The Madman

Peter nodded. More than a few things had occurred to him. First, there was no way of telling if the Angel knew they were in pursuit, which he thought might be an advantage, but also might not be. And second, whatever path the Angel might have been taking on his prior trips to the Amherst Building, tonight would be different, because he was no longer going to be safe at the Western State Hospital. So this night the Angel meant to disappear.

But precisely how, Peter was unsure.

These things had occurred to Francis, as well. But he understood one additional thing: There would be no underestimating the Angel's rage.

The two men pushed forward, into the darkness.

It was tough to maneuver down the path of the heating duct. The tu

They traveled by touch and by feel, stopping every few feet to listen for sounds, their hands stretched out in front of them like a pair of blind men. It was oppressively hot, and sweat soon rimmed their foreheads. They both could feel themselves covered with grime, but they maneuvered on, penetrating farther into the tu

Francis's breath was coming in short, tense bursts. Dust and age seemed in every tug of wind that his lungs demanded. He could taste years of emptiness with each step forward, and he wondered whether he was lost or whether he was finding himself, with every stride down the tu

Peter remained directly behind the younger man, pausing every so often to strain his ears and eyes, inwardly cursing the darkness that crippled the speed of their pursuit. He was overcome by the sensation that they were traveling half as fast, half as steadily, as they should, and he whispered urgently to Francis to move quicker. In the darkness of the tu

He stumbled once and swore, then swore again as he regained his balance.

Francis tripped on some ill-defined piece of debris and gasped as he thrust out his arms to steady himself. He thought each step was as uncertain as a child's. But when he looked up, he suddenly saw the slightest yellow light, seemingly miles ahead. He knew that darkness and distance were tricky, and after a second, he understood that ahead of them was something different, and he tried to hurry himself toward the light, eager to emerge from the darkness of the tu

"What do you think?" he heard Peter whisper.

"Power plant?" he answered softly. "Another housing unit?"

Neither man had any idea where it was that they were arriving. They didn't even know whether they had traveled in a straight line from the Amherst Building to wherever they were headed. They were disoriented, frightened, and filled with the unruly tension of the moment. Peter clung to the weapon, because, at least for him, that spoke of some reality, something firm in an unsettled world. Francis had nothing so concrete to rely upon.

Francis pushed ahead toward the pale light. With each stride it grew, not in strength, but in dimension, a little like some weak dawn rising over distant hills, battling against fog and clouds and the residue of some immense storm.

He thought, at the least, that they were being drawn to it with the same determination that the moth has when it spots the flickering candle. He wasn't sure that they would be any more effective.

"Keep going," Peter urged. He said this as much to hear his own voice and reassure himself that the claustrophobic, enveloping existence of the heating tu

The two men struggled forward, realizing that the wan yellow light that beckoned them finally was distributing some clarity to the path they traveled. Francis hesitated, holding up a dirt-streaked hand in front of his face, as if curiously unfamiliar with the sensation of being able to see. He stumbled again, as some misshapen piece of debris clung to his leg. Then he paused, because something terribly obvious hovered just beyond his reasoning, and he wanted to grasp hold of it. Peter gave him a small shove, and they approached the space in the wall where the duct emerged, and as they tumbled out into the weak light, welcoming the ability to see, Francis realized what it was that he was trying to understand.

They had traversed the length of the tu

Then he understood what it meant. Someone else had traveled that way, clearing them out.

He raised his head, and stepped forward. He stood at the edge of another dark, shadowy cavern like storage room. As back at Amherst, a single weak bulb, stuck in a crevasse near a stairway on the far side provided a pathetic aura of light. Around him were the same piles of discarded material, abandoned equipment, and for an instant, Francis wondered whether they had gone anywhere, or whether they had merely turned in some bizarre circle, for the world was the same. He turned and examined the shadows around him, and had the odd sensation that it appeared that all the debris had been moved, creating a pathway ahead. Peter emerged from the tu

"Where are we?" Francis asked.

Peter did not have time to respond, before the room suddenly fell into utter darkness.