by Ryan Rinsler
“Are you gonna help us or not?”
“I know the only person down that corridor,” he said. “Do you?”
“I know my target.”
“Your tar—” He caught himself. “Are you out of your mind?” The man paused his angry tirade and sighed in contemplation. He then mouthed something completely inaudible.
Sonny leaned in to try and catch what he was miming. “What?”
Again, but a little clearer, he silently mouthed, “Punch me and take my pass.” He surreptitiously opened his hand by his hip, revealing a small, plastic object. “It’ll get the door open but after that you’re on your own.”
Sonny hesitated, then, without mercy, hit him as hard as he could square on the cheek. His head snapped hard to the left, and his whole body creaked over and crashed to the floor like a felled tree, his arms not moving from by his side to protect him having been knocked unconscious instantly.
“Oh my god,” said Micki, reacting to the sheer power of the punch.
Sonny was a little surprised too, having underestimated Andrew’s strength, but he’d got the job done. He crouched over him and checked his airways, then prised the small, grey pass from his clenched fist.
“Let’s go.”
They re-entered the room, where the lad behind the desk was busy speaking to someone on the phone. The two guards were paying no attention to anything in particular, so Sonny boldly marched over to them, followed quickly by Micki who jogged to keep up.
As he reached them they both looked him up and down, and watched as his eyes scanned the wall for an indication of what to do with the pass. Between them was the door, in the center of it a small keypad. He held up the pass and touched it gently onto the integrated scanner, and, with a subtle beep, a light flashed green.
The door opened.
As the guards didn’t react, Sonny stepped through it, but as Micki followed she was suddenly grabbed by the arm. “Access please,” said the Scout.
“It’s OK,” said Sonny. “You stay here.”
Her face dropped.
“It’ll be OK,” he said, nodding. “Two minutes.” He turned and continued walking down the corridor, which was almost pitch black. “It’s like a damn maze,” he said to himself, each door he’d so far been through having led into a room or corridor virtually indistinguishable from the last.
He reached room zero-three. The door was slightly ajar, and he could just make out talking coming from the other side. The rest of the doors in the corridor were closed, with no sign of activity. This must be it.
Having tasers with only the capacity to stun, he wasn’t taking any chances. He slipped the pistol from his belt, and gave the silencer attached to the barrel and extra tighten. He clicked off the safety, then held it by his side.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.
Inside there were two men; one was an Asian man, laying on a large medical chair, the other, a prim, blonde haired man sat next to him.
The blonde haired man turned to him. “Yes?”
Sonny looked at the man lying in the chair. “Stanley Chen?” he asked.
“Yes?”
The target was acquired. Sonny lifted the pistol and fired two shots.
43
Stanley jolted as the shots fired, dropping from the chair hard onto the floor. On all fours, he scrambled for cover, but the man with the gun was covering the only exit. Stanley glanced down, his jacket thick with blood, then, with a thump, he dropped and sat with his back against the wall, the ghostly silhouette of the shooter the only subject of his panicked gaze.
He panted for breath, shaking uncontrollably. He looked down at his blood-stained lab coat once more. Wait. The blood had spattered from the left, toward his body.
It’s not my blood.
He looked across to Hans. He was on the floor. It was him.
Hans was unconscious, his chest saturated with deep red blood. As the shooter walked toward his lifeless body, Stanley began edging away from them once more. The man patted down Hans’ body, pulled something from his pocket, then stood up and marched over to Stanley.
He held out his hand. Stanley flinched. “My name is Sonny,” he said. “Come with me. Now.”
“What?”
“I’m with Connor, now come.”
Stanley grabbed the outstretched arm with an overwhelming burst of relief. Sonny yanked him to his feet, then marched purposefully to the door. As he reached it, he stopped and turned to him. “Follow my orders. We need to be on the down-low for as long as possible. As soon as we go loud we’re probably not getting outta here.”
“What’s ‘go loud’?”
“Take that bloody jacket off, quickly.”
He ripped it off as quickly as he could and threw it to the floor.
“You’re a prisoner. Walk in front of me at all times. Don’t look at anything, don’t speak. Yes?”
“Yes.”
They stepped out into the corridor and made their way to the door. “There’s guards here,” whispered Sonny. “Ignore them, just keep walking. Straight to the elevator.”
The door opened automatically, causing the guards to both look over their shoulders as they walked past. They made their way to the elevator, Stanley doing his best to act robotically. Micki joined them.
“Excuse me, sir,” called the guy behind the desk. Stanley’s heart skipped a beat. “You need to sign this individual out of the zone if you are leaving.”
Sonny gave Stanley a firm push between the shoulder blades. “Keep moving,” he said quietly. “Don’t stop.”
Stanley almost fell over, staggering to catch up with himself before they reached the elevator. The doors opened and Sonny gave him another jab in the back, forcing him into a seat. To Stanley’s relief the elevator was empty, but before he could open his mouth to try and glean any information about the situation, Sonny read this and shook his head to dissuade him from doing so. After a few moments the doors opened and they stepped out onto the busy floor.
“We gonna be able to reach the surface from here?” asked Sonny.
