New Alcatraz (Book 2): Golden Dawn

by Grant Pies

  A mirror hung on the wall near the main door of the apartment, and under the mirror was another small table where I washed my face and hands. I used a common bathroom in another part of the building to shave and shower. Because of this inconvenience I waited more than usual between shavings, but my beard still never grew very much. On the opposite end of my room was a door that led to the bowels underneath the apartment building. It was an area I had ventured into only a few times.

  This wasn’t the first place I ended up after I escaped from New Alcatraz, and it would not be the last. Movement kept me safe. Complacency was my enemy. I couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  In the time after New Alcatraz, I met many people who were eager to help me without knowing my history. We shared a common enemy and a sense of distrust in the government. One discussed only in person, and even then only whispered. They sheltered me, fed me, and clothed me. Maybe they knew I was hiding from one of the agencies, but they helped me anyway without asking too many questions. The government was losing its hold of the population.

  At first, the government gained true support. We thought it was doing good by limiting technology to only certain people or giving away our privacy. Of course it was never us they were after. It was always some fringe group that needed to be silenced or taken out. These fringe groups served as whatever boogeyman the government needed at the time to trick us into going along with whatever new law they sought to pass.

  These laws would never really be used against us, the government said. We had nothing to hide, if we weren’t doing anything wrong. Our privacy was handed over with the promise that it was all for good. For patriotism. For security. We needed to be protected from ourselves.

  The population asked for these restrictions. We practically begged for them. But eventually that feeling faded. Either our eagerness to give up our freedom waned, or maybe the government just took too much. By then, it was too late. We couldn’t undo what had been enacted, especially with an uncooperative government. Now people wanted to claw their rights back just as desperately as they wanted to give them away in the first place.

  The North American government, at best, simply abandoned most people, and, at worst, actively harmed them. Those that weren’t thrown in prison on any number of technology crimes lived in cramped quarters, their jobs lost to the latest technology invented by Wayfield, which was likely stolen from other tech firms by the government and handed over to Wayfield Industries. These days the only jobs available to a person are to work for Wayfield to build the very technology that just stripped away the last career they had, or to enlist in government service.

  Maybe one day I would repay some of the people that helped me. But for now I could only help other innocent people harmed by some governmental agency or Wayfield Industries.

  I lay in bed with one foot hanging off the side. My hand squeezed a rubber ball and threw it against the wall across from me. It bounced back; I caught it. The bouncing sound echoed through the compact room. I was isolated from the other tenants, encased in cement and asphalt, buried halfway underground.

  The rhythmic noise of the bouncing ball filled my apartment. Each time I caught the ball a short length of silence lingered before I threw the ball again, but one time, after the ball bounced back toward me, in that brief moment of silence, I heard a faint tapping on the door that led to the outside. I tilted my head and positioned my ear to wait for the sound. The tapping came again from outside, but slightly louder.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice whispered from the other side. The door handle rattled. “Is anyone in there?” The voice asked with a touch of hope that someone would answer her.

  I sat up and dropped the rubber ball on my bed. The woman pushed into the door and tried the handle again. The door was solid metal and the frame cement. There was no way a single person could knock the door in. If agents with the Time Anomaly Agency were outside, they would have blown the door by now. They don’t waste time lightly tapping. They don’t ask to come in.

  I reached under my bed and pulled out a pistol. It was payment from a client I helped. Unregistered and untraceable. The plastic frame and carbon fiber barrel were light, almost like a toy. The bulk of the weight rested in the fifteen hollow point bullets in the clip. One round already rested in the chamber.

  I pointed the gun at my door and slowly stood up, creeping forwards. The rattling from the other side grew louder and more frantic. Once I got up close I heard the woman breathing heavily on the other side.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, revealing that someone did in fact live here.

