by Tim Meyer
Something is happening.
But what?
A coup? Mole is being overthrown?
No. Makes no sense.
Mole appeared in the distance, his two loyal guards in tow. He ran toward Brian, the two guards attempting to keep pace. Once Mole rolled the car blocking his door aside, he scrambled over to Brian's four-wheel prison and ripped the door open like the vehicle was on fire and valued the life inside. He grabbed Brian by his neck and heaved him to the ground. He tumbled several times before landing on his back, staring at the three troubled faces crowding his vision.
“Who is it?” Mole asked.
“I don't understand. Who is what?”
Mole bent to one knee and grabbed Brian's collar. “Don't lie to me, you shit. Soren told me all about you and your unique ability. And although his word doesn't mean a lick of shit, I've seen the way you dream. He's right about you. You have something special about you, boy. Something powerful.”
“I... I...”
“Tell me who is butchering my men!”
Brian looked around uneasily. Red covered the interrogators' hands. Droplets fell from their fingers, a steady stream that pooled on the asphalt. Unable to piece together the puzzle, Brian said, “I don't know.”
“Is it one of your men? Has Soren come back to rescue the rest of his people? Are they coming back for you?”
“I have no idea!” Brian shouted.
“You lie, you die,” Mole said, his lips fixed in a feral snarl.
Behind them, they heard screams. The shadows on the wall moved about frantically. The screams were cut short, replaced with throaty gurgles. Brian watched a splash of red decorate the far wall, replacing the area where the shadows had been. A man's head rolled across the asphalt into his view, a trail of crimson following in its wake. Streaked with blood, eyes wide with terror, the head faced them, forever depicting the man's final moment.
“Holy shit,” Brian muttered.
Mole steadied himself. He held his two men back as they charged forth. “We can run. Right now. We might make it if we run.”
“But, boss,” a guard said.
Mole stopped him, putting a finger over the man's lips. “We can run.”
“It's almost daylight,” the other guard said. “We can't go far.”
From behind them, something hissed like a broken gas pipe. They whipped around, facing the noise and watched a cloud of smoke tumble toward them.
“What the hell is that?”
“I don't know,” Mole answered, huddling the two men close. “Stay together. We stand a better chance together.”
The attacker moved silently, stalking his prey like a trained ninja warrior. Even if Brian had wanted to warn Mole and his two henchmen, there was no time. The attacker appeared like a shadow behind them, swinging the katana with both hands. The blade—already slick with blood—sliced into one guard's neck. Dull from overuse, the blade wasn't sharp enough to complete the job and the man's head tilted to the side, still attached to his neck by skin and sinew. Scarlet squirted from the laceration like a geyser, bathing the attacker in blood. The other guard raised the gun in his left hand, but before he could fire, his hand disappeared along with the weapon it held. The guard looked at his bloody stump and screamed, but his vocal outburst ended when the ninja took the tip of the katana and inserted it into his throat, far enough so half of the blade exited out the back of his neck. The ninja retracted the weapon easily and the guard dropped to the asphalt next to his buddy.
Mole turned and ran.
The ninja took two long strides and was already in striking distance. The blade became a blur in the ninja's hand, the force directed at Mole's feet. The blade tore through his ankle, severing Mole's foot, sending the frantic leader to the ground. He flipped over, spouting nonsensical promises. He offered money, women, men, power, everything he no longer had. The blade zipped across Mole's stomach, opening his belly. Viscera ruptured from the wide gash, spilling onto the pavement. He screamed as his guts slip through his fingers. He cried, begged for the ninja to cut his throat. Brian watched Mole scoop his innards up and try to mend himself, stuffing what looked like wet purple hoses back into his midsection's crimson cavity. It was a messy task and every time he managed to fill himself, the intestines tumbled out, landing on the pavement. The wet sound of his innards splashing on the road echoed throughout the tunnel.
Brian opened his mouth to beg, but he knew it was useless. The ninja had already made up his mind.
The shadow warrior readied the blade.
Aldo sipped coffee from a Star Wars mug he had found next to the Keurig machine. He sat atop a small table in the center of the first car, opposite Soren and the other passengers. With his eyes locked on Soren's, and Soren's on his, Aldo searched for the right words. For what seemed like several eternities, they glared at each other, as if hearing a riveting tale full of peril and wonder.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Soren said.
“Fucking-A-right you do,” Mouth said. “I'd like to know exactly what's going on, and right fucking now.”
“Is he always like this?” Aldo asked.
“You have no idea,” said Soren. He plucked a cigarette from the pack Kyle had given him. He wrapped his lips around the tan end and lit up.
“See you haven't kicked the habit.”
“My health has not concerned me since I was betrayed by my best friend and banished from my lover.”
