by Wood, Rick
“Run!” Dalton screamed.
Cia grabbed Boy’s hand and dragged him forward, but he remained like dead weight.
“Hey!” she said, grabbing his face that was stuck, in awe, in the direction of the approaching shadows. “No one’s going to die, remember?”
He nodded.
“But if we want to stay true to that, we need to run. Come on!”
She pulled harder and eventually he stopped resisting.
She was momentarily grateful for how much easier it was to make him move than it once was. There was a time when he’d stay rooted to the spot and they’d have had no choice but to hide.
Unfortunately, there were few places to hide in a corridor.
Cia refused to let her legs slow down to Boy’s pace, instead coercing him to hurry up. It seemed to work as he was keeping pace, even though he was struggling.
Dalton was, however, starting to run too far ahead. He stopped and turned back, waving his arm to urge the others to hurry.
Dalton’s eyeline became momentarily directed over Cia’s shoulder and, from the look on his face, Cia could tell that he’d seen them.
She didn’t need to look back.
She knew what they looked like.
She could smell their revulsion; their clammy, greasy skin. She could hear their disgusting, heavy breaths pushing closer.
Dalton aimed his gun and fired. A few slaps against metal occurred, but the falling bodies did little to deter the rest of the footsteps.
“Head for floor three!” Dalton shouted.
Cia was confused. Why floor three?
She kept running, the far doors to the stairs coming into sight.
She glanced over her shoulder.
She didn’t know why, but she did.
And she regretted it.
Even in the darkness she could see them. Faded, cracked skin. Beady, black eyes. Cheeks covered in drool.
And this was the first floor.
This had been a huge mistake. Why couldn’t they just leave?
“What’s on floor three?” Cia asked, shouting over the approaching snarls.
“CCTV!” Dalton answered. “We can lock the door and I’ll watch them, wait for them to leave!”
It was logical.
Even if it wasn’t the truth.
“Fine!” she concurred.
They reached a set of double doors that led to the stairs. Once they had burst through, Dalton found a discarded arm and shoved it through the door handles.
The Wasters’ faces plastered against the small panel of glass and the door buckled.
They ran down the stairs. They knew the Wasters wouldn’t be held for long, but it could give them enough time to get to the CCTV room without any of them seeing where they’d gone.
But they’d smell them. Cia knew that. They’d smell them.
But were Wasters absentminded enough to not search the rooms?
Were they stupid enough for that?
I hope so…
They reached the double doors to floor three. Pushed. They wouldn’t open.
They heard the door above collapse.
Dalton kicked against the doors and they narrowly opened, revealing the pile of bodies on the other side wedging the door shut. Dalton kept kicking and eventually created a gap big enough for them to push through.
He waved Cia and Boy through.
“This way!” he instructed, leading them into the corridor and around the corner.
The doors behind them bashed open.
Dalton found the CCTV room, knocked the door open and allowed Cia and Boy inside, closing the door and turning the lock.
Then they stood there.
Waiting.
Listening.
The sounds were there. Grunts, grumbles.
The heavy steps passed through, pursuing false shadows further down the corridor, and eventually fading.
They were safe.
For now.
From the Wasters, at least.
Cia turned to Boy, who was hyperventilating.
He used the wall to steady himself, evidently dizzy, finding his way into the far corner, where he curled up into a ball and began making that noise – a distressed moan on each outward breath.
Cia turned her back to the mass of CCTV monitors, a few of them cracked, and crouched before Boy.
“Boy, you need to stop making noise, they’ll find us.”
But he didn’t.
He just continued.
And, with Cia not paying any attention to anything else in the room but Boy, Dalton turned the CCTV system on and began searching for the day that the Sanctity fell.
THEN
Chapter Twelve
Sometimes it felt like he lived in the armoury, such was the time Dalton there; sorting weapons, preparing weapons, and choosing weapons.
As it was, he and Brooklyn were preparing to do a perimeter sweep. There was always a risk they’d come into contact with something nasty, but Dalton had done enough of these sweeps to not feel nervous about it anymore.
Besides, if anything happened, he knew Brooklyn would have his back.
“What you thinking?” Brooklyn asked, sifting through weapons.
“I’m taking the assault rifle.”
“The Diemaco 17?”
“Yeah, what you going with?”
“The Glock 17.”
“Seriously? Don’t you want something a bit more powerful than a pistol?”
Brooklyn grinned. Dalton had just walked straight into that one.
“Mate, it ain’t about the size of the pistol – it’s the way you shoot the load.”
Dalton shook his head to himself. Sometimes the constant stream of sexual innuendos grew tiring. Yet he knew that, with Brooklyn, they would always be part of the ‘lads club.’ Dalton had never really been much of a ‘lad’ – not that he’d ever admit it to Brooklyn.
The door to the armoury opened and another private walked in – Private Stacey Harvey. Long, blond hair, dazzling smile, and “breasts you could balance a beer on” as Brooklyn always proclaimed.
