With that they both shook themselves out of their individual hazes and followed me into the tunnel. Not one of us could walk a straight line.

19

We walked deep into the tunnel, sloshing through the remains of the zombie guards, until the entrance was a pea-sized dot of light behind us. I lit a cigarette and waited for our eyes to adjust to the pitch dark. When Blout’s outline became clearer I could see he was agitated and nervous.

“When are you going to open that thing?” he asked, pointing at the box.

I shrugged. “We could do it now if you want. I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s inside.”

I felt the key slap against the side of my face and I managed to catch it before it hit the dirt. When I leaned down to feel for the keyhole, I was too ripped and had little luck. My hand clanked the key clumsily against the metal, finding everything except its target.

“You want some light?” Blout switched on his penlight as he knelt down beside me.

“Thanks.”

I found the lock and gave it a twist. The box opened with one quick flip, releasing a billowing mushroom of putrescence into the air.

Blout reeled away. “Aw, Jesus!”

I covered my mouth and nose, but the odor was so strong it stung my eyes and forced me to back away from the box. After a second or two the mist cleared and the stench was reduced enough to make it bearable. We knelt and stared down at the throbbing contents of Edgar Cain’s safe deposit box. At first glance, it reminded me of those old fifties ads for meat: the colors were too bright and the sheen looked greasy and unreal. But it was real, and it was alive.

A beating human heart.

The disembodied heart rose and fell as if it were still part of a person, still attached to arteries pulsing with blood. Surrounding the heart was a garnish of objects that ranged from feathers to bones. Symbols from a variety of regions and religions were scrawled on paper and wood. It was the same pattern as everything else.

I looked up to Blout. He couldn’t take his eyes off the beating heart. Then he caught my stare.

“Is this what you expected?” he stammered.

“I had a hunch it would be something of this sort.”

Blout looked back at the heart. “If this is Cain’s heart, why don’t we just destroy it?”

It was a good question, but not a safe option. Sometimes hearts are not only used to keep something alive, but also to imprison something or keep it in check. We couldn’t be sure which kind this was.

“Cain may have put this heart here to protect himself from what was happening,” I concluded.

“He didn’t do a very good job,” Blout said.

Mo’Lock raised a finger. “It could also work to our benefit to have the heart alive, if it is the heart of the killer. It would give us leverage. A hostage, if you will.”