by David Clark
With 0:13 left on the clock, they emerged out of the maze and just stood there as a mass of damaged humanity. Two less than they entered with. Each suffering from the emotional stress and strain of the loss. Each not the same person that had entered the maze, only three minutes before.
11
The handlers wasted no time encircling them, and routed them out a door and into a dark corridor. Robert felt his fists clinch, and the urge to lash out. Not for him, but for Michelle, Mary, Bob, and what was happening to Amy. Just one swing at the closest handler. To feel a face distort at the impact. Robert knew it wouldn’t fix anything, but would feel so good. The point of pain he still felt in the small of his back was the only deterrent. He would be no good to Amy face down on the floor again.
The door closed behind them and the only sounds they heard were the footsteps of the four of them, and the dozen or more handlers escorting them. A light shone at them from the end of the corridor. When they emerged through the door at the end, they were back in the same room again, but something was different. Very different.
Marjorie was there already. She looked frazzled as she ordered members of the crew around like a queen dispatching the bees in the hive out to work. Individuals in dark clothing ran in all directions. When she saw them merge, she sprinted over to one handler and whispered in his ear. All Robert heard of the conversation was the reply from the handler. “Really?” To which, Marjorie only nodded her head.
The handler turned to the others and said, “Line them up.”
Robert felt hands on his back, instantly, pushing him back toward his spot on the board. He watched Jill lean back against the board, waiting to be tied again. Her handlers grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back up to her feet. Two handlers quickly wheeled the board away, leaving the four with more questions than answers. As soon as the board disappeared through a side door, four wheelchairs appeared.
They wheeled each chair up behind them. Marjorie walked over and said, “Sit”. Like beaten dogs, no one objected. Handlers then strapped their hands to the armrests, and ankles to the leg posts. Before they could lock down Doug’s right arm, he slipped it from his handler’s grip and landed an upper cut, right under his chin. The force knocked him back, flipping the black hat off and onto the floor. Without retrieving the hat, the handler returned the favor with a right, and then added a left in for good measure. Blood gushed from Doug’s nose with the second blow. Marjorie took notice and rushed over. She shouted something in another language at the handler. He simply bowed. She delivered her own open-handed shot at the handler’s face before he could pull his head up from the bow.
“Someone clean him up!” she screamed as she left the scene. Robert noticed that the smugness Marjorie had exhibited earlier had disappeared. Two of the production staff rushed over with towels and provided aid to Doug. It took a few minutes until the bleeding stopped. Doug was still reeling from the attack, and didn’t put up a fight as the production crew secured his remaining free hand.
Marjorie disappeared for a few moments, leaving them to sit amid the surrounding chaos. When she reappeared, she looked around, put both hands on her hips, and screamed, again, in a language that was foreign to Robert. A few of the production assistants stopped and looked at her. She barked again, and a few provided their own protest. A protest she was not interested in hearing. A stomp of her foot, and a point in the SanSquad’s direction, preceded a verbal storm unlike anything Robert had ever heard. It was still in another language, but the tenor and velocity of the delivery told him all he needed to know. He even thought he saw fear in a few on the receiving end.
A few froze, but others rushed off. They returned carrying bottles. They stopped in front of Marjorie, who disapproved again, and directed them with her hands. They approached the SanSquad and attempted to present the bottles to their lips.
Jill screamed out, “I am not drinking your poison.”
“It’s not poison. It is a sports drink to keep you hydrated. Drink it or not. It is your choice. You will be sitting there a while.”
Doug took a sip and then drank more. He then said, “We are going to die, anyway. This might be an easier way to go.”
Amy and Robert both resisted the attempts to get them to drink. The crew looked back for instruction. Marjorie’s disappointment was on display for all to see. She pointed and two of the handlers grabbed both Robert and Amy’s faces. They squeezed the bottom of their jaws, forcing their mouths open. The crew members poured the fluid in to their open mouths. Amy started to cough and gag.
“Stop!” Marjorie screamed. “Jesus, we are trying to help them, not drown them.”
She walked away, mumbling, leaving her staff confused.
Several minutes lapsed, with more people scurrying around, until the room began to settle down. The four were left strapped to wheelchairs in the center of the room when all but the lights above them, and the single spot in the center of the room, turned off. Marjorie walked into the center spot, now looking more put together and refreshed.
She held out her cell phone and posed, while a single figure emerged in the window of the control room. His hand counted down from five. When it hit one, Marjorie paused for a beat and then broke her pose.
“I want to apologize for our little interruption. I hope you enjoyed watching the highlights of episode 23, one of my favorites. We have a surprise for everyone. Christopher called us and he will be here tomorrow, in the flesh. Oh, yes. So, for the moment, we are going to pause our little game for 24 hours and resume once he is here. Ta ta, for now.”
The lights exploded on and Marjorie walked over to her seated guests. “You guys are lucky he called. You are going to sit here until he arrives. Once he shows, I will let you go.”
Before any of them could say anything, the handlers put black hoods over their heads from behind, throwing all four into darkness. A few clicks and slams later, Robert assumed they’d turned all the lights off, and they were left alone in the room.