Instantly, he knew how Brooklyn was going to act with Stacey, and felt embarrassed before he’d even said a word.
“Ah, Stace will know,” Brooklyn claimed, his grin growing even wider.
Dalton rolled his eyes.
Here we go…
“Know what?” Stacey asked, picking up and assembling a L128A1 Combat Shotgun.
“This is my pistol,” Brooklyn said, holding his Glock 17 in the air. “Pretty small, ain’t it?”
“I guess.” Stacey frowned, not quite getting the point.
“I was just saying to my man, Dalton, over here – that the size of the pistol ain’t important. It’s the way you fire it. You get me?”
Stacey shrugged. Pulled a leave me alone face that Brooklyn seemed oblivious to.
“You ever, er, let someone shoot their Glock 17 all over you?” Brooklyn asked, accompanied by a wink.
“Jesus, man,” Dalton said, finally repulsed enough to say something. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
“Girl?” Stacey repeated. “Try woman.”
“Yeah, sexist,” Brooklyn mocked.
“And I don’t need you sticking up for me,” Stacey continued.
“Fine, fine!” Dalton waved his hands in surrender, wondering how he’d ended up the bad guy.
“You know,” Brooklyn continued, and Dalton let out a long, exasperated sigh. He really, truly hated it when Brooklyn was like this. “Once we’ve finished circling the perimeter, I was wondering if I could circle your perimeter?”
Stacey finished putting together her shotgun, placed it over her back, and began searching the boxes for the correct ammunition.
“The only perimeter you’ll be circling,” Stacey said, pressing a sarcastic smile against her face, “Is your own.”
“Oh, you wound me!” Brooklyn joked.
Dalton thought that would be the end of it.
But it wasn’t.
<
br /> “Come on, babe, let’s get serious – you and me, let’s make this happen, yeah?”
Brooklyn stepped into Stacey’s personal space. She backed away, but the wall stopped her from escaping, and he was close enough for her to smell the eggs from his breakfast against her face.
“Get away from me,” she demanded.
“Aw, come on, don’t tell me you never thought about it.”
Stacey looked to Dalton expectantly. As if he was meant to do something. Which confused him, as she’d made it perfectly clear what she thought about his intervention.
She finally found the ammunition she needed. She pulled it out, having to press herself unwillingly against Brooklyn to do so.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Brookyln said in a deep, gruff voice he put on, his lecherous grin growing more and more disgusting.
She pushed him away.
“You’re a pig,” she said, then left, slamming the door.
Brooklyn turned and smirked at Dalton.
Dalton wondered what he expected. Applause? An encore?
“That wasn’t cool,” Dalton said, more quietly than he intended.
“Aw, come on.” Brooklyn smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “The world’s gone to shit, may as well have some fun!”
Brooklyn led Dalton out and they began their ascension to the top floor.
At least, outside the Sanctity, there would be no one for Brooklyn to start a fight with or sexually harass.
NOW
Chapter Thirteen
Should the Sanctity have still been operational, CCTV footage would have been archived after a month, then deleted after three to make way for more storage.
As it was, with the facility having been abandoned, the final recording had come to an end when the storage became full, two days after the Sanctity fell. It didn’t take much effort for Dalton to readjust the time. He used one screen, out of the many screens available, to play back the beginning of the day that the Sanctity fell. He fast-forwarded to the appropriate hour.
Heavy feet stormed past the door. The door knocked under the barges against the wall, the metal fort shaking under the tremble of the footsteps, the screams and grunts growing louder as they passed.
But no one tried to get into this room.
For now, at least.
He turned the screen away from Cia, and edged behind it.
He didn’t know why he was doing this.
Somehow, he felt like this needed to be a secret.
But what was he being secretive about?
He glanced at Cia. She was kneeling next to Boy, who was still moaning and panting and turning red and teary. He looked like he wasn’t going to break out of his trance-like meltdown any time soon.
Once Dalton had readjusted the time, he readjusted the camera. He searched for the camera in the bottom level, and eventually the screen displayed various creatures bound with chains and tubes pumping depressants into them.
He’d never thought about it before, but he found the image slightly unnerving. To see so many creatures being treated so cruelly. The creatures would kill and eat them given the chance, yes, but humans ate pigs and cows – doesn’t mean they were deserving of being bound and gagged because of it.
Come to think of it, it had been exceedingly dangerous having so many of these creatures within the facility in the first place.
There were so many of them. The room was huge, but still overcrowded. Thorals, Masketes, Wasters – even a Lisker, a creature so rare Dalton had never seen one in the flesh.
Then again, they had been kept there for four years without incident. There couldn’t have been a malfunction on any equipment, it had all stood so strong for so long, there couldn’t have been, surely…
“How are we looking?” Cia asked between attempts to calm Boy.
Dalton quickly recalled telling Cia that he was watching the Wasters outside the room, waiting for when they left.
