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                “Bodies fill the fields I see,
                Hungry heroes end.
                No one to play soldier now,
                No one to pretend.
                Running blind through killing fields,
                Bred to kill them all.
                Victim of what said should be,
                A servant ‘til I fall.”

                                Metallica, Disposable Heroes

                Slate and I lay on our stomachs together, looking down the long climb towards the flashlight. Between us and it is a three hundred and eighty-two rung ladder that treks straight down a metal tube into darkness. Darkness that may very well have zombies waiting near the bottom.

                “I can’t believe you dropped it.” Slate accuses.

                “I can’t believe it survived that fall.” I gawk innocently, staring down at the still-activated flashlight. “I mean, Jesus H Christ, that is a tough little flashlight.”

                “One of us,” She says as she turns to stare at me demonstratively. “Is going to have to go down and get it.”

                “Go get it?” I stare back at her. “That’s . . .” I look down the ladder, trying to guess how far. I give up. “A long ways down.”

                She puts her hands on the ground, ready to get up. “Get started.” She says harshly. She shoves off from the ground and moves back.

                “Get started.” I say, mocking her voice as I climb. I can see the climb a bit more now. With the light at the very bottom waiting for me, it casts up tiny shadows that move with my every motion as I slowly descend.

                Climbing when you can see is a lot harder than when you can’t. When you can’t see, you almost have an impression that you’re not moving. You don’t have any real idea of where you are or, more importantly, how far away the ground is. Because when you can see, no matter how hard you try not to, you look down.

                “Oh god.” I start, freezing up as I jerk my eyes back to the ladder. I stay still, panting. My stomach fills with tight knots and I can feel my knees go weak. My hands suddenly fill with water as my whole body goes into shock.

I close my eyes and try to push it away. But with the presence of light, even if I drive it out, I can’t bring myself to keep my eyes closed. And when I open them again, I invariably glance down to see if the distance has lessened. And I freeze up again. And I close my eyes again. And the cycle continues every couple of steps.

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When my foot finally touches the ground, I breathe out a sight of relief. I step down onto the metal floor, looking out at the passageways that disappear into the under-realm. Each of the five massive archways stands ominously before me, their black forms seeming impenetrable even to the ambient light of the flashlight at my feet.

I bend down and pick up the light source, the heavy black baton feeling rough. I look over the think, marveling that it’s still functioning. But then the last thing I ever wanted to experience happens.

                I hear something.

                My head jerks up, my body going still. All my senses go on alert as my eyes lock on the archways. But then the echo of the air moving through the halls hits me. And doubt infects my mind. Did I really hear something? But not only that, but function plays in. How far away was it? Which side did it come from?

                I stand there, at the foot of the ladder, trying to decide if I want to sweep the flashlight into the archways. I wonder if that would get whatever’s attention. Then I hear something else.

                “. . . Sam . . .”

                My head jerks around, looking for whatever called my name. I can feel the hot sweat burst out over my skin as I look around. It sounded like it came from right behind me. But when I turn back, only darkness remains. I whip my head around, looking. I can’t tell where any sound is coming from. The metal tube that I inhabit reflects the sound in a whirlwind of dizzying proportions. I can’t tell if a sound right in front of me is actually there. And I can’t find what called out my name.

                “. . . Sam . . .”

                I reach down to my belt and take out my machete. I hold it ready, the flashlight held like a baton. I move back towards the ladder, putting my back against it. I stand ready in case . . .

                “. . . Sam . . .”

                And then it dawns on me. “That sounds like . . .” I say. And even as I say it, I already know. I look up and Slate’s glaring down at me from the top of the ladder. She furiously yanks her hand back up towards her, motioning for me to climb.

                “But I . . .” I start, looking up at her. She points down at me, giving me that harsh look that only mothers, teachers, and ex-girlfriends can give. I slide the machete back into its sheath, holster the flashlight into my belt, and start climbing.

                “You stupid, son of a . . .”

                “Nice to see you, too.” I say, flopping down on the edge of the landing. “Look, I’m sorry I dropped your flashlight. But give me some credit for climbing down there and getting the damn thing.” I say, handing the thing back at her while my legs dangle off the side.

                “Give you credit?” She says, staring at me. “No. You don’t get credit. You don’t get credit for doing a damn thing except being a moron.”

                “Hey. It’s credit.” I say, accepting. “It’s a start.”

                She stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re a retard. That’s it. I just figured it out. You’re retarded.”

                I scratch my chin, yawning as she insults me. I’ve broken up with girls over less. After she’s done ranting, and I’m done ignoring it, I turn to her, stopping her charge of profanity and vulgarity, and point at the manhole. “So what’s the deal?” I ask, looking back at the thing.

                “I saw a tank.” She says, her anger simmering down a bit. “I saw a tank and there was some type of explosion. I can’t say I noticed much else.”

                I put my hand down on the metal plating, feeling it continue to shake. “The rumbling’s still going. I guess we should wait for it to stop.”

                “That could be a while.” She says, even as she sits back against the metal igloo’s wall. “I mean, what if we’re on a, I don’t know, landing strip or something.”

                “Planes?” I ask. “In a bio-dome?”

                “They have helicopters in mine.” She retorted. But she sits back, looking up at the manhole cover. “Turn off the flashlight.” She finally says acceptingly.

                “It’s yours.” I say, pointing at it in her hand. She looks down at the thing and clicks it off. The darkness rushes in like the tide, immediately taking over. All of a sudden, sound and feel become my primary senses. I scoot away from the edge of the ladder and push myself against the wall opposite Slate. “Why’d you want to turn the flashlight off?” I ask.

                “Just in case.” She finally says. “We’ll hear a zombie coming for us, up the ladder. But maybe if one is down there at the bottom, he might not see us.”

                I shrug. Makes sense, I suppose. But I lean back against the wall. My stomach rumbles, but I don’t feel like eating. The vibration of the floor does seem a bit less. Maybe in a few hours, we can try through the manhole again.

                I look across the way, even in the darkness, staring at Slate. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do?” I ask into the infinite darkness. “When this is all over, I mean.”

                I hear her signature scoff. “Sam,” She says with her hopeless, arrogant tone. “You seem to suffer from a delusion that this is ever going to be ‘over’.”

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