Read Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection for Free Online Page B

and brain. He swivels on his feet, writhes over, and vomits all over his shoes. He steadies himself with a hand upon the wall.

    He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. The light above flickers on-and-off. His eyes are sunken, his hair matted upon his head. His pilot’s cap had been lost hours ago when the madness began. He brings his hands up to rub his temples and sees that they are covered in blood. He doesn’t know how blood got on them, but he doesn’t care. It’s not surprising. He twists the sink valve but no water comes out. But of course , he thinks sarcastically before opening the stall to a toilet. A figure sits on the toilet seat, pants down. His mouth is opened in a silent scream. Dried blood clings to his flesh. His arms are outstretched, white-knuckled fingers wrapped stiff around the handicap bars on either side of the stall. The man closes his eyes, quietly steps out, and shuts the door to the stall. Rest in peace . A random thought. So grim and depressing. The other toilet is empty.
    He washes his hands and dries them with toilet paper.

    The escalators have stopped moving. He walks his way up the frozen electric stairwell and enters Concourse A. The restaurants are closed-down for the night, their signs dull and lifeless: MOE’S BAR
    & GRILL (he has eaten there several times), PEET’S COFFEE & TEA (good coffee, but more expensive than Starbucks), PANDA EXPRESS (Chinese cuisine, he never did like it). Iron gates have closed off the various shops—BUCKEYES AND BLUEGRASS APPAREL AND GIFTS and VERA BRADLEY GIFTS sit coolly in their recesses in the walls.
    He once bought a paperweight with a replica airline inside for Kira from VERA BRADLEY. The thought turns his stomach sour. What is he doing? Why is he going up in the airport instead of down ?
    Why isn’t he going to his Jeep? Why isn’t he returning to Cincinnati? Why isn’t he seeking Kira? He Anthony Barnhart
    Dwellers of the Night
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    doesn’t have the answers to these questions. He doesn’t know why he searches; he doesn’t know what he is searching for. Answers? He knows he won’t find them.
    He calls out: “Hello!” His voice seems foreign and strange as it echoes throughout the twisting chambers and corridors of Concourse A. He opens his mouth and shouts again. One more time? No. Twice is enough. No one has answered. He is alone.

    CNBC News & Gifts is open. The lights flicker. He enters, passing racks of books and magazines. A stand of USA Today and Cincinnati Enquirer newspapers sits against the wall. He brushes into a stand of key-chains. They jingle against one another. The sound makes him jump. He leans over the counter. An older woman is lying on the floor, surrounded by dollar bills. The cash register is open. He pulls away and exits. He pauses, looks back, curses, walks over to the newspaper rack. He opens up a USA Today and reads the front cover:

SPARRING BEGINS OVER PETRAEUS REPORT

DEATH TOLL IN IRAQI BOMBINGS INCREASES

US UPS ANTE AGAINST IRANIAN REVOLUTIONARY GUARDS

IRAN ARRESTS CHINESE TOURISTS FOR SPYING

NYPD WARNS OF HOMEGROWN TERRORIST THREAT
    That last headline, near the bottom of the paper, stares at him.
    He wonders if this is some kind of terrorist attack. 9/11 on a global scale. Biological warfare to reap vengeance on the West for years of capitalistic crimes. He shakes his head. No . This is worldwide. At least, he thinks it’s worldwide. If it were terrorists, wouldn’t it be secluded to certain parts of the world they wanted to attack? But then again, how smart are terrorists? What if they did unleash this, not knowing its capability? He realizes he is grasping at straws, searching for answers that don’t exist.
    He drops the paper at his feet and continues on.

    Concourse B is above Concourse A, the highest level of the airport. The escalators, being dead, force him to take them manually. He stands at the crest of the decaying escalator and gazes out across the plaza. Several figures are hunched