Twisted Metal Heart - Eve Langlais Page 0,32

with a knapsack containing food, drink, and a few extra items. The tunnel stretched before him, a concrete rectangle with flickering lights that were motion activated, but only some of them still worked. Behind, more of the same. The network of tunnels below ground shouldn’t have surprised him. He knew of the ones leading from the bunker that served as home for Haven, but he’d never imagined how far they extended. Then again it made sense that, when the Earth went through its evolution where the surface proved unlivable, humanity stretched its expanse underground. Then abandoned it the moment they could.

With nothing rushing to eat him, Titan glanced overhead and immediately saw the grate Alfred spoke of. A vertical shaft to the surface. According to Alfred, most of them led into buildings. Those that survived their abandonment. For all he knew, going up would lead to a dead end.

His metal limbs were having a cooperative day, working well with him, and even better, no whispers. Perhaps it was the fever that made him imagine the voice.

He climbed the tank and stood on its roof, stooping slightly as he turned the crank to open the thick metal grate. It swung down and provided steps to climb up into the slim aperture. Within was a ladder built into the wall, which he climbed eagerly, the lack of light fixed by the glow projecting from the goggles Alfred insisted he take.

He saw no sign of recent passage. The dust was thick and filling the air, making his lungs tickle. He paused for a moment to draw a scarf over his lower face then continued. He reached another hatch, this one made of a solid piece of metal, meaning he couldn’t see what lay on the other side. Could be nothing. Could be a slavering beast that was starved for meat. Even a flooded space that would tumble down and sluice him with its passage.

He couldn’t help but tense as he heaved at the mechanism, his flesh hand slipping on the surface. Not budging it one bit.

Let me.

Less a request and more a statement as his bionic hand grabbed hold and twisted.

Screee. The metal moved, complaining the entire way. He held his breath and listened. Not a single sound could be heard. He lifted higher on the ladder and put his shoulder to the hatch, readying to heave it and leap out—if a tidal wave didn’t get him first.

With a deep breath, he shoved, and the hatch swung open hard enough to fall over with a clang. The bobbing light showed nothing moving and no signs of imminent collapse or flooding. The illumination showed a room full of empty shelves stripped bare of everything but dust and fragments that disintegrated the moment he touched them.

He dragged the goggles over his eyes and looked around. The light through the filter lens showed him even more detail. Kind of disconcerting. More shelves. A skeleton, long dead, curled in a corner, a hole in the skull, a gun lying beside it. Another fucking door with no window.

He eyed the hatch. Leave it open, or close it? Open gave him the opportunity for a fast escape if needed.

He eyed the portal, grabbed the handle, and pulled. It remained shut. He twisted. It didn’t budge. He heaved and tugged, even braced his foot on it to really give it a yank.

When nothing worked, the whisper came again. Let me.

He ignored the voice, and caution, as he pulled out his gun and shot the handle. It and the doorjamb melted. Only then did he say, “Go ahead and open it.”

The heat of the hole’s edges didn’t even make his bionic arm flinch. Just how durable was it?

The door opened, and he found himself in a vast room that seemed really familiar in some respects. High-roofed in a curved shallow dome shape. No windows, but he’d wager a door at the end. If he had to guess, he was in one of the hangars in the Humps—the name given to the hillocks that provided a shelter for Haven—which meant he was close enough to walk home.

If he could make it across the room.

He knew better than to trust the silence and benign appearance. There was a reason Haven hadn’t expanded out of its cramped quarters. Danger lurked everywhere. The reminder meant he eyed the hatch behind him. He could return to the tank and find another exit. Where though? What were the chances he’d find another one close by? And what