“See, Jill?” Doug whispered.
“What?”
“I knew he would call and stop it. I bet he called as soon as he found out.”
“Whatever. Three of us died because of him.”
That was the last sound for quite a while, outside of the constant hum and distant rattle of the air conditioner.
Doug finally said, “Sorry, guys.”
Robert asked, “What are you taking about?”
There was no reply, just the sound of a liquid splashing on the ground.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I guess that really was just a sports drink. I kind of wish I’d drank a little more.”
Robert wished he had drunk some of it. He’d resisted it and was feeling both parched and hungry. His stomach made noises he knew the others heard. His thoughts drifted to his wife, sitting next to him. He hadn’t heard her make any sounds.
“Amy, you awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Doing ok?”
“Yeah.”
“I am going to get you out of this. I promise.”
Doug interrupted, “We are all getting out of this.”
Amy didn’t respond. In fact, no one did. Robert knew he and Doug were just trying to give everyone hope. He didn’t know if they could trust Marjorie, and hadn’t really put any stock in her statement. He was about to say something else, when there was a distant click. Four flinches followed, as each person heard the same click.
Robert listened for any other sounds, but heard nothing. He started to doubt whether anyone had entered the room. Maybe it was just the air conditioner, or something else mechanical in the room. The sound of the light thud of a shoe on the floor behind him dismissed that thought. Someone was there, behind them.
A hand grabbed his arm, he jumped. It fumbled with the strap for a second, and then Robert felt it fall free from his left arm.
“Shhhh… Are you guys ready to go home?” whispered a familiar English accent.
12
&n
bsp; “Stay still until I get each of you unstrapped,” he said as he moved to free Amy.
Robert sat quietly while Christopher went to work freeing the others. He wiggled his arms and legs slightly, to get the blood flowing through them again. A tingle pulsed through them as he stretched them for the first time in several hours. There was some rustling to his side. The hood was yanked from his head. Even in the dark room around them, he could seem Amy, Jill, Doug, and Christopher hunched around him.
“Let’s go, but be quiet.”
Robert inched out of his chair and joined the group as they crept toward the back door, his hand on Amy’s back. Hers on Doug. Doug’s on Jill. Jill’s on Christopher. They moved as a single unit across the floor to the wall. They slid along the wall as Christopher searched for the door he came in through.
Once he found it. He turned to the others, “Cover your eyes.”
Each did as he said, but Robert positioned his hand so he could see a little under it. Christopher cracked the door open and an explosion of light flooded in through the opening, blinding Robert for a moment. His eyes watered as he staggered behind the others through the doorway.
Finally in the light, he could see Christopher, dressed all in black. He wore some kind of armored vest, with two knives strapped to it. His hand kept a handgun pointed forward at all times. Eyes scanned the hallway.
Amy embraced Robert.
“We aren’t out of the woods, yet,” reminded Christopher. The look on his face was worrisome and tortured.
He led them down the hallway. They rounded a corner and almost collided with another individual dressed all in black, lying on the floor. They scooted around him and rushed toward a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Christopher motioned with his hand for all of them to get down as they approached the door. Cautiously, he stood and looked through one of the windows in the door. After a quick glance, he spun rapidly to the side and hugged the wall. There was a look of concern on his face.
Another look, and another quick retreat.
Doug mouthed, “What is it?”
Christopher just shook his head and returned his attention to the windows.
A third look, and the same retreat.
This time, he motioned for Doug to come toward the door. Christopher slid down the wall to meet him, below eye shot of the window. The two talked for a few minutes in each other’s ears. Christopher reached inside his vest and produced a second handgun and handed it to Doug. He quickly flicked off the safety with his thumb and raised it to chest height as he moved to the other door.
Christopher counted down silently. On three, both of them popped up and looked out the windows, in opposing directions, before they dropped to the floor a few seconds later. They used hand signals to communicate with each other. It impressed Robert, the ease and expertise each of them did this with. There were no missed moves. No missed communications. Each message was succinct.
Doug held up 2 fingers and then slid his hand forward. Then he dropped both fingers and held up one, but didn’t move anything else. Christopher pointed straight out through the door, and Doug nodded in the affirmative. Christopher pointed behind him, in the opposite direction, and Doug made a zero with his fingers.
Christopher held up three fingers and then dropped them. Two more replaced them, but this time he moved his hand away from them. Then he pointed away from him. Doug nodded again, in agreement.
Christopher moved to Robert, Amy, and Jill and gathered them as close to each other as he could. “There are guards out there. They were not there when I came in. Doug and I will go create a distraction. I need you to follow Doug out the door, and keep moving. I mean it, keep moving. Do not stop or hesitate. I will be right behind you. Ok?”
All three looked at him with a blank stare and he reiterated, “Follow Doug,” before he returned to the door.
Another countdown and both Doug and Christopher took another quick look through the windows. This time there were no hand signals. Just a smile and a connection of the eyes that unified them into a single fighting force.