“I think so,” said Micki, walking quickly ahead. She was the first to reach the open elevator, and as she stepped inside so too did two other people. Before reaching the elevator Stanley noticed two Scouts from the corner of his eye, one of them holding a BlackBook to her ear. They turned quickly to face him, their expressions that of alarm.
“Shit, shit!” He spoke without moving his lips, his pace quickening toward the elevator. “They’re onto us!” he mumbled.
“Keep moving. They’re coming. Don’t stop.”
“Halt!” They were running toward them, banging people out of their way. “Stop there!”
They reached the elevator. Inside there were three other people, and, as Stanley turned, he saw the Scouts no more than ten meters away, marching, both pointing at them. Micki was frantically pressing her thumb to the screen on the wall of the elevator, screaming for the ground floor, almost crying through panic.
“Oh my god,” she yelled, teeth gritted. “Come on! Ground floor, ground floor!”
Stanley watched wide-eyed as the doors closed on the Scouts, while Sonny glared at the fearful looking bystanders, who had pressed their backs firmly to the wall, as far away from Sonny’s menacing figure as possible.
“They might stop this,” he said, looking up for an escape hatch. “There’s no way out so we’re just gonna have to face whatever is behind the door when we stop.”
“Oh my god,” said Micki again. She was visibly terrified. Stanley was fearing now for her safety more than his own. She dropped to the floor slowly, hands on the side of her head. “Oh god, we’re dead.”
Sonny grabbed her by the collar and lifted her to her feet. “Calm down,” he whispered. “This is low level shit. He’s just a prisoner. Those Scouts down there were just pissed we didn’t sign him out.”
If they’ve found Hans, we’re dead, thought Stanley. His body had become warm and numb, through fear and exc
itement.
BEEP! BEEP!
They all jumped as Micki’s pocket gave out an alarm.
“The Scout’s BlackBook,” said Sonny.
She pulled it out and the whole thing was glowing red. “Alert, B21, zone F!” she shouted. “That’s where we just were!”
“They must’ve found the body.”
Stanley glanced at the two bystanders, who were now paying full attention.
“Oh god!” cried Micki once more.
Sonny gave Stanley a knowing look, one that told him they were in trouble.
“What now?” asked Stanley.
Sonny held out a taser.
“I don’t want that,” he said. “It’s better off in your hands. I’ll just follow.”
“Stick with me,” said Sonny. He focused on Micki, who was still holding the BlackBook, staring at it through terrified eyes. “It’ll be OK,” he said. “I’m gonna get you outta here. We’ll just walk out like nothing’s happened. You watch.”
She continued to groan in anguish, pacing up and down in the small elevator, her arms wrapped around her body.
“Here,” said Sonny. He handed her the piece of paper from his pocket. “Call that number.”
“But, who is it?” she whimpered, almost in tears.
“That’s our ticket outta here. Tell him to meet us at Sunspring Gyro terminal in half an hour.”
“How will we get there?” asked Stanley. “How are we even going to get out of the compound?”
“We’ll head for the white zone. There’s less security there and more cover.”
“The white zone?” asked Stanley. “That’s miles from here! Not to mention that’s the busiest entrance in the whole compound.”
“It’s the only option we have.”
Stanley’s head was burning with stress. The prospect of them making it out of the building was diminishing with every second. Micki was now in tears, shaking as she was trying to type in the number, and Sonny was staring at the wall, presumably trying to come up with some kind of plan.
“Hello?” said Mickey. “I’ve been told to tell you to meet us at Sunspring Gyro terminal in thirty minutes,” she said, her voice quivering with fear. She hung up almost immediately. “He said OK.”
They had passed floor B02 a few seconds previously, and the moment when the doors would open to the ground floor was imminent.
“Get ready,” said Sonny. “Act natural.”
The doors opened.
There was a flash. Micki screamed, then dropped to the floor, her arms tight across her chest, convulsing. Sonny threw Stanley to the side, then fired one taser after another, throwing each unit on the floor after each hit.
Stanley stopped dead, staring at Micki. He wanted to help, to grab her and get her to safety, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He could do nothing but stand there, rooted to the spot, staring in horror.
“What are you doing?” shouted Sonny, grabbing the Scout’s BlackBook from the floor next to Micki. He took her now limp arm and used her thumb to scan into it.
“Are you not going to help her?” cried Stanley as Sonny stood up.
“We don’t have time, let’s go!” He grabbed Stanley by the collar and yanked him from the elevator, both of them jumping over the two shaking Scouts lying on the floor. Without looking back, Sonny took off running through the busy entrance lobby, with Stanley trying to keep up. They barged past people, making a beeline for one of six exit doors leading to the relative freedom of the Gyro station beyond.
Suddenly, red lights illuminated above the doors, and with a series of deep clunks they all locked shut. As they were running, Stanley saw Sonny operating the stolen BlackBook, and as they reached one of the closed doors he slammed it against an adjacent keypad.
“Halt!” came a cry from behind them, barely distinguishable between the gasps and commotion of the multitude of bystanders surrounding them in the lobby. Stanley turned around, but all he could see were people, bustling, trying to get out of the way, in doing so obscuring the view of the Scouts even more.
