by Grant Pies
Marshall released Ransom’s hair with one last violent tug. He continued to lean forward with his hands on his knees. The blue gem of his necklace shone in the middle of the dark room. Ransom imagined that Marshall once stood in the same position as Baker, hiding behind his father, who had hidden behind his own father at one point. All of them belittled and abused until it was their turn to belittle and abuse. None of them self-aware enough to stop the cycle. He imagined his father being murdered and eaten. His belongings distributed among the remaining vault dwellers. Passed on through different generations.
“Who knows, maybe we won’t wait for your friends and family to come to us. Maybe we’ll go out looking for them. Maybe a child would taste different than a beat-up grown man,” Marshall said, grinning again.
Ransom gripped the sharpened bone and lunged forward until the top of his head made contact with Marshall’s face.
Before any of the others could react, Ransom spun the old man around and wrapped his hands around his body, holding him between the other captors and the three of them. He pulled Marshall’s face to the left, exposing his neck, and plunged the sharp bone deep into his throat.
CHAPTER 48
5280
NEW ALCATRAZ
“Stay the fuck back!” Ransom shouted. The small bone fragment was buried in Marshall’s throat, and Ransom had to concentrate not to let the short object slip all the way into Marshall’s body. Blood leaked out around the puncture wound. “If either of you sick fucks take one step in my direction, I’ll pull this out of his throat! Then you can watch him bleed to death.”
The old man struggled to stay on his feet. Ransom didn’t know if the wound was enough to bleed Marshall out, but he knew no one wanted to risk him dying. Ransom held Marshall’s body up, straining not to slip on the wet floor.
Ash circled around Ransom, but still kept Marshall’s body between him and the other vault dwellers. Merit moved back deeper into the cell, placing as much space between himself and everyone else.
“I’m doing what I came here to do,” Ransom said. “I am getting medicine, and I am leaving this place. I didn’t come looking for you guys. I didn’t come looking for a new home. I didn’t come for a war. But I swear if any of you gets in my way, I’ll show you just how violent human nature can be.” He turned the short piece of bone inside Marshall’s neck. Marshall winced, and Baker held his hands out pleadingly.
“Okay, okay,” Baker said. “Just don’t pull it out.” Baker lifted his gun over his head and laid it on the ground. He looked back at Archer and the other guard, who followed Baker’s silent order to disarm. Ransom motioned to Ash and Merit to pick up the guns on the ground. Both men timidly reached for the weapons, and held them awkwardly in their hands.
“Let’s go,” Ransom said, and flung Marshall down on the bloody floor. For the first time since he had seen Marshall, Ransom thought he looked like an old man. Until now, Marshall appeared strong and powerful. Now his mouth hung open, and he reached his hands up to the wound in his neck. His son rushed to his side, wrapping his hands around his father’s hands, both holding onto Marshall to keep the precious fluids from escaping his body. Archer and the other man stood there with nothing to offer. Merit and Ash left the room. Ransom pushed his way around the men like he was making his way through a crowd. No one stopped them. No one even tried. Baker glared back at Ransom, blood spilling around his hands.
Once outside the blood-soaked room, Ransom looked at the ground. He followed the blue line down the hall. His pace was swift, but he didn’t run. He knew Baker had to make a choice of either coming after him or saving his father.
The hall was painted with a tangle of colored lines. The black line darted in from some other hall and twisted around the blue line. Ransom took off into the darkness of Buckley Air Force Base.
CHAPTER 49
2075
GRAY MOUNTAIN, ARIZONA
I helped Vesa pack the car with bottled water, guns, and ammo for our trip back to Phoenix. She handed me a gun, and I stuffed it into the back of my pants underneath my clothing, pressing the cold metal against my bare skin. Vesa still held the bag that contained the mind-swapping device. She never let it out of her sight.
“What do you care about all of this, Powell? Why help me?” Vesa said as she slung a bag over her shoulder that consisted of two days’ worth of clothing and food.
“You didn’t give me much choice, seeing how you brought the TDA to my doorstep.”
Vesa shot me a glance that both scolded and apologized. “But now. Why keep helping us?” She stopped loading the car and leaned her back against the vehicle.
“You know, you keep asking me, and I might start thinking I’m not wanted here,” I said and smiled.
“It’s not that. It’s just I’ve been trying to figure it out. Figure you out.”
I shrugged. “There’s a lot of reasons really. Part of me feels I let Whitman down at his trial. I wasn’t there to finish it. Seeing this through could be my way to pay him back.” A gust of wind blew through the garage and kicked sand across my face. Small bits stuck to my lips and brushed against my eyelashes. “Or part of it may just be payback to the Ministry. This could be my small way to throw a wrench in their machine. To fight back. If this device does what you say it does, then it could open up a world of possibilities for your group, the same group my parents were a part of. It would allow your people to infiltrate the Ministry and Wayfield at its highest levels. You could dismantle this thing from the inside out.”
Vesa nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if we could just get the damn thing charged,” she said and struggled with a large bag. I grabbed one end and helped her put it in the back of the car. “Thanks,” she said.