  “Please open the door,” the woman on the other side asked. “I don’t want any trouble; I just need help.” I had worked with so many different types of people over the last five years that I knew when a person was really in trouble and when they were faking it. Holding the gun in one hand, I reached the other towards the deadbolt. Disengaged the lock and turned the knob. The door opened only a crack.

  I backed away quickly and returned both hands to the gun. My elbows locked and the gun pointed straight at the doorway. My finger hovered over the trigger.

  A woman in her late twenties stood in the doorway. Her chest heaved up and down, sweat dripping through her short hair and down the back of her neck. She wore a thin hooded sweatshirt that was lightly soaked through with sweat. A small bag was slung around her body. She held her hands out to the side and faced her palms toward me. She didn’t seem shocked by the sight of my gun, or worried by the fact that it was pointed at her. I backed away further until I reached my bed. The woman’s eyes darted around the tiny living quarters. Even in her distress she managed to scrunch her face in confusion that someone actually lived here.

  “Who are you? Why are you here?” I asked her with the gun pointed at her chest.

  “My name is Vesa,” she said between gasps. Her lack of oxygen seemed more immediate than my gun pointed at her. “I just – breath – need a place to stay – breath – for a few hours. That’s all. I’m not looking for trouble,” she replied and slowly raised her hands to shoulder height.

  “It looks to me you’ve already exerted a lot of energy to put some distance between you and whatever trouble you aren’t looking for,” I said. Vesa nodded protectively gripping the bag hanging across her body. “What’s in the bag?” I tilted the gun slightly downward. “Is the trouble you’re running from Federal? Or private?” I had seen enough people who were in the various stages of fleeing the police or Federals. This woman was likely in the earliest stages of her flight. She didn’t answer right away. “I’m just trying to figure out who is likely behind you. I’m not looking to pick sides in a domestic dispute or some argument between you and a bookie. So is it the law you’re in trouble with or something else?”

  “Federal,” she answered. I backed away more and sat on the edge of my bed. I motioned with my gun toward the single chair on the other side of the room that I kept for clients. The woman exhaled and sat down. Her legs welcomed the seat. She looked up at the pull up bar on the ceiling and then at the bowl of room temperature water sitting by the mirror.

  “You live here?” she asked.

  “Lucky for you, I do,” I replied. The fugitive nodded in agreement. “You never answered my question. What’s in the bag you’re holding onto so tight?” She let go of the strap in an attempt to look like she didn’t care so much.

  “It’s just a chip. Processor chip,” she answered and looked at me. I still held the gun on her, but I rested it on my lap.

  “So then it’s the TDA that’s after you?”

  Vesa nodded, but only slightly.

  “They saw it in my bag at a security check in the subway. They tried to confiscate it, so I ran. I’m pretty sure I lost them, but I just need to stay here for a little until the search dies out.”

  I nodded my head both in agreement and in sympathy.

  “Powell,” I said and placed my free hand on my chest. “I would offer you something, but…” I motioned my hand aro
und the bare apartment. I sat my gun on the bed next to me, but still within reach. My new guest stared at the gun, but she didn’t seem too concerned.

  “It’s fine. I’m just glad you were here to let me in.”

  A silence lingered. I kept my eyes on her as she continued to look around like another room or more belongings would appear at any moment. Outside the narrow window just underneath the ceiling, street lamps and neon lights shone brightly. Every few seconds a pair of feet walked by. A pair of worn loafers walked by. Tattered pants fell well above the ankle. Homeless person no doubt. Hadn’t bought new shoes or pants in years. Car horns honked at the crowds that filled the streets. I peered out the window across from me, above Vesa’s head. A long string of tightly laced black boots stomped by the window in unison. The muffled rhythmic noise of marching leaked into the apartment.

  I stood up, grabbing the gun. Vesa jolted upright and turned to face the noise, her back to me. I gripped the gun tight in my hand. We stood there frozen, both hoping the men in boots would continue to another location. Our eyes tracked their progress as they rounded the apartment. Before the last boot disappeared from the slim window, another agent had already reached my front door.

