The Dishonored Dead by Robert Swartwood Read Free Book Online Page B

thin device up to his face, right in front of his left eye. Suddenly there was a flash, a brilliant light, and Conrad started blinking. When he could see properly again, Cynthia was back behind the desk.
    “Have fun,” she said.
    The next thing Conrad knew Norman was taking his arm and leading him past the desk, down the corridor to an elevator. The old captain took a key from his pocket—not one of the keys on his usual keyring—and placed it in a slot. He turned it, and the two metal doors slid apart.
    “After you,” Norman said.
    Conrad stepped inside. He immediately looked at the panel for how many floors this elevator serviced. There was none. Just another key slot like the one Norman had already used.
    “I guess we’re going to the basement?”
    “You could say that.” He slid the key into the slot. “Only this basement is about a quarter of a mile deep.”
    Norman turned the key, the doors slid shut, and they started their descent into the earth.

 

     

     

     
    Chapter 7

     

     

     
    A man was waiting for them when the elevator doors opened. He looked to be about Norman’s age, his head bald, his face stiff, and he was confined to an electric wheelchair.
    “Gentlemen,” he said, smiling. “Welcome.”
    “Conrad,” Norman said, “this is Dr. Albert Hennessey. He’s the Director of Living Intelligence.”
    Albert extended his hand to Conrad. “It’s very nice to meet you, Conrad. Norman has told me a lot about you, and I’ve read your file. You’re quite the Hunter.”
    They were in a white, brightly lit corridor. Farther down a few people wearing long white coats walked back and forth.
    “I know you have a lot of questions,” Albert said, moving his wheelchair so it was headed down the corridor, “and trust me, your questions will be answered. But please, just bear with me for now.”
    The wheelchair’s motor emitted a soft humming as the scientist lead them down the corridor. They came to a T-junction and turned right, continued on and passed a number of closed doors. Conrad noticed that some of the doors were locked by keypads.
    A half dozen people walked past them, men and women wearing those long white coats, all of which said hello to Albert, who smiled and nodded at Norman and Conrad.
    Eventually they came to Albert’s office. The door was closed but Albert pushed something on his wheelchair and the door swung open just like the entrance door on the surface. The lights were off, but once they entered motion sensors caused the fluorescents in the ceiling to come on, each humming as quietly as Albert’s wheelchair.
    The office was small and sparse. There was a desk, two chairs, a row of filing cabinets, a small coffee machine, and a fish tank against the wall. Inside the tank a number of tropical dead fish swam lazily from one end to the other.
    Albert moved behind his desk. Conrad and Norman each took a seat.
    “Would either of you two gentlemen care for something to drink?”
    Both men shook their heads.
    “Please, Conrad, I insist you have some coffee.”
    Albert turned away from his desk and glided over to the coffee machine. He poured two cups and brought them back to the desk, placed one on the desktop and motioned at it.
    “Please, Conrad, humor me and take a sip.”
    Glancing warily at Norman, Conrad leaned forward, grabbed the cup, and took a sip.
    “How does it taste?”
    “Bitter.”
    “So it could use some cream and sugar?”
    Conrad nodded and set the cup back down on the desk.
    Albert said nothing but smiled approvingly at Norman.
    Conrad said, “What’s this all about? What is Living Intelligence?”
    “A very good question,” Albert said, his smile widening to show off his gray and rotting teeth. “But if you don’t mind, I would first like to ask a question of my own. What do you know about the living?”
    “You mean zombies?”
    Albert smiled again. “I prefer to call them the living, but yes, okay, what do you know about zombies?”
    “They’re