“But to be honest,” I continued, “I lived within that one city block for the last couple of years. I worked and slept in that apartment, if you could even call it that. I knew how many steps it took me to get to the Federated Food Supply. I knew how long each traffic light on the corner stayed red. I knew that on Thursdays the lady who lived above me had her son visit her. I knew which police patrolled the area on which days. If I was honest with you, honest with myself, I was happy when those boots ran past my window. In truth, I’m just glad I met you.”
Vesa placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Me too.”
We locked eyes for long moment. The desert glowed a bright orange from the sun. Under the shade of the garage, it looked almost pleasant outside.
Whitman entered the garage. “Are we ready?” he asked. Vesa and I turned away from each other to answer. Whitman held our captive agent by the arm. His eyes covered with a strip of cloth, his hands bound behind him, and headphones covered his ears.
“Yeah,” Vesa said. She looked the agent up and down. “Has he given you any problems?”
“No,” Whitman answered. “Let’s hope it stays that way.” Squeezing the agent’s arm tightly, Whitman ushered him into the back compartment of the vehicle, mindful to prevent his head from running into the car door. “He gave us some critical security protocol information, and he provided me with a drawn map of Buckley Air Force Base’s interior corridors. Most importantly, he confirmed there is a wireless power source inside, and we just need to get close enough to it to charge our device,” Whitman told us.
“See? It was worth bringing him back here. It was worth the risk,” I said.
“We’ll see if it’s worth it when we get to Buckley,” Vesa answered. “Finn thinks we should just drive him out past the train station and let him loose. He said it’s too dangerous to bring him back into contact with other agents.”
“Speaking of Finn, have you said goodbye to him?” I asked Vesa. Vesa looked back at me quickly, and then she looked down at the oil-stained floor.
“No,” she answered. The word didn’t leave her mouth naturally. “No need to say bye to him. I’ll see him back here at some point.”
She walked around and climbed into the driver’s seat. I occupied the passen
ger seat, and Whitman stayed in the back with the prisoner. Vesa turned the key, and the vehicle roared to life. The entire car vibrated underneath us. Just as she placed the car into gear, the door behind me swung open. Doc hopped in the backseat next to Whitman, carrying nothing but his pistol. Vesa only looked back and nodded at Doc. Whitman grinned as if he knew Doc would come with us all along.
“I thought you were done here?” I asked Doc. “I thought you did what you came to do.”
Doc nodded and shrugged. “I did,” he said and rolled down the window to lean outside the car. “But sneaking into Buckley Air Force Base just seems like too much damn fun to not come along.”
Vesa pulled out of the garage, and the car lunged back toward Phoenix.
CHAPTER 50
2075
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
People flooded through the streets and sidewalks. The sound of our feet on the hard ground was that of an uncoordinated army. I never felt comfortable in cities. Before New Alcatraz, I had tolerated it, but after, it was more antagonistic. It was like the city was poking at me and daring me to crack, like it wanted me to go crazy, so I would flee back to the outskirts of town, or to the calming nature of Yellowstone Conservation Zone.
It was midday, and the asphalt reflected every bit of heat the sun sent down. It was as if the sun and the pavement were in a battle of wills, and we were the innocent collateral that suffered. Each of us, except Doc, had a backpack with various supplies. I had the pack I had grabbed from my apartment when we had first fled. Inside were the things I had yet to use: currency, clothes, and an untraceable cell phone. I had eaten the food and drunk the water. The ammunition that was in the pack now rested in my gun. Fourteen bullets.
Doc’s jacket hung low and covered his holstered pistol. But his hand still hovered around his waist, ready to pull at any moment. Whitman walked with the unmistakable stiff walk of an android. Vesa’s eyes darted back and forth. Every few steps she glanced over her shoulder. I was the only one who knew our destination, so I was the only one who walked with purpose.
I led the group down an alley littered with garbage and stray cats. Halfway down was a small door, with a sign over it reading ‘Foster & Foster Crematorium.’ I pounded on the metal door, and it rattled on its loose hinges. The others circled around me, instinctually forming a barricade. A short amount of time passed before I knocked on the door again. The sound echoed on the other side.
“You sure this is the place?” Doc asked as he looked up and down the alley. “It doesn’t look exactly occupied.”
“Just give it a second,” I replied.
“Doc’s right. This place...it doesn’t feel right,” Vesa added. “It seems empty here. Hollow.”
“Well, it’s a crematorium. It isn’t exactly a lively business.” Whitman came to my aid.
“Well,” Vesa continued, “it can’t hurt to start thinking up a backup plan.”
“I think you’re looking at the backup plan,” Doc scoffed.
“Then maybe a backup to the backup,” Vesa said through her teeth.
I knocked again.
“Are you sure the knots will hold around the agent? What if he gets out?” Vesa asked. “We need to get back to the car.”
“That agent ain’t going anywhere. I guarantee that,” Doc said.
“Just give it another sec—”
The latch on the other side of the crematorium door slid, and the door creaked open. A thin, pale man squinted his eyes at the sunlight that washed over him.
“Yes,” the man said as both a statement and a question. The touch of hair that remained on his head was white, resembling colorless cotton candy. His frail hand gripped the door, holding it half open, or half closed depending on one’s level of optimism.