  “Shit,” I mumbled to myself.

  We backed away and braced ourselves for the inevitable blast from the small charges the Technology Development Agency used to break down doors. I heard rustling outside the door. I reached under my bed, retrieving a small bag that contained one change of clothes, more ammo, cash, and an untraceable cell phone. I threw the bag over my shoulder and spun Vesa around to face me.

  “We have to go,” I told her. “They’re coming in. That door is solid, but not that solid.”

  The woman nodded in bewilderment. I turned and opened the back door that led underneath the building. Beyond the door was mostly darkness. A stairway led down to a series of tunnels that I had walked only a few times. I could not guarantee I could navigate them without getting lost, but our chances down there were better than staying in the apartment.

  “I can go,” Vesa told me. “Just pretend I wasn’t here. Or say I forced my way in. I’ll be fine. I can out run them. You aren’t a part of this. They’ll let you go.”

  I tugged on the backpack and stuffed the gun into the back of my pants.

  “No.” I shook my head. “They won’t.”

  I nodded toward the staircase and Vesa raced down without further questions, skipping several steps at a time. I reached into my bag until I felt a small round ball. It was a device an old client of mine invented; a round canister containing a concentrated prototype chemical invented, or more likely stolen, by Wayfield Industries. The chemical was a dispersant used in cleaning up oil spills. But the man who gave me this altered the chemical ever so slightly to attack the oil left behind in human fingerprints. I pressed the small button on the device and tossed it into the middle of the apartment. One second after the ball landed, a mist of chemicals ejected in all directions, landing on every surface I’d ever touched. There’d be no evidence that I, or anyone else, had been there.

  I took one last look at the small apartment before shutting the door and wedging a metal bar between the handle and the staircase hand rail.

  An explosion pounded in the little home behind me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I heard the loud stomping of boots flood in.

  Vesa looked at me for instructions. I nodded to her right and we fled down the tunnel, our feet landing in small puddles of water that trickled down the walls and dripped from the ceiling.

  At each fork in the tunnels, I motioned which direction I thought would lead to a way out. In the distance, a second loud explosion rang out as the agents blew the second door. Soon they would be right behind us.

  CHAPTER 5

  2075

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  Vesa stayed in front of me except for the times we reached an intersection of tunnels. We were both out of breath, but she never slowed down. The sound of the agents’ boots landing on the ground and splashing in the puddles echoed all around us. Our own feet slapped hard against the ground underneath. Round bulbs with metal cages over them were evenly spaced every few meters. Spray-painted lines and circles on the walls marked where utility lines ran inside the walls. After several turns I was less sure than ever about our direction. I likely couldn’t find my way back to my apartment even if it was safe to return.

  “Hang on. Slow down,” I told Vesa. “I need to get my bearings.” We both stopped and placed our hands on our knees. We tried to breathe quietly, but our panting bounced around the tunnels. In the distance, I heard the agents approaching, and I saw flashlights shine from various tunnels. The group had split up.

  “We need to get out of here,” she said. Her breathing had slowed down already. Mine hadn’t. “We need to get above ground. Blend into crowds. If they’re searching buildings, then they’ll be putting up road blocks. Searching subway terminals.”

  “This way,” I said and pointed down one of the many tunnels that branched off of the main tunnel. It was somewhat smaller than the main tunnel, and it curved gradually to the right. We jogged at a steady pace.

  In a small alcove carved into the tunnel wall, a bright stream of light shone into our faces. For a split second I could only see white. When my vision adjusted it revealed an agent pointing his gun at us. A tiny bright light was attached to the barrel.

