Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

Joe juggled fruit around, before pitching an apple to him. “These are a delicacy down here. It’s time for a fresh start. Take care now.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHRIS WILKERSON locked the door to the control room and sat down, studying the screens. He found Joe lingering near the north end camera.

Joe jammed a syringe into his arm.

What are you doing, Joe? You still have to get your fix, don’t you? Where’s Adams?

Staring at the video feeds, he gulped a can of Flitz down and activated the camera nearest Todd on the larger screen.

Maybe Todd will be a hero. He has my vote.

The screen flickered as the boars descended from the ceiling. Chris cued the cassette tape as Todd maneuvered across the tunnel.

Okay. So I overdid it a little. Ebony was a pain in the butt, though. The little know it all could never keep her trap shut. Feeding time was supposed to help them, not kill them. The east elevator tunnel’s open. A trip to Level Six will do all of you some good.

The boars charged through the middle of the tunnel, hunting their prey. Chris ejected the cassette from the deck.

Level Six. Level Six.

He recalled the renovation efforts on it several months earlier and the setbacks along the way…

.     .     .     .     .

He walked the floor studying the cubicles and phones installed when a rush of cold air hit the back of his neck. The lights flickered on the floor as the power surged in an unfamiliar rhythm. The buzz and hum of the floor’s electricity pulsed in thirty-second increments.

What was that?

He looked back at the police officer walking behind him.

Are you using me as a shield or what? Shouldn’t you be the one on the front lines?

As they made eye contact, Detective Jack Herbert broke the silence, “Hey, did you feel that?”

Let’s make him feel dumb for a minute.

“Feel what?”

“That coolness. The dampness in the air. There’s something off about all of this. I’m going to order an environmental check on the building. It may not be enough to shut you down, but we need to make sure our I’s are dotted and our T’s are crossed.”

“We’ve had it done already, but I’ll be glad to have someone else out here to check. I’m uncomfortable lingering here. We may be better off shutting the floor down altogether.”

“That’s probably your best option,” Herbert said. “So this is where they’re dying?”

“Yeah. Another one here in the Southeast corner. Fourth one in three weeks, but you know that by now.” Chris patted him on the shoulder.

“You superstitious?” Herbert asked.

“Aren’t you? I don’t enjoy thinking about people dying in my building.”

“No offense, but you know what the hotel’s known for, right?”

“Good point. Feels more real now. Not just a distant memory for someone I don’t know.”

“Death has a way of doing that,” Herbert said. “Autopsy reports in my file showed the other three all died of myocardial infarction.”

“Yeah. That’s what I heard. No one should stay in here alone. They always die when the others go off to lunch. The guy that draws the short straw works lunch hour and then ends up dead while the others are gone.”

“Let me ask you this,” Herbert said, “do you think someone’s killing them?”

“I think something is killing them. I don’t want to believe in ghosts, but I don’t know what else to think.”

“I hear what you’re saying. Given this building’s troubled history, I wouldn’t rule anything out. Hang in there. I’ve seen a lot in my days as a detective. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The pair walked toward the exit. Chris pulled the door open, motioning Herbert to exit first.

“My honest advice… lock it down. The environmental regulators and feds may want to look, but I can’t imagine they’ll find anything conclusive. These unexplainable cases are hard to pinpoint. You may be better off with a priest and some holy water than with any of them.”

You have no idea.

“I’ll take you back to the lobby. Thanks for coming in,” Chris said.

“All for the badge. All for the badge.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Once the aggressive animals ran past TODD ADAMS, he slipped out of the sleeping bag, and located an unfamiliar passageway. A door stood open several inches. He pushed it wider, squeezed in, and sealed it shut.

I guess I’m the last one. I hope so.

A line of others waited to board an elevator in the dark corridor. A description played in the elevator, instructing riders on the proper way to handle a Level Six call. Entertaining a path out of Level Zero via telephone would not be a possibility.

Arriving at Level Six, Todd noted several others, loitering and appreciating the change of scenery. There was a white sign with red capital letters that dangled from the ceiling tiles, APOCALYPSE AND ALTERNATE REALITY. Warnings plastered all over the floor urged caution while taking calls and the impending threat of confinement to a cell if they mentioned their capture over the phone.

No visible windows or doors up here. Weird.

The phone rang. No one moved toward it to answer.

“Well, if none of you guys are going to, then I will.”

He picked up the phone and greeted the caller. Gauging by rasp and tempo, the voice on the line sounded to be a man in his sixties.

“I want you to tell me a story,” the man said. “Something about an apocalyptic reality.”

“Okay, thanks for the call. Let me see now, here we go.”

What’s happening? I’m losing control.

The story came to him in vivid bursts, inspired by something he could not recall.

“Dale Bostley announced to the 8,000 employee, northern Albuquerque campus of their organization’s impending fate.

‘After twenty-one years of taking calls of various natures, our board of directors has opted to shut down the west region’s office. I want to thank you all for the capacities you’ve served in and the tireless hours you’ve put in to keep this place… profitable. As you know, our business is changing