“My Aunt Frances died the Thursday before last,” I uttered the phrase that my old client relayed to me.
The old man swallowed like he had been holding something large in the back of his mouth. He glanced at each of our faces, then down at Doc’s waist, like he could see the pistol through Doc’s jacket. His fingers gripped the door even harder.
“How many children did she have?” the old man asked. His lips were almost stuck together from the dry hot air.
“Four.” I motioned ever so slightly to the four of us.
The old man looked down the alley to the crowded street. He nodded his head, turned, and walked away from us, leaving the door open. The four of us followed. Inside the building was ice cold. If I looked hard enough, I could just about see my breath. Vesa wrapped her arms around herself. Doc shivered and rubbed his hand up and down his forearm. Whitman did nothing but walk down the long dark hall. Off to the side was a seemingly unused waiting room with musty furniture and lamps coated in a thin layer of dust.
The man reached a door at the end of the hallway, and wrapped his spindly fingers around a thick handle, pulling and throwing the entire weight of his gangly body into opening the thick door. The cold air rushed from behind us into the room beyond, and a wave of heat pulsed against our faces. We all crowded into the room, and the man pulled the heavy door shut.
“Four?” he asked and held up four of his bony fingers. I nodded. “What clearance level?” he asked as he dug through a drawer on the other side of the room. Along the walls were gurneys. Bodies with sheets hanging over them rested on the metal slabs. Vesa held her hands together so as not to touch anything. Doc lifted up the corner of a sheet and peeked under.
“Clearance?” I asked aloud and looked around for help. I stammered.
“Don’t look at me,” Vesa said with a look of disgust on her face. “This is your plan.”
“Thanks,” I said and rolled my eyes. “We are going to Buck—ˮ
“Don’t!” the old man said and waved his hand in the air. “I don’t care what you are doing. I don’t want to know. That’s not how it works. You tell me what you want, and I tell you if I can supply it to you. Don’t tell me where you are going. Don’t tell me your real names. Not a word. Deniability and things of that nature. You understand?” he asked and looked at me with his brow raised. I nodded. We had been halted before the plan even took shape. After a few beats of silence, the old man spoke up.
“Sensitive Compartmented Information,” the old man said. The words almost got caught in his mouth. “SCI clearance is one of the more popular clearance levels for my clients. It’s up there, but still common enough that it shouldn’t raise any suspicions. It’s not like it’s TS/SSBI! Oh, if you walk into a place with TS/SSBI clearance, heads will turn. All eyes will be on you.”
“Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Doc said under his breath. “I think we draw enough attention to ourselves as is.”
“SCI is fine,” I said.
The man sat at a desk in the corner of the room surrounded by dead bodies. He tapped away on an old fashioned computer. The machine whirred and hummed as he entered bits of information. As one hand typed away, he reached out with the other and grabbed the limp hand of a nearby body. The man slipped a small device over the dead person’s index finger. A window appeared on the computer screen, with a name, birthdate, occupation, Federated Identity Number, and clearance level. He stood up and approached Vesa, holding the same fingerprint scanner out towards her. She looked at him with a look of both disgust and confusion.
“Don’t be squeamish,” Doc said.
“It was just on a dead person,” Vesa turned and whispered as if the old man couldn’t hear her. The man grabbed her hand and slipped on the scanner while Vesa’s head was turned toward Doc. Vesa was startled, but didn’t pull her hand away. Then, on the other end of the room, a computer beeped and lit up. The old man moved swiftly as he worked, circling the room he scanned the fingers of another dead body, then he approached Doc to scan his finger before returning to the computer. He scanned another corpse then scanned my fingers. I held my breath and waited for some alarm to go off on the old man’s computer, alerting him that I shouldn’t be here. That I shouldn’t b
e in this time. In another dark corner of the hot crematory, a printer whirred to life. It rattled and screeched as it spit out plastic badges.
Finally, he approached Whitman with the scanner. “Oh,” Whitman blurted out. He looked confused, like for a moment he forgot he was an android. He held his hands out in front of him and wiggled his fingers. “No prints, I’m afraid.”
“He’s an android,” I told the man.
“I can’t create credentials for an android,” he said. “No android would be given this clearance. Or any clearance, for that matter. They wouldn’t let an android within one hundred meters of any sort of internal internet hub.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of that,” I answered.
“So your aunt only had three children then?” the man asked with a smirk.
“Yes, only three children.” I smiled and looked around the room.
Doc was playfully nudging Vesa towards one of the dead bodies. Vesa slapped Doc’s hand away, and Whitman interceded to stop the playful annoyances from escalating during a time like this. I grinned. Maybe it was the old man’s secret phrasing about aunts and children, but I felt like this was the early makings of a family. The stoic father. The bickering siblings. It was nice if only for a moment.
CHAPTER 51
2075
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
“Magnificent!” Vesa exclaimed as she held her new ID badge up to the light. “That old man knew what he was doing. And the uniforms,” she said as she tugged on one of the Technology Development Agency uniforms the old man had supplied. “Not bad either. He must be quite the tailor.”
