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                “How can you think about food at a time like this?”

                                Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

                I open the door with considerably less trouble than I did before. As I sneak out into the hallway, the sight of him and them still puzzles me. As I quietly and carefully shut the door behind me, listening for the lock that assures me, I glance back at the wall that should not be.

                And then I scan the two hallways laid out. The hallway to the right, I’ve been down. In front of me, I’ve been down to the intersection. With my aluminum cane in hand, I start to walk towards the far intersection.

                The world seems different as I walk. The loafers that constrict my toes resound loudly, compared to when I was walking on my toes. I try to minimize the sound, but no matter how lightly and softly I step, I can’t seem to keep from causing some kind of echo.

                In this strange isolation, the echo travels forever. The dark marble floors and off-white walls seem to transpose against each other. Looking down the hall in the distance, it’s disorientating. The only thing that seems to give the place any sense of balance are the hanging lights that seem suspended by magic from the ceiling.

                But my eyes aren’t on the lights.

                They’re focused straight ahead.

                I come to the intersection.

                I carefully peak down the direction I came, at the woman with no back, and the distant stairwell. As I lean around, I hear a low growl. I throw myself back against the wall, my breath held violently in check.

                I listen.

                I hear it again.

                I look down.

                It’s my stomach.

                I nearly cry I’m so relieved. “Oh thank god.” I whisper silently, almost laughing.

                I turn back down towards the stairs. “Where’s the food court?” I ask in a silent voice.

                The echoes of my feet keep me company.

                As I walk, I glance down behind me, keeping a vigil out for any sign of one of them. And with only a few dozen steps, I approach the intersection of the stairwell.

                I keep my back to the far left side, watching down the right. And I see more bodies. The blood is thick on the floor, almost like a black slick of oil. But I see no movement. Down towards the bodies, I can see only more halls.

                I look around the corner behind me. Still more halls. But these don’t seem to end. The hall goes on as far as I can see.

                And I see more bodies.

                I turn my attention to the stairwell. I look at the marble steps, their wide offerings impressive and alluring. I glance down to the right, then to left. I stop and listen.

                Nothing moves.

                Nothing echoes.

                It’s silent.

                “Maybe,” I whisper, moving carefully towards the steps. “Maybe they’re all gone.” I look at the bodies to my right, torn asunder. “Maybe they ate each other.”

                I step up onto the stairwell’s first step, craning my head to look up. The two-section stairwell leads up to a second floor. It’s clear there are floors beyond, at least two, but this set of stairs ignores them. I listen. Nothing.

                I step back down and look down in either direction again. I look. I listen.

                Nothing.

                I stare at the stairs, then take a deep breath. I place my right foot on the first step, then swing my left foot up onto the second. The sound of my loafers impacting the ground echoes dully, but I keep watch above. I search for any sign, a sight or a noise, that might sound like something like him or them.

                With each step, I can see more of the second floor. And with each step, I’m disappointed. With each step, my hope that the second floor will make more sense than the first is dashed.

                At the halfway landing, I can see up to the second floor. I can see the same marble flooring. I can see the same almost-white walls. I can see the same hanging lights of dull white illumination. And I can hear the same silence.

                And most of all, I can see the same flashing red warning.

                But as I climb up the second set of stairs, I see something totally new.

                A red sign on a far set of double doors.

                ‘Cafeteria’.

                I smile.

                But I resist the urge to rush over there, even though my stomach starts to growl like a malnourished tiger.

                I come up to the second floor, glancing down in either direction. I can see now that the building slopes up, with each floor just a few feet narrower than the one before it. And the stairwell opening is exposed, so the fourth floor can look down on the first. I look down the opening, seeing where the floors connect. At the far end, I can see the stairwells that go all the way up. With the raised perspective, I can see the whole scope of the building much more clearly.

                And I’m dizzied by the size.

                I turn back to the hallways.

                I see nothing.

                I hear nothing.

                The doors are all closed.

                The lights are constant and the red flashing keeps me company.

                The echo of my stolen loafers carries me forward. I watch back over my shoulder, making sure the stairs don’t disappear, or worse. I check to my left and my right. Nothing.

                There’s one intersection, then the t-intersection where the cafeteria is.

                The walk is nerve-racking.

                I try to keep my steps as quiet as I can, both my hands wrapped around the metal shaft of the crutch. I approach the first intersection.

                I move to the right, watching down towards the left. I move all the way down, until I see the intersection far beyond. I pull myself up to the corner, then turn my head around the side.

                I see a body, in a doorway. The door is closed, with half the body outside. I can only imagine the other half must be inside. The body’s head is mostly gone, making it difficult to tell if it’s a man or a woman. There’s a lot of blood, but not a lot of anything else. It looks like even some of the bones are missing.

                But I see nothing move.

                And I hear nothing.

                So I move on.

                I make my way through the next short hall to the t-intersection. And I do the same. I move to the right, watching down to the left. I check behind me. I turn around the corner, making sure nothing’s to the right.

                Nothing. In any direction.

                No sound.

                My heart starts to beat faster. I swallow sorely, and hold the crutch with my right hand. I stare at the cafeteria doors, noting the lack of a lock. Unconsciously, I finger the wallet in my pocket.

                I swallow.

                I breathe in deeply.

                I check around myself one more time.

                And then I step.

                Seven steps and I’m across the hallway, the echo of each step resounding in every direction. I put my left hand on the right door and push in as I step inside.

                I see vending machines lining the walls. Not standing up in an orderly fashion, but pressed back against the other doors. And as the door swings open, I hear it connect with a loud collision with the vending machines that had been blocking it shut. Before they were pushed away.

                I see the line where the food is kept hot by the eternal lights.

                I see the pile of bodies in the center of the room, amongst the strewn tables and the small lake of blood. I can smell the death and the chaos that permeates the hysteria that went on in this room not long ago.

                But mostly, I see the monster on it’s haunches on top of a pile of bodies, a person’s arm in his hands, his teeth wrapped around the bicep muscle.

                And he’s staring right at me.

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