The bolt was cold and heavy under Zarek’s palm, rust flaking against his skin. He kept his hand on the handle and shifted a few inches to the left, out of line with the door.
"Who were you expecting?" His voice was flat, with no anger in it .
A raspy cough came back from behind the panel, then the dry, papery sound of someone trying to clear a throat with no water in it.
"Not someone who walks softly," the man said. His voice was thin, but steady. He didn’t sound like someone waiting desperately to be rescued.
"How many of you are out there? Is the pale one dead, or did you just throw something to turn its head?"
So he’d heard that too. He hadn’t asked for food, and he hadn’t begged to be let out. He was counting heads and sizing up whoever stood on the other side.
"We’re not here to answer your survey."
Behind him, Elsa tugged at his arm. Her left arm was pressed against her ribs, her knuckles white on the pry bar. "Zarek, don’t," she hissed.
"He pulled that thing right to the door. He wanted whatever was out here killed. Open that bolt and he’ll pull something else on us."
He didn’t look back, but he didn’t shake her off either. "He wanted to see what would happen. Someone weak gets eaten. Someone smart moves." He pitched it loud enough for the man to hear every word. "It’s a filter."
A laugh came through the grille. "The girl has sharp ears. But she thinks like prey."
Elsa said nothing.
Zarek tapped the sword hilt against the steel. "You said I might work. For what? Give me one reason not to go back to the service stairs. I have water and medicine. I don’t need a corpse in a closet."
"Water won’t get you up those stairs," the voice said, without hesitation. "The fire on four took out the central ventilation shafts. In twenty minutes the smoke drops into this bay like fog. Go back the way you came and you’ll be crawling blind through ash, with three more of those pale things waiting."
He had felt the heat near the upper doors himself.
"And you’ve got a better way out."
"A freight tunnel behind this room. It runs into the drainage network under West Boulevard. The door’s a keycard lock on a backup battery, and it’s on my side." A shallow breath.
"You want proof I know this bay? Third pillar on your right. Under the grey junction box there’s a manual crank for the fire shutters. If the smoke comes down, that crank is the only thing that keeps this place from sealing up like an oven."
Zarek nodded at the pillar with his chin.
Elsa hesitated, looking between him and the dark column fifteen feet away. Then she went, pry bar raised, and crouched behind the junction box. She scraped a pile of rags aside with her foot.
Metal glinted in the flickering light: a heavy cast-iron crank, bolted straight into the concrete.
She looked back at him, throat working, and nodded once. "He’s telling the truth about the crank."
"Of course I am," the voice rasped. "I was the facilities engineer here for four years, before the sky went purple."
Zarek didn’t reach for the bolt. He backed three paces into the open space where he had room to swing and jerked his head toward the nearest steel rack. Elsa didn’t go to it. She stepped into his path instead and looked up at him, her face set.
"Think for one second," she said, low and tight.
"He knows this whole floor. He’s got an exit, he knows how those things react to noise, and he’s been sitting in the dark counting like a clock. He’s more dangerous than that thing was."
"I know."
"Then why..." Her fingers twitched on the pry bar. "We have enough food to hide for two weeks. We don’t need him."
"Food disappears when you eat it." He said it without heat. "Water runs out. A man who knows how these things hunt, knows the tunnels, and doesn’t panic when something’s scratching at his door is worth something that doesn’t."
"And if he tries to kill us the second it opens?"
"Then I cut his head off and take his keycard. Get behind the rack and watch the corridor. If another pale one shows, don’t scream. Hit the metal once."
She stared at him. The man’s danger didn’t bother Zarek. If anything, it made him more interested. At least someone dangerous might be useful. Elsa finally swallowed her objections and moved behind the shelving.
He went back to the door. "Before I pull this bolt. Why the counting?"
"It isn’t a weapon. It’s a rhythm." The words came slowly through the grille. "Those pale ones can barely see. They track vibrations, mostly through the concrete. A steady count gives them something to follow. Break the rhythm, and they lose the source for a few seconds while they try to find it again. That’s why the four taps worked. It thought the sound had moved."
A rattling breath. "That’s all I’ve worked out. I don’t know about the rest of them."
Useful. It fit everything he’d watched in the bay: the door, the bolt, the pallets. If it was true.
"Stand clear of the frame."
He planted his feet, gripped the handle, and pulled.
CLANG.
The rusted latch tore free with a shower of grit and a shriek of metal. The door lurched inward.
He didn’t rush it. He pushed it the rest of the way with the tip of the sword and stepped to the side of the frame, blade raised.
The office was pitch black and smelled of old sweat, copper, and dust.
A middle-aged man sat against an overturned metal desk. His dark uniform was torn at the shoulders, and thirst had hollowed out his face. His lips were cracked and bleeding. A short steel wrench rested across his lap.
His sunken eyes squinted against the light from the bay. They went to the bloody sword, then to Zarek’s empty hands. No packs, no bags. Whatever had been in that cage hadn’t been carried out.
"You’ve been outside that door for a while," he rasped, a faint, tired smile cracking his lips. "You came here with nothing but a sword, heard a lunatic counting behind a steel door, and broke the lock anyway. Why?"
Zarek lowered the sword until the edge rested an inch from the man’s throat.
"Because a man who counts monsters in the dark might be useful. And if you’re not, you’re just meat for the next floor."
The smile widened, showing stained teeth. The man let his head fall back against the desk.
"Good," he whispered. "I was terrified you’d be a good person."