by J B Cantwell
She stood dumbstruck before me. I took her hand, the one holding the knife, and lifted it up to the side of my head.
“I don’t have to do you if you don’t want, but you have to do me. I’m getting out of this place. You can come or stay. But you have to get my chip out. Now.”
I held her hand up and forced the knife into my scalp. She gasped, and I felt the blood running down the side of my face.
“I’ve done this before,” I said through gritted teeth. “You have to dig. Come on. It won’t take long.”
Finally, I seemed to get through to her, and the look on her face changed from fear to determination.
“Okay,” she said. “How deep is it?”
“Not too bad. Just cut around in a little circle. You’ll get it.”
I couldn’t tell if it was the fact that I’d had this done before, or that I was already injured in the same area, but the pain was nearly bearable.
As she got closer, the blood flowed.
“I see it,” she said.
“Good. Just wiggle it free and then pop it out.”
I knew this would be the worst part, and I braced myself.
Finally, as she got hold of the tiny chip, I cried out.
She didn’t stop.
And then, with one last rip, it was out.
I held my hand up to the wound and tried not to cry. There wasn’t time for that. I felt the blood running through my fingers.
“I need something,” I said. “Get me a towel or something.”
She looked around and found the sink. Next to it was a stack of hand towels. She retrieved one and held it up to my head.”
“Now me,” she said.
Somehow, I had gotten through to her, this little frightened girl from the kitchens.
I pressed the towel harder to my scalp for a moment, but I couldn’t stay there forever. She handed me the knife, and I let the towel fall to the floor.
“This is going to hurt,” I warned.
She nodded.
I put the point of the knife up to her scalp.
“Try not to scream,” I said. “It’s too quiet now. You understand?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“I’m happy to have met you, Melanie.”
“Likewise,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Eleven
She was silent as we ran, just as she had been when I’d cut the chip out of her head. Blood ran down her face, only she didn’t bother to hold up a rag to her wound.
The crowd that had been running out of the factory was nearly gone, leaving nothing behind but a trail of bloodied bodies.
Somewhere up ahead I heard the sound of automatic gunfire.
“We can’t go this way,” I said, slowing down.
I looked around, desperate. Then I had an idea.
“Come on. We have to go back.”
She didn’t object. I dropped her hand and we both ran flat out back to the shoveling station, she just one step behind me.
A scene of carnage awaited us, and I stopped, searching around for the man I knew lay in a crumpled heap among the bodies. Wilson.
But he was gone.
Then I heard it, a faint gurgling sound. I looked up, and twenty feet away, Wilson was sitting up against the door to the airlock. He had his keycard in his hand, and blood was smeared from the entry pad in a trail along the wall down to where he sat.
His head swayed, eyes closed, his mouth a mass of flesh.
So he wasn’t dead. Not yet.
I walked up to him, cautious at first, but when I saw he wasn’t looking up at us yet, wasn’t aware of our presence, I sped up until I was standing before him.
The holsters on his belt were empty. No gun. No knife. No taser. His only defense was this card, his way into the relative safety of the airlock.
I leaned over and took it from him. Only then did he look up. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Maybe he even thought he was speaking.
“Come on, help me,” I said to Melanie as I grabbed one of his arms.
He looked up into my eyes in a way that reminded me of a small child, hopeful for rescue. Even by me, someone he hated so much.
But then, he hated everyone. Didn’t he?
Melanie took his other arm, and together we dragged him away from the door until he was lying in a bloody mess on the concrete.
I didn’t know what to do. Part of me thought I should shoot him, put him out of his misery.
He would be dead soon enough, though.
So I left him there on the floor and ran for the keypad. The keycard beeped and the door into the airlock opened automatically. It gave a slight sucking sound as I pulled on the handle, and a moment later we were inside.
I slammed the door behind us and turned, staring down the long hallway.
What now?
We couldn’t stop.
I took a few tentative steps, then broke into a jog.
“We just need to keep heading in one direction,” I whispered. “If we turn left or right, we need to make sure we end up going straight again. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” she panted.
We came to the first hallway junction. To the left was the interrogation room Wilson had brought me into that first day. But that was all. It was a dead end. We went right.
We slowed, listening. Footsteps. Hurried. And the cocking of a pair of assault rifles.
We screeched to a halt and then backed up several steps. I held my forefinger to my lips, and with surprising stealth we made our way into the interrogation room.
I didn’t turn on a light. I didn’t close the door. I just sat with my back to the wall, hoping that in the darkness we wouldn’t give ourselves away. Hoping that in the dimly lit corridor the thin trail of blood droplets marking our trail would go unnoticed.
The guards turned in the hall and went to the door we had just come through, opening it and stepping out onto the factory floor.
I thought about Wilson, then. Maybe we should have killed him.
It was too late now, though. He had been unable to speak when we’d left him. I would have to hope that he was also unable to point, because surely he would send the guards back through in search of us if he did.