“They are still there,” Dalton said. He wasn’t lying about that, they probably were – but that wasn’t what he was watching.
He didn’t feel guilty for his deception.
Why didn’t he feel guilty?
That was the first time he’d ever been dishonest with her.
“I don’t think we should try to get any food,” she decided. “I think we should just leave when we can.”
Dalton watched her. So young. So pretty. And so powerful.
“Fine,” he said, quietly.
She turned back to Boy and continued talking to him, as gently as her voice would allow.
Dalton watched as the monitor continued to show these creatures held against their will, but held securely.
Just as they had been for a long time.
Doctor Daniel Rose walked in.
Cia was with him.
With her father.
Both in protective gear.
Had she watched him die?
Had Cia had to watch her father die?
He bowed his head. He’d never thought of that.
Poor Cia.
Suddenly, he did feel guilty for being deceptive. She’d never spoken of her father or what had happened down there. They had just been reunited, and then…
Daniel and Cia walked between the creatures. He was saying something, but he couldn’t see their faces from the aerial view the camera showed.
Someone came over to Daniel and spoke to him. He signalled something to Cia, then went off with this person for a moment.
Then Cia walked toward the Lisker. Slowly, but with an aimless curiosity.
She stood beside it, looking the Lisker up and down.
It was subdued, drugs pushing it into submission, but she was still too close to it.
What the hell was she doing so close?
He looked over to her again, still badgering Boy.
Why had she been so close?
He looked back to the screen.
Cia reached out a hand and placed it on the Lisker. Its rough skin was harsh and sharp, and it must have pricked her finger, as she quickly withdrew her hand.
Then she did something he couldn’t fathom.
She took out a knife.
She held it in the air.
Someone shouted something and everyone looked at her.
Her father looked at her. Shouted.
She shoved the knife into one of the tubes pumping chemicals into the Lisker.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, hey,” Cia kept saying. “Listen to me.”
It was no good.
Boy was deep into one of his episodes and snatching him out of it was going to be difficult.
But she needed to snatch him out of it – if he wasn’t ready to go when the time came, they would be screwed. Dalton was adamantly engrossed in the CCTV, watching, waiting to give them the go ahead to run – and Boy needed to be ready for when that moment came.
“Shush, come on,” she said.
Why was she finding this so difficult?
Boy had been so much better recently. Yes, he’d had his moments, but she could normally snap him out of them relatively easily.
This one seemed to be drawn out, like there was something worse, something deeper, something that was unsettling him.
They had been chased by monsters before.
Numerous times.
Then she realised – it must be the Sanctity. The last time he was here he’d been bound to a chair for days, possibly weeks, tortured and prodded at and tested and analysed, so-called doctors vehement that he had been in contact with something that could cause some kind of infection.
The only vile infection Cia had ever seen spread was humanity. People were the disease.
“Hey, look at me,” she urged him.
His eyes closed and his head dropped, but she grabbed his cheeks and lifted his head to hers.
He kept his eyes closed, refusing to open them, to lift his head. It was as if, when he couldn’t process something, he shut down and went into denial that it was happe
ning. He couldn’t take this place, and therefore, he would rather pretend he wasn’t in it.
“How are we looking?” Cia asked, turning briefly to Dalton.
Dalton paused, then said, “They are still here.”
“I don’t think we should try to get any food. I think we should leave when we can.”
Cia’s eyes lingered on Dalton’s.
It was a strange kind of gaze.
She didn’t see Dalton in his eyes – which was a bizarre thought to have, as it was evidently Dalton. His skin, his face, his body looked the same. Yet something was gradually morphing.
Then he broke the stare and seemed to come around.
“Fine,” he said, and turned back to the screen.
What was up with him?
Boy began to moan louder. She covered his mouth.
“Please, Boy, we are hiding, you can’t make that noise or they’ll find us.”
His eyes widened, as if to say, you mean they will find us?
That was the wrong thing say.
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in close, resting her forehead on his, keeping her hand pressed firmly against his mouth, not bothered that her fingers were now becoming wet.
“Listen to me,” she whispered. “I know it’s this place you don’t like. I don’t like it either. But the only way we can get you out is if you calm down.”
He seemed to calm down a fraction, his noise seemed to lessen, though his stomach was still inflating and deflating at a worrying speed.
More noises screamed past the door, and another one of them bashed into it.
He went to scream, but she pressed her hand firmer.
“No!” she shouted in a whisper. “No noise, Boy, we can’t make any noise.”
He nodded.
“You understand?”
He nodded.
“Can I take my hand away now?”
He nodded.
He looked back at her with such weak eyes.
She knew he wanted to say something like, I’m scared, or, I can’t take this.
Problem was, he wasn’t able to fully understand those emotions, let alone verbalise them. So she had to verbalise it for him.
“You’re scared,” she told him. “You think you can’t take this. Right?”
