We open the elevator doors & no one’s there.  It’s just a gray cinderblock room with two hallways going out & not nearly the Boy & His Dog Americana nostalgia nausea I half expected.
    “Steve, which way do you want to try?”
    “The right seems fine,” he says motioning with the shotgun he switched to on the elevator ride.
    “Let’s go.”
    After about a hundred yards there start being double wide steel doors on alternating sides of the hall every twenty feet.  They’re all locked.  After about twenty doors the hallway ends.
    The last door on the left feels cold to the touch.  I try my prybar to open it, but it just bends the lip of the second door’s frame.  Whoever designed this place wasn’t too worried about security because the hinges are on the outside of the doors.  We take the pins out of the hinges & pull the doors off & there’s a rush of cold air.
    Steve flips a light switch & I see his face turning pale before I see why.  The room’s a meat locker.  About half the hooks are used & hanging on them by bound hands with bound feet are people.  None of them look like they were dead when they were put in here.  None of them have any signs of rotting or obvious fatal wounds, just some bruises.  “Christ.”
    “I don’t see any kids’ bodies,” Steve says.
    “Yeah, let’s just try the other hallway, I don’t want to think about this.”

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