What happened next was all a blur of humanity and sounds to Robert. Doug and Christopher sprang through the doors, simultaneously. Each dispensing their targets before taking more than two steps out. Doug made a beeline to the left. Robert grabbed Amy and Jill and ran after him, stopping behind a row of crates that provided some cover from the hail of bullets that cracked against the concrete wall in front of them and the ceiling above.
To their left were the doors they’d just escaped through. On the right, was a ramp that led up and out of the underground loading dock they found themselves in. The ramp curved as it rose up and back out to street level. A hint of light shining on the ramp gave each member of the group a brief glimpse of freedom. A freedom separated from them by a constant shower of bullets that impacted the concrete around them, and occasionally sparked against one of the cars parked at the bottom of the ramp.
Doug jumped out from behind the crates and let off four shots before he spun back, beating the wall of lead aimed in his direction. A single slug grazed his right shoulder as he turned, causing him to flinch and grab the singed flesh. Christopher ran and slammed into the wall in front of them at full-speed, then took his place with his friends behind the crate. He pulled two clips out of his vest and passed one up to Doug.
He yelled over the dozens of mini-explosions going off around them, “Ok, we are going to give some cover fire, and then all move as a group, up the ramp and out of here. Stay as close to the wall as possible. The curve in it will provide some cover. Ready?”
No one waited for a reply this time. Doug and Christopher opened fire with a flurry of shots. Doug reloaded and then emptied half of the new clip, while motioning with his free hand for the others to run.
Robert, Jill, and Amy took off up the ramp with Doug and Christopher behind them, returning fire at their pursuers. The group stayed close to the wall and just as Christopher said, the gentle curve provided cover, aiding their getaway. The increasing glow of light caused each of them to pick up their pace. Robert felt his lungs burning, and his heart pounding in his ears, but nothing would make him stop running. Freedom awaited them just around the next curve. The opening was within sight and they all took off, sprinting the last remaining feet.
The sight that greeted them at the top froze them in their tracks and chased the hope they’d felt from their minds. Marjorie stood at the top of the ramp, with a line of handlers holding automatic weapons pointed at the approaching group. Robert yanked Amy close him and turned to shield her from the volley of bullets he expected to arrive.
Instead, there were no shots fired.
Marjorie ordered, “Lay down your guns and your friends will live.”
Both Christopher and Doug slowly and deliberately lay their guns down on the ground.
“Back away.”
They did so, holding their hands up the whole time to show they were no longer a threat.
The line of handlers descended on the group, using zip ties to secure their hands. Amy wept as they placed a black hood back over her head again.
Before they placed the hood over Robert’s, he saw Marjorie walk over to Christopher and say, “Welcome, Christopher. I have been expecting you.”
Hooded, the handlers led them back down the ramp, through the hallway, and back to the familiar chairs. The handlers strapped them in, then left, once again in quiet darkness.
13
Hours went by and they were left sitting there in the dark. Each stayed quiet, not knowing if they were alone or not. The sounds of people coming in and out of the doors echoed in the room, but no one approached them. The adrenaline rush from the escape had long since drained from each of their bodies and they were now entering a state where their bodies wanted to shut down and recuperate, but their mind said absolutely not. The internal battle ensued in Robert until he felt one side win and his head dropped forward as he drifted out of consciousness.
His trip only last
ed a few moments. The lights above them flared on and the familiar clicking of Marjorie’s high heels entered the room. To Robert it sounded as though she entered from the side and stopped in the center. He could imagine her sitting there, posed, waiting for the spotlight to hit her as she flips the switch and becomes the ever cheerful and engaging mistress of ceremonies. His imagination was partially right.
She barked an order and the loud footsteps of the handlers approached the group. Robert mentally prepared himself to be unstrapped and forced into some competition, but the handler never reached him. Instead, he heard an occasional squeak move from his right and to the center of the floor.
“Welcome back, everyone. Look who has joined us. Christopher!”
Marjorie showed him off to the adoring camera like a trophy.
“He decided to come join us. How nice. How nice,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Seems you caused a little bit of a ruckus when you arrived, but not to fear, we know how to deal with that.”
At that moment there was a great wallop, followed by the sound of someone falling to the floor. Several seconds later the sound of several meaty kicks produced loud exhales, as they forced the air out of Christopher’s body.
Robert felt his muscles tense up. Without seeing it, he knew what was happening to his friend, but he was strapped down, unable to help.
There were several loud thumps, followed by another collapse onto the floor.
“Sit him up!” she barked before saying, “Again.”
The beating continued, with Christopher now sitting back up in his chair. Each impact sounding more muffled than the other. The entire time Christopher never begged for it to stop, or uttered a voluntary sound. There was a pause, and that angered Marjorie. “Why’d you stop?”
There was no reply, and she signaled for another handler to come over and resume Christopher’s welcome. This handler was more vicious, with blow after blow, in rapid succession. At the speed of the impacts, Christopher’s head didn’t complete its move to one side before the next blow sent it careening back. Robert couldn’t imagine he was still conscious through this. Not that Marjorie would have stopped, if he wasn’t.