“Hurry!” he shouted, just as the light flashed green and the door unlocked. Sonny burst through it and Stanley followed immediately, taking lungfuls of cool air as they exited the confines of the building. There were even more people outside, all going about their daily business, blissfully unaware a swarm of Scouts was about to descend on the area.
“Too many people!” shouted Stanley as they dodged between them, sidestepping, pushing their way through on their way to the nearby road.
“Keep going,” called Sonny. “More is good. We’ve lost those other two already.”
And then Stanley heard it. He heard the sound. The sirens of the Scouts was very rarely witnessed, and when it was, it normally meant the end for whatever drew them there.
Scouts were so measured, so disciplined and organized. If they needed to swarm an area it was because they’d lost control. For Stanley, and Sonny too who would also likely know this, it was simultaneously an encouraging sign and a disastrous one. They had succeeded in bamboozling them, getting out of the building quick enough for them not to have reported it in time to scan the surveillance and pinpoint their location. Had Sonny not been as experienced in combat as he was, he would surely not have had the skill to take down the two Scouts that attempted to accost them as the elevator doors opened, buying them the precious minute they needed to get to the exit. Sonny was clearly well trained, having used the Scout’s BlackBook to override the auto lockdown of the exit doors, but now, as he threw it to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his shoe, they were done with technical trickery and were simply running. Running for freedom.
The sirens were getting closer. The sound struck fear into Stanley. It wasn’t like a cop car siren, or anything else. Stanley once described the sound to his daughter as the scream of a million fighting robots. It beat a rhythm, thumping, whirring, booming, like the firing of ferocious cannons in the distance.
They were now running between buildings, keeping off the main streets but likely still in full view of surveillance. Stanley’s lungs were burning, his legs heavy. His feet slapped the floor as he plodded, dropping behind Sonny, who was constantly changing direction, heading down tight passages, glancing around in an effort to guide them to safety.
He slowed and turned to Stanley. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Can’t you hear that?” he shouted, panting heavily.
“That’s why we gotta move,” he said. “Come on!”
They set off running once more, Sonny pulling on the shoulder of Stanley’s jumper, almost dragging him with him. “I didn’t come here and pull this shit for you to give up now,” he said, giving him an extra-hard tug.
Stanley was weak. His body was still battered and bruised, his injured leg aching more than ever. He was tired, having not slept for what felt like days. As they entered an alleyway he stumbled, slipping Sonny’s grasp, his knee hitting the ground before his hands could catch his weight.
“I can’t!” he cried, almost in tears. “I can’t run anymore.”
The sirens grew louder still, thumping, echoing around the walls of the tall buildings that surrounded them. It pounded inside his head, as though he were laying on rail tracks with the sound and vibration of the oncoming train beating a rhythm to his grave.
He fell onto his side onto the cold, damp sidewalk. As he lay there in a tight ball, he pictured himself in bed with his wife and daughter. He took himself there, his mind leaving his body and traveling to wherever they were. He imagined every detail vividly – soft white sheets, the warmth of the morning sunlight licking his face as he woke, his daughter still snoozing, tightening her grip on his torso as he met his wife’s sleepy eyes.
And then, black.
44
Stanley’s eyes opened, fully expecting to see his family tucked up in bed with him. He jolted as he gained his senses. Instead, he was in a dark room, daylight just peeking through the drawn blinds. Sonny was stood by the window, pe
ering through them cautiously.
“What… what happened?” asked Stanley, sitting up.
“We’re safe for now but we gotta move.” Sonny turned to him. “How you doing?”
“Not good. How long was I out?”
“It’s been a few minutes,” he replied, checking through the blinds once more. “I carried your ass in here. Not sure if we’ve been spotted.”
They were headed to the white zone, one of the main entrances and drop off points for Silk headquarters. This was where most of the visitors would arrive, along with employees, and was the most bustling and crowded zones in the entire compound. It comprised mostly a Gyro and train terminal, which ferried commuters across the compound to the various zones, but also acted as a huge, central meeting center for visitors and staff to hold conferences.
At first, Stanley had deemed the decision to be extracted from there to be their ticket to the hands of the Scouts, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized the advantages of such a plan. They’d been met by a multitude of people upon their exit from the building into the busy Gyro station, which had given them cover in plain sight. They could merge themselves, disappear, faces among faces, and even though they didn’t take full advantage of it then, maybe they could in the white zone. Importantly, it was one of the only areas of the massive Silk Corporation compound which didn’t require strict identification checks to enter.
Suddenly Stanley noticed something. “The sirens,” he said. “They’ve stopped.”
“They’re probably out on foot.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s been sixteen minutes since the call. We need to move.”
He walked softly to the door and opened it cautiously. He poked his head through, checking each way, before slipping through and setting off into the open. Stanley followed, checking up and down the alleyway himself. They were running quickly, Stanley’s legs feeling tight after his brief but necessary break, Sonny’s suit jacket billowing behind him as he ran. He felt a second wind, and was ready to push on to the end.