I stood up slowly, listening, but though the alarm lights were still blazing, the hallway remained quiet.
Melanie followed me out the door, and together we ran as quietly as we could. I tried to keep track of which hallways we had already been down. The doors were each numbered, which might’ve made things easier, but in the end served only to confuse me.
“It’s this way,” Melanie whispered after I stopped yet again.
I nodded, happy to have a second opinion. “Lead the way.”
And she was right, because five minutes later we were faced with a doorway we hadn’t seen before, this one with a small window. We ducked, cautious, then I peeked over the edge.
The hallway beyond was twice the width of the one we were in, and brightly lit. It would be a risk, but it seemed we had no other choice. We opened the door and made a run for it. At the end, two double doors stood, each with a sign that read, “Alarm will sound.”
I paused, and she did, too.
“What do you say?” she asked. “Go for it?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” She turned and put her hands on one of the doors. “Hey,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. “If we don’t make it …” I couldn’t seem to finish the thought.
She didn’t smile, just simply said, “We will make it.” And she pushed open the door.
Alarms instantly came to life, and a new round of flashing lights lit up the hallway as we stepped out into the sun.
I put my arm up over my eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness outside. When I looked around, I immediately fell to a crouching position.
To our left and a thousand yards down, streams of people were still escaping the factory, their attempts punctuated by gunfire. Several went down, and several more made
it out of range, through the outer gates of the compound.
“We can’t go that way,” I said, looking around in the other direction. Three gas-powered army vehicles were parked behind us in a line. My heart leapt.
“Have you ever driven a truck before?” she asked, looking concerned.
“Yes. Though I can’t say I’m much good at it.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present,” she said.
“I agree,” I said, standing up. “Can’t be that hard, right?”
She got to her feet, crouching as she ran for not the first, but the second truck. We could hide behind the first.
I was starting to wonder how she’d ended up in a kitchen versus a battlefield. She had good instincts. While I found myself wishing she’d been on my team back up in Edmonton, I reminded myself that she was with me now. And now was what counted.
I opened the driver’s side door to the truck and climbed inside. I searched around. Keys. Somewhere in here there had to be keys. There were compartments everywhere, and I searched each one, coming up empty. Melanie climbed in and reached across me, flipping down the sun visor. A set of keys fell into my lap.
Yup. Smarter than I was, too.
I stared at them for a moment. There were two. I felt around on my right side for the ignition, then shoved one of the keys into it. I couldn’t twist it. It had to be the wrong one. It stuck in the slot, and for a moment I thought it might break off. But I jiggled it free and tried the second.
The motor roared to life. I stared, my eyes wide, then looked at Melanie. She was turning in her seat, grabbing for the seatbelt I felt sure nobody ever used. I followed suit. Then I sat there, clueless.
“Try that one,” she said, pointing at the transmission handle. Several letters were listed, and I pulled down the handle until it rested in a slot.
N
Nothing. The truck stood still, rolling ever so slightly forward. I slammed my foot down, but I didn’t know which pedal did what. Without knowing, I hit the gas. The engine revved, but the truck didn’t go anywhere.
I looked down toward my feet, then pressed the other pedal, and the truck stopped with a screech.
“Um, Riley …”
“I know, I know. Just give me a minute.”
“No, Riley look.”
She pointed beyond my window, and I saw them coming. They must’ve heard the truck when I’d turned over the ignition.
One of the men stopped, calling to the others, and took aim at my window. I cringed, waiting for the blow, but his bullets bounced right off the glass.
“It’s bulletproof,” I said more to myself than to her.
“Come on!” she insisted.
“What?” I asked, confused for a moment. Something about seeing a man pointing a rifle at my head had distracted me from our task. Then, “Oh!”
I tried the transmission stick again, this time locking it on D. The truck lurched forward as I hit the gas, again by accident.
I was suddenly very grateful we both had seatbelts on. This rig was huge compared to the truck I’d driven back in Edmonton.
“You ready?” I shouted over the continued gunfire.
She had her hands gripping tightly to the armrests of her seat.
“Just go!”
I hit the gas again, this time pushing the pedal all the way to the floor. Our backs pressed against our seats as the truck flew forward. I tried the steering wheel, but we were already going too fast, and the truck leaned heavily toward one side. I hit the brakes again.
Stop. Go. Stop. Go.
Ping, ping, ping, went the bullets as they ricocheted off the armor of the truck.
Gradually, I started to get the hang of it, which was good because our only exit out of this place waited up ahead, and it would be only moments before we were there.
I heard the muffled yelling of armed men as we got closer to the gate. I had to slow down to keep from hitting them, but there were fewer people left escaping now. Bodies, both alive and dead, lay scattered on the ground.
But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t save everyone, or anyone, even. This whole thing had gotten out of control, and so quickly. I wondered if I ever would’ve been able to have it under control. I told myself that no, it would have been impossible.
Two, just two, armed guards waited at the gate and took aim at us. But the truck was enormous compared to them, and they jumped out of the way as we barreled through the barrier.
