down a set of stairs (more stairs, yes, but going down) to the second floor. He knew how to get through this set of blocks, and took it as a point of pride that he didn’t have to rely on Houjin to traverse the next two structures.
As they trekked toward the Station, they discussed the Chuckhole Monster, as they’d come to call it. They agreed to trust one another’s stories and assume that something new and unseen was stalking the streets of the poisoned city, and they likewise agreed that it might be worth their time to go hunting for it.
Carefully.
Rector was just thinking that they’d surely gone more than half a mile when he started hearing things that implied they weren’t completely alone in the walled city. Up to that point it’d been downright spooky, with nothing but their own scuffling, scrambling, and chatter to break the quiet. Now he detected the distant churn of big machines huffing in a low rhythm.
“Are we almost there?” he inquired.
“Not much farther,” Houjin assured him, though he’d been saying that for what felt like hours. This time, he added, “See that big tower, through the fog?”
He thought he detected something very tall, standing as pallid as a phantom. Not more than a couple of blocks away, but it was so hard to see—even with the pale white glow of the sun still struggling down through the atmosphere. “I see it. ”
“We’re going inside, and down underground again. The Station’s on the other side. ”
“That’s good to hear. ” Rector sighed. Not that he was enthused about the prospect of hiking all the way back to the Vaults, but he was taking this one step at a time. His feet were tired. His legs hurt. His chest felt as if a bear were using it for a footstool. And now he had to go chat with a bogeyman.
“What’s that sound?” he asked.
Zeke answered, “See those tubes? Sticking up through the air, and up over the Blight layer?”
“I think so. ”
“They’re air tubes, leading down to pump stations. Chinamen work the air rooms, mostly—they use coal and big engines to suck the clean air down, so we can breathe it when we’re underneath. ”
“Except when the ceiling caves in. ”
“Except for that, yeah. ”
Rector might’ve asked more questions, but somewhere nearby a moan rose up—forlorn and raspy and wet around the edges.
The boys all froze. Their eyes jerked back and forth, exchanging silent questions and answers. Houjin said, “You wanted to see a rotter, didn’t you, Rector?”
“I never said I wanted to. I just said I hadn’t. ”
Another deep, sad groan called out. This one received an answer.
“That’s them,” Zeke whispered. “Down below. Don’t worry too hard. All these buildings are sealed on the ground floor. They can’t get inside. ”
“You sound pretty sure of that. ”
Houjin said, “He’s right. These buildings get checked all the time, the ones with the bridges and seals. Yaozu doesn’t want leaks any more than the Doornails do—and he’s got more men working for him. He maintains the place. ”
Zeke went to the nearest window and hung out of it, turning his neck this way and that to get the best view through his visor. “I don’t see them, but they sound pretty close. ”
“Not too close, I hope. ” Rector scratched at the back of his hand, but that only made it itch more. He scratched harder, every draw of his dirty fingernails ecstasy and misery.
Zeke looked back over his shoulder and saw him. “Stop doing that. You’ll make it worse. ”