  Both Vesa and I stopped running and turned to face the man. He wore all black, and his Kevlar vest had the letters ‘TDA’ branded across his chest. Without hesitation, and before the agent could react, I grabbed the barrel of the agent’s rifle and pushed it down and to my left making a fist with my free hand and driving it into his nose. His face was covered with a black ski mask, but I felt his nose collapse into his face. He let out a muffled grunt. While he was distracted, I wrapped my hands around the back of his head and threw it down toward my knee. It met his face with a crunch. Like a well-choreographed dance, Vesa jumped behind the man and tangled her forearm around his throat using her body weight to pull herself backwards. Her arm sunk into the man’s throat until he eventually grew limp and the white eyes behind the ski mask closed.

  The other agents’ footsteps grew louder, and around the corner multiple streams of light spilled down the tunnels. Vesa grabbed two grenades from the downed agent’s belt as well as a .40 caliber pistol. I pulled the rifle off his body, but quickly decided it would only cause a scene once we reached the surface. I found a flash bang hanging from the man’s belt and grabbed it instead. While Vesa ran in the opposite direction I pulled the pin from the flash bang and hurled it toward the growing flashlight beams. It bounced and rattled until it faded into the darkness.

  A piercing bang filled the tunnels followed by a high pitched ringing in my ears. A thick smoke cloud puffed out toward the walls and ceiling, a burning sulfur smell filling the air. I picked the agent’s rifle up and fired a stream of bullets indiscriminately toward the smoke cloud. The projectiles bounced and ricocheted around the tunnel. I threw the rifle to the ground and ran after Vesa.

  We reached a dead end with a metal ladder stretching up towards a manhole cover. I leapt up the ladder, reached the top, and pressed my back into the metal cover. It lifted slowly, and the hard metal pushed back into my spine. Years of undisturbed dirt and rust sprinkled down on both of us. Once the cover was lifted enough, I reached my hands outside and pushed it to the side. I popped my head out and looked around. We were in a vacant alley with mounds of garbage piled nearby. In front of me was a chain link fence, and beyond that were the crowded city streets.

  I jumped out and reached my hand down to help Vesa. She grabbed my arm and climbed out, the beams from the agents’ lights growing brighter and larger. The flash bang didn’t slow them down as much as I had hoped.

  “Man down!” one of the agents screamed.

  One agent had reached the ladder and was looking up at me. His eyes peeked out from the holes of his ski mask. Vesa pulled on my should
er and moved me out of the way as she yanked the pin from one of the stolen grenades and dropped it down into the tunnel. It landed just at the agent’s feet below. I pushed the manhole cover back over the opening just as another loud bang shook through the tunnels and ripped the agent into pieces.

  We scaled the fence and slipped into the crowded street. Steam wafted up from sewer openings. Traffic lights flashed, crosswalk signals blinked, and the neon signs from the bars, pharmacies, and whore houses flickered in the dark night air. Vesa pulled her hood over her head and tucked her hands in her pockets. Walking side by side, we weaved through the thick crowd of people, unnoticed by more agents running down the sidewalk in the direction of my old apartment.

  Maybe this was a good thing. Movement is how I had survived before. Now I was on the move again.

  CHAPTER 6

  5255

  NEW ALCATRAZ

  “You see, it wasn’t always this way,” the old man told the two young boys. “The world wasn’t always this empty.”

  They huddled around a fireplace inside the makeshift hut. Walls of mud, hay and wood splinters; a floor of compacted dirt and stone. The orange fire cast leaping shadows around the small room and revealed wooden furniture and rugs made from animal furs. A single light bulb sat on the floor flickering rapidly, though no wires were connected to it.

  “Long ago,” the old man continued, “there were large structures that housed thousands of people. They reached high up into the sky. So high that the wind pushed their homes around, and the clouds surrounded them.” The man reached his spindly hands up in the air and looked toward the ceiling. The two boys followed his gaze, and they all three pictured the towering sky scrapers. “Some buildings were so tall that they had markets scattered on different levels where people bought food, water, and clothing without ever having to go outside. The buildings had their own power sources. Each one was like a miniature village contained in glass. But they also dug deep into the earth.” The man lowered his head and stared through the floor, and the boys’ eyes dropped as well.