Mouth laughed. “Lover! Ha! Who the fuck would ever love you, you heartless bastard.”
Soren ignored him and continued smoking. “I want answers, Aldo. Right now.”
“How much do they know?” Aldo asked, nodding to the others.
“Not much.” Soren rolled his eyes and turned to them. “Long story short—the facility underneath the Alaskan surface was a government-funded research project. I worked there. They wrongfully accused me of some unflattering things and I was—more or less—fired. The end.”
“Fired?” Aldo asked. “That's a funny way of putting it.” He sipped his hot coffee through a grin.
“What kind of research facility?” Becky asked.
“Hold all questions until after I interrogate this little bastard,” answered Soren.
“I respectfully disagree,” Mouth said. “I say you answer our questions now.”
Soren shot him a glance. “Mouth, I swear to God. If you don't quit running your goddamn trap, I'm going to close it for you. Permanently.”
“I'd like to see you fucking try, Soren, or Alan, or whatever the fuck your name is.”
Soren rose to his feet, smoke billowing out of his nose. “Don't fucking test me.”
Susan stood between them, glaring at Soren as if he were the devil disguised in human flesh. “I can't believe I trusted you. Put my faith in you. You're nothing more than a savage. No different from any other Godless man.”
“Shut up,” he told her, disgusted. “I'm sick of you. I'm sick of all of you.”
“What the hell did I do?” Kyle asked.
Ignoring him, Soren scrunched his face together as if he had bitten into something unexpectedly sour. “You're all weak. Not built for this world. You ask questions instead of seeking out answers. You search for a leader; why not take the reins yourselves? Because you're followers. And this world eats followers. You feel like pawns on a chessboard? That's because you are pawns. This world is full of them.”
Aldo laughed incredulously. “You're still the same Sandborough I remember.”
Soren rushed forward and grabbed Aldo by his throat. He yanked him off his feet. The Star Wars mug fell to the ground and the ceramic scattered into several pieces on impact.
“We're going to have a conversation, you and I,” Soren growled into his Aldo's ear. “A private conversation.”
He dragged him into the second car, the automatic door closing behind them with a cobra's hiss.
Bob curled up into the fetal position next to her and found sleep almost immediately. He s
nored, a habit which she hated before The Burn, but now cherished. She counted themselves lucky Bob wasn't seriously injured. She didn't know what she'd do if something terrible happened to him. They had been through so much—the church, the zoo, the pharmacy—and in a world where death was commonplace, she thanked God or whatever ethereal force ruled the universe for each day they spent together, alive and well. She kissed his forehead, gentle not to wake him.
Two knuckles rapping on the door startled her. Bob stirred, but remained dreaming. The door cracked open and Sam's face appeared. After seeing Bob asleep, he whispered, “Sorry,” and ducked back out.
“Wait!” Brenda whispered. She looked down at Bob, who remained trapped in his dreams. “He's out. It's fine.” She wasn't whispering anymore, but kept her volume low.
“Sorry,” Sam said again.
She waved. No big deal, her hand said. “What's up?”
“Heading to the vending machine. Want to see if I can steal you anything?”
She smiled. “No, I'm good. But thanks for the offer.”
“You sure? You're looking like you could use a snack.” He twitched his brow in rapid succession and returned the cozy smile.
She stifled a laugh. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Ah, nothing.” He looked over his shoulder as if he heard a noise. Brenda didn't hear anything and his face returned to the doorway a second later. “Hey, have you seen Tina?”
Hearing the name, Brenda's smile unintentionally faded. Sam perceived this as an act of concern, but it was something else. “No.”
“Hm. Weird. She wasn't in her room.”
“Maybe she went for a walk.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Do you like her?” She knew she shouldn't have asked once the words left her mouth, but it was too late. She waited for his answer, unsure if she wanted one.
Just when she opened her mouth to tell him to forget it, he grinned and said, “I don't know. Would it bother you if I did?”
She didn't smile back as he expected.
“I don't know. Maybe.”
Confusion wrinkled his forehead. “Maybe?”
“I don't know, Sam. That's a complicated question.”
“Not that complicated.”
“I know we haven't been together in a long time, but it's still hard for me to imagine you with someone else.” She glanced down at Bob sleeping, wondering if he was truly asleep or if he was pretending, listening to every word. “You know what I mean?”
“Not really. Besides, you asked me—”
“I know. It was dumb. It's just...”
“What?” he asked, and not in his usual irritated tone.
“I don't trust her.”
“Don't trust her?” Sam tilted his head. “Brenda, if there's anyone I trust, it's Tina. She's helped us out of many tough situations.”
“She taught our son how to fire a weapon, Sam. Behind our backs.”
“And look what happened. Matty saved your husband from getting his head blown off by that psychopath.”
