Chapter 32: What Happens When You Trust The Bastard

The transmission cut out.

Mara pressed the radio’s button. "Can you hear me? Identify yourself. Where are you?"

Only static answered.

She tried again, changing the frequency before returning to the same channel. Nothing.

"Try the other radio," someone suggested.

"We only have one that can reach the lower floors." Mara set it down, her fingers still gripping its sides. "If anyone has a working receiver, bring it here. Now."

The room erupted into nervous conversation.

"Something’s wearing his face? What the hell does that mean?"

"Maybe he’s delirious."

"Then why did he tell us not to send anyone?"

Nobody had an answer.

Zarek stood near the table, watching the survivors argue.

He had already agreed to investigate the storage area. The strange transmission changed the risks, but it didn’t change the opportunity.

A secured armory full of weapons and ammunition was still worth looking into.

Mara looked at him. "You heard him. Whatever happened down there, we don’t know what we’re walking into."

"That’s why I’m going to find out."

The man with the bandaged hand glanced toward the door, then back at Zarek.

His expression suggested he had been waiting for an excuse to object.

"I’m coming with you."

Zarek looked him over. "Why?"

"Because I don’t trust you to go down there alone." The man held his gaze.

"You threatened me with a gun ten minutes ago, and now you’re heading toward an armory with no one watching what you take. For all I know, you’ll grab everything useful and leave the rest of us to deal with whatever’s down there."

"At least you’re honest about it."

"Someone has to be. I know the route they took, and I know the people who went missing. If one of them is still alive, I want to find him. And if we recover those supplies, I intend to make sure you honor the agreement."

Zarek almost smiled.

The man had enough sense to recognize the danger, but not enough to understand how little control he would have once they left the floor.

"Fine. Get ready."

The man looked toward Mara. She hesitated, clearly unhappy about losing another person when four were already missing.

"Don’t take unnecessary risks," she said.

"If you find the team, bring back whoever’s still alive. And don’t open anything you can’t secure again."

"We’ll see what’s possible," the man replied.

Zarek turned toward the exit.

"One more thing." The bandaged man pointed at the revolver in Zarek’s hand.

"You’re not taking that."

Zarek stopped.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I’m not walking into a dark storage area with an armed stranger who has already threatened people in this room. Hand over the revolver. You can have it back when we return."

A few survivors glanced at one another. Mara didn’t intervene, but her attention sharpened.

Zarek looked at the man for a moment, then glanced at the weapon.

"You want me to trust you with my gun while we search an unknown area full of God knows what?"

"I want you to understand that this isn’t your building. Those supplies belong to the people who have been keeping everyone here alive. You agreed to a deal, so act like it."

"You’re confusing an agreement with obedience."

"And you’re confusing cooperation with trust." The man’s bandaged hand tightened.

"You threatened me with that gun upstairs. Now you expect me to walk beside you into a dark storage area and hope you don’t decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth?"

Zarek considered that for a moment. The man’s suspicion was reasonable. Unfortunately, that didn’t give him any authority over him.

"You want to watch me so you can claim your share afterward. Fine. Follow me, watch everything I do, and complain if you think I’ve cheated you." Zarek said.

He raised the revolver between them.

"But don’t mistake my willingness to work with you for permission to tell me what I can carry."

"Then give me the gun."

Zarek’s mouth curved slightly.

"No."

The man’s bandaged hand tightened into a fist. "Then we’re not going anywhere."

Zarek looked down at the revolver, then back at him.

"You really think taking this gun away would make you safe around me?" he asked.

He gripped the revolver’s barrel with one hand and its handle with the other.

The man’s expression shifted as he realized what Zarek was doing.

"Wait. What the fuck are you—"

"You’re worrying about the wrong thing."

Metal groaned under his grip. The barrel bent out of shape, and Zarek continued until the revolver was visibly ruined. He dropped it onto the table.

The clatter silenced the room.

Someone muttered a curse. Mara stared at the weapon, while the man beside Zarek looked from the twisted metal to Zarek’s hands.

Zarek brushed his palms together.

"There. Nobody has a gun to worry about anymore."

"You’re fucking insane," the man said.

"Maybe. But now you can stop worrying about the revolver and concentrate on what’s waiting downstairs."

Zarek walked toward the door.

After a moment, the bandaged man followed.

Neither of them spoke as they descended the stairs. The building grew quieter with every floor.

The communal area and its nervous crowd faded behind them, replaced by dusty corridors, broken emergency lights, and the occasional thud of something moving somewhere beyond the walls.

The bandaged man kept a cautious distance. His eyes repeatedly moved to Zarek’s sword, then to the doorways they passed.

"You always do that?" he finally asked.

"Do what?"

"Break things whenever someone disagrees with you."

"Only when it saves time."

"That’s supposed to be funny?"

"Was it?"

The man exhaled sharply through his nose and continued walking.

"I don’t care what you think of me. Those four people matter. I’ve worked with two of them since we started gathering supplies. One’s a good man; the other talks too much, but neither deserves to disappear down there without us even trying to find them."

Zarek said nothing.

"You don’t care whether they’re alive, do you?"

"I care whether they have something useful to tell me."

The man gave him a disgusted look. "At least you don’t pretend to be decent."

"I’ve never found pretending particularly useful."

They reached a stairwell leading toward the lower access corridor. The air smelled of damp concrete and something sour beneath it.

A few metres ahead, a door hung open, its lock damaged. The barricade described upstairs had been shoved aside, leaving scrape marks across the floor.

The bandaged man slowed down.

"This is the way they went."

Zarek drew his sword. Its steel caught the weak emergency light.

They passed through the doorway and followed the corridor toward the secured storage area. Before they reached the next intersection, the bandaged man stopped.

Someone was slumped against the wall.

"Cal?"

He hurried forward.

The injured man lifted his head with obvious effort. Blood had soaked through his shirt, and one leg lay twisted beneath him. His breathing came in short, painful gasps.

"Cal, what happened?" The bandaged man crouched beside him.

"Where are the others? We heard you on the radio."

Cal’s eyes struggled to focus.

"They’re..." He swallowed painfully. "They’re gone."

"Who? Tell me what happened."

"I don’t know. We thought it was one of us. He came back from the corridor, said he’d found another way through." Cal’s fingers shook as he reached inside his jacket.

"Then it started talking."

The bandaged man leaned closer. "What started talking?"

Cal pulled out a small metal key attached to a plastic tag. He pressed it into the man’s palm.

"The storage room. Take it. Don’t let it get the key."

The bandaged man closed his fingers around it. "All right. I’ve got it. Can you stand? We need to get you somewhere safe."

Cal caught his sleeve with surprising strength.

"Don’t trust anyone who comes back looking like—"

The bandaged man glanced down at the key in his palm. For a moment, he seemed to forget everything else.

Then he turned toward Zarek.

"We have it. The storage key. We should get Cal upstairs first, and then—"

Zarek’s sword swept across his throat.

The man’s words died in his mouth.

His head fell down.