CRYERS by Geoff North

him. Maybe he would find someone here, someone without long, curled
toenails and gouged-out eyes. Maybe they would bandage his ravaged hands and
give him water to drink.
    Perhaps the light was a signal from the lawman. He might be farther down
that long, green-pulsing corridor with Willem and Cobe, waiting for Trot to
find them . Trot didn’t want to
disappoint the lawman. He was probably in big enough trouble as it was, for
leaving the lower levels. Trot wanted to show the three he could be smart, too.
He took three lurching steps, and the woman from the other corridors and locked
doors spoke:
    “Installation compromised…Eichberg, Lothair cylinder
reactivated…awaiting further thaw and evac procedure orders.”
    “Hello?” Trot called out feebly. Where was she? How did she manage
to be in so many places and still sound so calm and rested? Her voice was
soft-spoken and comforting. If she wasn’t afraid, maybe she could help him. “Hello?
My name’s Trot…I hurt my hands and my nose won’t stop bleeding.” He waited for
her to answer. Thirty seconds later her voice sounded again.
    “Installation compromised…Eichberg, Lothair cylinder
reactivated…awaiting further thaw and evac procedure orders.”
    He looked up and down the flashing
corridor. “My hands…” Trot stopped. He hadn’t understood a single word the
woman said....why would she comprehend anything he was trying to say?
    He walked on and found the light’s
source under a metal grill set into the ceiling between inactive fluorescent
bulbs. Trot reached up and tried to touch the moving green with his knuckle but
couldn’t.
    So pretty.
    There was another flashing light
further along. Trot went to it and came to an intersection. More green lights
pulsed down either way of the next corridor. Trot scratched the side of his
nose, dimly aware he couldn’t afford to dig inside again. Which way? If the lawman was leaving him a trail, why was he making
it so difficult to follow? Why was he making Trot think so hard? The corridor to
the left seemed to go on forever; the one to the right was short—ending sixty
feet away with another door. Trot’s legs were weak and sore. He chose the
shorter path.
    Trot’s sense of safety and
wonderment vanished as he made his way. The light pulsed like a beating heart,
casting the lone metal door farther down in shadows of moving black and
glistening green. The whole place left him feeling uneasy and scared—the door
at the end of the hallway felt wrong .
    The woman repeated the words. Trot reached the corridor’s end and
saw a gold square set into the door with a series of black letters printed on
it. Trot studied them without having a clue what they read:
    EICHBERG, LOTHAIR E
    FOUNDER OF ABZE
CORPORATION
    ORIGINALLY LAID TO REST IN 1976
    Under the plaque was one of those
familiar keypads lined with buttons Trot had watched the others fiddling with.
Cobe had tried pressing them to make the door open, and failed. Trot wouldn’t
have bothered at all if it wasn’t for the one button that read ENTER glowing in
red. This was the signal the lawman had left him. Trot had chosen the correct path. He pressed it with his knuckle and
heard the familiar click and hiss. The door popped out towards him an inch.
    Trot giggled. He had figured it out. The people back in Burn
wouldn’t think he was so brain dumb now if they could see him. He waited
excitedly for the door to open farther, overjoyed to be reunited with his
friends on the other side.
    ***
    It felt like an explosion at the
front of his brain.
    Light.
    It had been so long, Lothair forgot
what it was at first. He had forgotten how to see, forgotten he even had eyes.
It flashed before him again. So bright. Too intense.
    How? Where?
    The third flash wasn’t as blinding.
Lothair remembered color, tried to place it. A fourth pulse.
    Green.
    It was steady, filling the small
window of his cylinder every two seconds. He moved a finger to the glass,
lifting the hand that had