Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

Tess shone her light on the fuel gauge of the first handcar’s generator, then on the rubber tube wedged into the fuel-cap of the second. “No fuel,” she said.

“There are guns in these boxes,” Zach said.

“AKMs,” Clyde said. “Couple of hundred in those crates lining the side of the tunnel, but they’re unloaded and factory fresh.”

“No crates of ammo here,” Tess said, shining her light around the space, stopping the beam on the long tunnel leading west. “But you wouldn’t stockpile guns without the ammo. Those crates don’t have any factory markings.” Something beyond the rifle crates reflected the light. “What’s that?”

Zach darted forward before either Tess or Clyde could stop him. “It’s a bike!” he said. “They brought bicycles down here. I guess after they ran out of fuel for the handcars. Nice bikes, too. Brand-new, they look.”

“Let me take point,” Clyde said, skipping ahead of him. “Ten bikes. Brand-new.”

“Ten?” Tess said, following them both. “And more crates beyond. We’ll take a brief look, then head back to the surface.”

“Safety on, Zach, but stay next to the Commish,” Clyde said. “Be ready to run back to the ladder.”

“I don’t think any zoms are down here,” Tess said, shining her light on the loot stashed on the left-hand-side of the tunnel.

“Maybe it’s Zach’s influence,” Clyde said. “Maybe it’s Mick Dodson’s, but I’m reminded of every horror movie I’ve ever seen. This tunnel must have another entrance.”

“No horror movie has solar panels,” Zach said. “They’re still in the box. More solar panels here. Hang on… yeah. Like, twenty boxes. For camping, I guess, from the picture. For a family holiday in a camper van. Cool.”

“You could buy those in a store,” Tess said. “Same with the bikes.”

“Not the AKs,” Clyde said.

“Should I take some photos for evidence?” Zach asked.

“I’m recording video,” Tess said. “That’ll do for now.”

“Are you recording sound too?” Zach asked. “You should have said.”

“Insulated cables,” Clyde said. “More ahead. I think they’re heavy-duty electrical transmission lines.”

“Keep going,” Tess said.

“Boxes of walkie-talkies,” Zach said. “Bet you could buy those in a shop, too.”

“Or online,” Tess said.

Next were empty water barrels. Then three more compact generators, five crates of emergency blankets, ten crates of industrial laundry detergent, and five of luxury hand soap. A stack of portable stoves, ten microwaves, still in their boxes, five beer-fridges, and ten portable camping toilets.

“Canoes,” Clyde said. “Three self-assembly canoes.”

“This is totally weird,” Zach said.

“Tunnel widens ahead,” Clyde said. “Another antechamber. It’s… it’s not a lab.”

The chamber was ten metres by eight, with wooden props regularly spaced two metres apart, supporting a wood-plank ceiling. The tunnel, and tracks, curved almost ninety degrees, and continued nearly due south.

“They excavated this chamber so they could make that turning,” Tess said, shining her light at the wooden ceiling, looking for a hatch. “They wanted the exit beneath that mansion, and must have misjudged their digging. The mansion must have been built first. Interesting.”

“Maybe it’s a bunker,” Clyde said.

“It’s a treasure cave!” Zach declared, making a beeline for the furthest corner. “There’s a fridge. A lot of beer inside. Just beer. No food. There is a microwave, and canned food. Chilli. Lots of it.”

“Is the beer cold?” Tess asked.

“Nah,” Zach said. “Do you want one?”

“Never when on duty,” Tess said. “Check inside the microwave, and nearby for hot food, and for any half-finished bottles. Anything to indicate someone was here within the last day or so.”

Her torch settled on the sofa, heaped with blankets, but with only one pillow. Facing the sofa, propped on the fridge, was a small TV and DVD player. A cable ran from that, and from the fridge and microwave, to a silent generator.

“Is the generator petrol or diesel?” Tess asked, picking her way around the waist-high maze of boxes and crates.

“It’s petrol,” Zach said.

“Same as the portable generators we saw further up the tunnel,” Tess said. “Diesel would be brought in for the ships. Petrol wouldn’t be a priority.”

“So why buy petrol generators?” Zach asked.

“They didn’t think it through,” Tess said. “They didn’t know what they needed, so bought whatever they could think of, which could be sent to wherever the coal-ships sailed to, or those small planes flew from. There’s an air of desperation in this stash. Too much for one person. Not enough for a group.”

“You mean like they had a credit card and went online to buy everything they could?” Zach said.

“Exactly that,” Tess said. “So perhaps these supplies weren’t laid in by the sisters, but by whoever was guarding this place for them. Bought after this guard was told precisely what was about to happen to the world.”

“There’s a dunny here,” Zach said, pulling aside the sheets hanging in the furthest corner.

“A portable toilet. A sofa brought from upstairs,” Tess said. “A microwave, a fridge. One pillow. One sofa. One person.”

“But why hang sheets in front of the loo if there’s no one else to see?” Zach asked.

“Standards and routine,” Clyde said, bending to open a crate. “Important to maintain both when you’re living like this.”

“Okay, fine, sure,” Zach said. “But there’s a mansion upstairs. Why not live there?”

“With those bodies outside, would you want to live up there?” Clyde asked. “There’s enough food for a year here as long as you didn’t mind eating chilli. Here’s a box of first-aid kits. Contains twelve. Box has been opened. One kit’s been used for dressings and sutures.”

“Zoms,” Zach said.

“Since when do zombies bandage themselves up?” Clyde asked.

“Nah, I mean someone was bitten, and stuck on a bandage before they turned,” Zach said, aiming his light towards the other tunnel.

“No wrappers, no waste,” Clyde said. “That was dumped somewhere else.