Michael asked no questions as they ate breakfast and Erik followed suit. The note laid on the table in full view but neither man mentioned it, too intent on the meager pleasures of warm powdered eggs and hot instant coffee. Erik scanned the room and found it empty besides the mattress and table, his eyes constantly drawn back to the refrigerator and line of freezer cases, all sealed with heavy-duty electronic locks. "Finish your drink and follow me," Michael had said not unkindly, folding the note and placing it in his pocket.
Erik followed the man up a small hill through a heavy mist, water pooling in their every footprint, the mid-morning chill settling over him like a cloak. They stopped at two rocks fashioned into crude headstone, the name Solomon roughly chiseled into one. Beneath the blank slate was a hole, a grave, a muddy mound of dirt beside it. Michael pulled a shovel from the hole, the head old and rusty. He hefted it once, experimenting, and Erik fell back a step ready to bolt.
Michael gave him a humorless smile. "Don't worry, it's not for you. But I want to renegotiate terms of our contract."
"Terms?" Erik asked. He had already backed out of striking distance. He figured he could outrun the old man if necessary.
Michael reached into his pocket and produced the note. "I have a large stash of jack I will freely give you," he read, "If you use the dispenser and indulge me my fantasy." He extended the note to Erik, who did not reach forward to take it. Michael let the note drift to the ground.
He sunk the shovel head into the ground and leaned against the handle. "Ever kill a man, kid?" Before Erik could speak Michael waved the question away. "Forget it. Look, that's my partner in crime lying there. That's my hole next to him, but a dead man can't bury himself, understand? So I'm attaching a rider to the contract. Unfair, I know, but times are tough."
Erik regarded him silently.
"I found five jack phials and a map in your bag. I could make a few guesses who you got it from but truthfully, I don't really care. As you might have discovered already, it's extremely hard to come by. I have more than you can carry back in that hole, plus food and some supplies. I've got the code to the locks in my pocket. It, and that whole damn hole, is all yours if you want it. But me? I've had enough of living underground. That stupid contraption hooked up to keep me jacked around the clock. I only come out for food and to reload, waiting for someone to find me and hopefully grant an old man his dying wish."
He threw the shovel at Erik's feet and drew a dispenser from his coat pocket.
"So here's what's going to happen. In just a second I'm going to turn around and jack one last time for the road. I'll be looking down at that stone, just like I've done a million times before. What you're going to do is say in a deep voice, loud enough for me to hear, is 'Hey babe, it's me, Sol.' Say it just like that, got it? Before I can turn around, I want you to whack me over the head with that shovel. One shot, good and hard; twice if it's necessary, but if you do it right the first time you shouldn't have to. Put me in the hole and throw on some cover. Then go about your business."
Erik's legs started to tremble and Michael extended a hand as if to steady him. His voice softened. "Please," he said, his cheeks damp with rain.
Then Michael cleared his throat, strraightened his shoulders, and faced the grave.
The lock chirped and opened with a heavy thunk. Drawing back the lid of the first case, Erik found stacks of rations, unopened freeze-dried goods, and powdered drinks: jerky, canned fruit, tea, soup, and more. Way more than he could carry. He pulled out what looked best and stuffed it into his backpack, leaving plenty of room. In the second case he found more of the same on the top rack, but beneath he saw row after row of phials. Hundreds upon hundreds of beautiful phials.
He brushed the phials from their plastic holders likebees from a honeycomb back on the farm. He loaded up his coat pockets and grabbed a dozen dispensers, slipping them into the pack's outside pockets. After crushing as much as he could into the bag, he loaded what remained back into the cases, shut, and locked them. He copied the code on scraps of paper and put them in his pockets, in his shoes, and slipped into every crevice in the backpack. He gave the room one last look around, then headed back through the tunnel.
The drizzle had subsided but for a long moment he considered spending the night in the hole. Instead, he threw another brick onto the pile he'd used to cover the entrance and stepped out into the gloomy afternoon, hoping to make good time before it got any darker.