And suddenly, we were free.
Suddenly, we were smiling.
Melanie gave a, “Whoop!” and for a moment we were so busy congratulating ourselves that we didn’t see them.
The factory was situated with several small outbuildings surrounding it. It was here that the men and women came out of the woodwork. Some were injured, some were just shellshocked. All held out their hands to us.
Stop.
Please.
I couldn’t save everybody.
But I couldn’t leave them, either.
I picked a building at random and turned behind it.
Three people were hiding, their hands pressed back against the building as they struggled to catch their breath. We were temporarily safe from gunfire here, and Melanie rolled down her window.
“Get in! Quick!”
One of the people, a man I didn’t recognize, wrenched open the back side door and helped the two others in. One, a young woman, was clutching one hand to her side, her shirt and hand bloody. I cursed under my breath. We wouldn’t be able to help her, not this time, and she would drag us all down as we fled. We were bound to run out of gas eventually, or maybe would have to flee on foot. And what would she do then?
Suddenly, I saw something in me that I didn’t expect to see.
Hadn’t we been trained this way? To leave behind the dying? Or even just the injured?
It was disgusting, my though of leaving her behind.
It’ll be okay. Just get as many as you can.
Together we swerved in and out of the streets, loading up as many people as we could. I even stopped for a guard, stripped down of his weapons and running flat out just like everybody else.
It was just as I’d suspected. Not everyone held a job as a guard by choice.
In the end, there were nearly twenty of us piled into the military truck, and I realized that all of us were injured in one way or another. Some people bled, others just stared.
I drove.
We couldn’t stay on the road forever, though. It wouldn’t be long before the military would send reinforcements. I looked up at the sky, half expecting to see jets flying through the air, searching for our one, lone truck.
But nobody came.
We found our way out onto the main road, which was all but deserted. Four lanes in each direction, and only an occasional abandoned car greeted us. Far in the distance, the skyline of New York City cut across the gray sky.
I wondered what life had been like back in the twenties, or even the forties. Were these roads filled with vehicles, even after oil reserves had started to run dry?
Below the road, miles of housing developments spread out like a growth over the land. People had lived here once. I wondered what was left in those houses, if there were people, or maybe supplies, inside. The water had reclaimed much of the area, but there were still some dry spots where the sea hadn’t reached. And there wasn’t a storm in sight. We would be safe there. For now.
We lasted for half an hour before we ran out of gas. I let the truck roll down an exit off the freeway and pulled it to a stop underneath the overpass.
“Well, I think this is it,” I said, looking around at everybody. It was deadly quiet but for the labored breathing of a handful of injured workers.
I wondered what had happened to Eric. Had he stayed there, sitting on the cold concrete floor of his cell? Or had he found the bravery he needed to try to escape? And what about Jeff? Had he made it out, too?
These people with me now were brave, every last one of them, even i
f they had fear etched into the cracks of their faces.
I knew this because I was scared, too.
Melanie unlocked her seatbelt and turned around in her seat.
“Okay,” she said. “Anyone who wants to flee with us is welcome to, but you’ll need to give up your chips. She pointed to her head where the blood had now clotted over the open wound in her scalp. “I’m not going to pretend it didn’t hurt.”
Then, she reached into her pants, and from a pocket in the side, pulled out the small knife that we’d used back in the kitchens.
“Now’s the time. Who’s first?”
People stared at her, some incredulous, some resigned.
“They can track us,” one woman said. “We can’t keep them in.” She swallowed, then nodded. “I’ll go.”
One by one, every last passenger agreed, and there by the side of the road, Melanie became our surgeon.
When it was done, when every last one of us was free and a puddle of blood pooled on the concrete, I spoke up.
“We can still make it,” I said. “We’ve made it this far. If we’re lucky, we can find some people to help us. It’ll be hard, though. People are scared. We’ll be in constant danger without designations. We’ll have to hide, all of us, until this is over.”
“Until what’s over?”
I recognized the man. He had been working with the shoveling crew that morning.
“Until we escape. Or die. Or defeat this system. There used to be a group of people, they lived outside the wall in Manhattan in buildings called the Stilts. I met those people, and together we planned to take down the lens system. At least until the military sent in their fighter jets.”
“I heard about that,” another man said. “I don’t want to go down like that.”
“And that’s okay,” I said. “If you can make it to Canada, you can get asylum there. We …”
No, there’s no Alex here. No “we.”
“I … met someone there who told us his story. It’s possible. And there’s forest between the States and Quebec. If you decide to, you can live there, set up camp. Figure out what your next steps will be.”
I stopped talking, then, and took a deep breath “Or,” I glanced at Melanie, her arms covered in the blood of everyone who stood before us. “Or, you can come with us.” I nodded at her, and she nodded back at me. “And we can try again, we can take the place of all those men and women … and children … whose lives were lost trying to take down our system of government. The first thing we need to do is to shut down the lens system. Everything else will follow from there.”
