Chapter 8: C tunnel

  The key turned with a tired clunk. The door creaked open, its hinges groaning like something waking from a long sleep.

  A cold breath drifted up the stairwell. It smelled of wet stone, rust, and rot.

  Maria aimed the flashlight down into the black. The beam vanished into the dark like it had been swallowed.

  “Stay close,” she whispered.

  Emilia nodded, her jaw tight. She stepped through the threshold and began the descent, Maria close behind. The stairs were concrete, narrow, and steep, with no rail on one side, just a wall slick with condensation and a faint trail of mold. Their boots echoed on each step, dull and muted.

  Pipes lined the ceiling above, some sweating, others cracked and leaked in slow drips that plinked into the puddles below. The further they went, the colder it got. The Visitor Center felt stale and forgotten.

  The stairwell finally ended in a short landing. Ahead stood a heavy maintenance door, steel-reinforced, its warning stencils faded: Authorized personnel only, maintenance level 1

  Emilia hesitated. “Are we going to be able to find our way back?”

  Maria glanced over her shoulder and nodded at the wall behind them. “Mark it.”

  From her backpack, Emilia pulled a small metal key, flattened into a rough wedge. and scratched a deep notch into the concrete near the doorframe. In case they had to run.

  Maria reached for the handle and pulled. The door groaned open. What greeted them was the industrial guts of the island.

  Exposed pipes crisscrossed above, many dripping, stripped wiring hung in loose coils. The hallway stretched ahead, narrow and metallic, dimly lit by Maria’s flickering beam. Safety posters peeled off the walls in curling strips, the ink too faded to read. Yellowed tiles underfoot were cracked or missing entirely, and water puddled in the dips. Rats had left trails through the dust and something else.

  Maria shivered. “I think this is the main utility corridor,” she said quietly. “If we keep heading north, we should run into Tunnel C.”

  They pressed forward. A junction loomed ahead. Two branching hallways. One door was labeled: Locker Room – Maintenance Staff

  Emilia pushed it open. The air inside was stale and sour. Rows of rusted lockers stood like tombstones. Some were open, swinging slightly in the breeze from their entry. Others were still sealed, corroded shut. Maria checked one. Empty.

  Emilia opened another and jumped back as a plastic poncho fell out, stiff with age. A cracked flashlight followed it, landing with a dull clunk. The batteries were long dead.

  In the far corner, Maria found a maintenance logbook on a slanted shelf. The cover was warped. She opened it anyway, flipping past the smeared front pages.

  The last legible entry: June 11, 1993 – 3:14 PM.

  Power cycling again near Tunnel C. Reported to Control. Still waiting for the technician.

  Then a single, unfinished word: “Something.”

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  She handed the log to Emilia without speaking.

  Emilia’s eyes scanned it, then she quietly slipped it into her bag. “Let’s not stick around.”

  As they turned to leave, Maria paused by one final locker, its door sealed tight. She pried it open with her boot. Inside was a mold-streaked maintenance badge, hanging from a hook. Beneath it: a pair of keys, still on their ring. She grabbed both.

  “We’ll need these,” she said. “Come on.”

  The door creaked shut behind them. They were deeper now. Colder. Closer to whatever lay ahead.

  Tunnel C’s label was barely legible, but they were sure they’d found it. The hallway narrowed. Tile gave way to poured concrete, cracked and buckled from years of pressure shifts. The air grew damp again, the kind that sank into your bones. Somewhere above, water dripped steadily, echoing down the length of the tunnel.

  Maria stepped carefully over a rusted pipe, its insulation long since peeled away. Her boot splashed into a shallow puddle, sending dark ripples across the floor.

  “Does it feel deeper?” Emilia asked behind her, voice low.

  Maria nodded but didn’t stop moving. The flashlight beam danced across the ceiling, revealing ventilation grates bent outward. As if something had come through.

  Ahead, a tangle of collapsed ductwork blocked part of the tunnel. A service cart lay overturned nearby, its drawers spilled open, contents scattered: wire spools, corroded tools, a twisted length of chain. An acrid smell hung in the air.

  “Hold on,” Maria murmured. She crouched beside the wreckage. Something was lodged under the cart. She reached, fingers brushing cold metal, a fire axe. The blade was rusted, the handle splintered, but solid. She hefted it once, then handed it to Emilia.

  “You sure?” Emilia asked, staring at it.

  Maria just shrugged. “Better than nothing.”

  They moved on, passing a wall where deep grooves had been gouged into the plaster in parallel lines, low to the ground, long and jagged. Emilia slowed beside it, brushing a fingertip over one.

  Something clicked in the dark.

  Click. Click. Click.

  It echoed softly along the tunnel, sending cold shivers down their spines. Maria snapped off the flashlight. The dark rushed in like floodwater. They backed slowly against the wall. Breathing shallow. Emilia gripped the axe. Maria held her breath.

  Relief flooded them as the clicking moved past them. The sound gradually grew fainter. Then silence settled, save for the occasional drip of water.

  They didn’t dare move. Not for a long time. They knew they needed to keep going, but their legs refused to move. They were rooted to the spot. Eventually, it felt like an eternity. Maria turned the light back on, keeping the beam low and narrow. The tunnel ahead was empty.

  Farther down, they passed a door crumpled inward like a soda can. On the other side, they found a bench and a cot. Maria eased the door farther open with her foot. It was an emergency shelter.

  She stepped in and felt that something was off. The air in the room was too dry. The tunnel was damp and humid, but the air in the room was almost arid.

  Two shapes lay on the ground. Human. Long decayed. One wore a security vest. The other was a tech jumpsuit, the logo faded but unmistakable: Jurassic Park.

  Maria crouched. Her hand hovered, then moved. A pistol lay between the corpses. She picked it up slowly. The slide was locked open. Empty. But the weight of it still felt good in her hand.

  Emilia didn’t say anything. She stood just inside the door, watching the hall. Maria slid the weapon into her belt. She had no ammo. But it made her feel better. She turned to leave. Then stopped.

  The wall beside the door was covered in writing. It was slightly smeared, but scrawled in…was that blood? She couldn’t tell. Maybe red paint or ink, she didn’t know. But she read the three words.

  “Go no farther.”

  Maria looked at Emilia. Neither spoke. It was good advice, and both women wished they could heed it and turn around. But there was only certain death behind them. They had no choice. They stepped back into the tunnel and kept going.