Cash stared at the nozzle in horror and tried to cover it with her hands to block the flow of gas, but it was under pressure and would not be stopped. She backed away to avoid breathing it in.
Colcord sat up. “Oh my God,” he said, holding his head. Reno and Romanski were also stirring. They had all been beaten.
Cash took another step back from the nozzle. She recalled from somewhere that carbon monoxide was a heavy gas. It would settle at floor level and fill up the room from there.
“Hey!” she said. “Everyone—stand up. Off the floor, get up on your feet!”
They did so, groaning and stumbling. She then thought, What’s the use? They were dead regardless. There was no way out of this metal box. It was monstrous—their bodies would be arranged in some mine tunnel, and everyone would assume death by carbon monoxide poisoning—a common fatality in mines.
She realized she was hyperventilating. How stupid was that? Were they going to die? Of course they were.
Colcord came over and put his arm around her. “Agent Cash, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you—”
“Don’t say anything,” Cash interrupted. “Not now.”
He shook his head. “Okay.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” said Romanski. “These people—this is what the fucking Nazis did. Eugenics meets the twenty-first century. I’m not ready to die like this.”
Cash swallowed. Neither was she. But only a miracle would save them now.
The light in the ceiling flickered, and a vibration passed through the floor, followed a few seconds later by a rumble, a deep and distant thunder.
And then the light blinked out entirely, plunging the room into absolute blackness.
For a moment, Cash was stunned. The blackness was so absolute it was disorienting. But then she realized the hissing had stopped. A power failure. She took a step forward, and another, and found the steel wall with her outstretched arms. The door to the room would be to her right. She fumbled along the wall until she found the door and then groped down to its handle—and turned it.
The door opened.
“Hey,” she said. “Hey! The door’s unlocked.” Hardly believing it, she pulled the door all the way open—a miracle. An insane miracle. The hallway beyond was also as black as night. She lowered her voice. “Everyone get over here. Quietly.”
A light came on; Romanski’s face appeared in the dimness. She realized: of course, they still had their flashlights.
They gathered around him in a tight group.
Cash whispered, “Emergency power might be coming on any moment. We’ve got to get out of here, move fast and silently, and use only the one five-lumen light. Is everyone okay to move?”
Everyone nodded.
“Sheriff, can you retrace our steps out of here?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Let’s all try to remember.” She kicked herself for not paying more attention as they were being led through the maze of hallways; she’d been too traumatized.
She paused. There were sounds coming down the hall, a hubbub of excited voices. She had a sudden fear that it was the guards coming back to check on them, but as the sounds got louder and closer, she realized these were no guards; it was a mingling of yells, clapping, laughter, and whistles. It sounded like a mob.
The power failure that had unlocked their door had, perhaps, released the locks everywhere—including in that hotel-like hallway, freeing all the inmates or whoever they were.
“What’s this?” said Romanski. “What’s going on?”
“The Neanderthals are out of their quarters,” said Cash.
Now they could see the glow of faint, indirect light coming from around the corner as the hubbub of voices came closer—yells, expostulations, whistles—the sounds of a mob growing excited. They were coming their way.
Cash said, “We’d better hide in here until they go past. Understood?”
A murmur of agreement. As the sounds got louder in the hallway, Cash eased the door almost shut. But not all the way. She realized that if emergency power came on, they might get locked in again, the gas resuming—so she propped open the door slightly with her foot, hoping that it wouldn’t be seen.
The rowdy noises came closer, and a reddish light shone through the porthole window. The silhouette of a man—a Neanderthal, with that big, long mouth and no chin—passed by, carrying a burning torch. And then there were others, streaming past, not just men but also women, some with torches, others with flashlights. A few of the women were carrying children and babies. All came streaming past in a hurry, their pale faces grimly set as if with a singular purpose.