“I know, but...” Brenda searched for the right words. “There's something I don't like about her, Sam. I have a bad feeling about her and I don't know what. I just...”
“Just...”
“Just don't want to see you get hurt.”
“You don't have to worry about my feelings, Brenda.”
“I'm sorry. I worry about you sometimes.”
“I appreciate it.”
They sighed in their own way, as if trying to recover lost air.
“Okay. Guess I'll be off. Sure I can't get you anything?”
Brenda winced.
“Fair enough.” Sam forced a faint smile and said, “Get some sleep,” before closing the door and heading down the hall, toward the small vending machine enclave.
-3-
“I apologize for what happened,” Aldo said, sitting in the third row. With tired eyes, he looked up at Soren who stood in front the door separating the two cars, arms folded across his chest, a fresh cigarette smoking between his lips. “I didn't mean for it to go down like that. The whole objective of Plan B was so no one got hurt.”
“A lot of people were hurt,” Soren said. “I watched Kyra die. Do you understand me? I watched her die.”
Aldo raised his brow. “She didn't die, Alan.”
“I watched...” The picture of her squirming in a sea of her own red interrupted his train of thought. “There was so much blood. She couldn't have...”
“They couldn't save the baby. While we were getting you out of there, another team rushed her to the hospital wing. The doctors were able to save her, but the baby, I'm told, never had a chance.”
“She's... alive,” Soren said between puffs. “Kyra's alive.”
“Yes, Alan. She's alive. But she's in trouble. We all are. No thanks to you.”
The muscles in Soren's jaw flexed.
“A lot has happened in thirty years. Not all of it was bad, mind you. To make a really long story short, after they patched Kyra up, she reconciled with Elias. Promised to be a devoted housewife, keeping him happy and keeping you safe.”
“Keep me safe?” Soren glared at him. “I thought that was your job?”
“It was. But my connections only go so far. With Elias happy, it kept the attention off you.”
“Doesn't he think I'm dead?”
Aldo laughed through his nose. “Come on. This is Elias Wheeler we're talking about here. He doesn't think you're dead. He never saw a body. I mean, he saw a body, but it barely resembled yours. We took a dead guard's corpse and burnt it beyond recognition. He was about your height and build. Genetics came back inconclusive, though we didn't have half the tests we do today. Elias wasn't satisfied, but Kyra convinced him to quit pursuing the matter. She told him...” Seeing the tears build in Soren's eyes, he stopped. After a moment, he decided he must continue. “She told her husband that you were a mistake. He believed her. Despite being a bastard, Elias really loves her.”
Soren winced, Aldo's last four words feeling like a dagger through his ribs.
“Don't take it to heart. Take comfort in knowing it was a lie to save your ass. Sure, I have connections on the outside, but Elias—he had a small army on speed dial. If he wanted to, he could have found you. Whatever my sister did to stop him from looking, well... I don't want to think about it and I'm sure neither do you.”
Soren sucked in a cloud of smoke, then released it through his nostrils. “Get to the part that doesn't make me want to kill you.”
“Right. Plan B was designed to get you out. But it was also designed to get you back in.”
“Get me back in?”
“After you left, things went back to normal. Elias culled everyone he thought you infected with your lies and deceit, and replaced them with mindless robots he could control with ease. Things were good and there were no incidents. I mean zero. Everyone worked together and the government enjoyed what we were doing and everyone was happy, until...”
“Until what?”
“Elias lost what little mind he had left.” He twirled his forefinger near his temple. “I don't know all the details, but Kyra kept me informed when she could. I seldom saw her after you left. We spoke briefly once a month. Sometimes less. About ten years ago she said he was starting 'to lose it.' I'm not sure what that meant, but rumor had it Elias had been diagnosed with some rare form of osteoarthritis and it appeared the disease ate away more than his joint tissue. He started acting irrational and paranoid. Much like you had acted, now that I remember. Recently, it had gotten so bad that his eighteen year old son—”
“Son?” Soren interrupted.
“Shit. Yeah, forgot to mention that, didn't I? One of the conditions to whatever arrangement Kyra made with him was that she promised to birth his child. Kid's name is Wallace. Wallace Wheeler. Catchy. Anyway, some people dubbed him 'Damien' because of that movie. Spawned in Hell, and all that. Personally, I don't know how my sister dealt with it. Wasn't easy I assure you.
It's bad enough living with someone you hate, your entire existence wasted on appeasing their every wish and desire—but, to add that little monster on top on things.” Aldo bit his lip and shook his head, his sister's struggles delaying his thoughts. “Yeesh. The kid is a carbon copy of his father. Chip off the old block and then some. He's twenty-eight now, and his father's disease has taken a turn for the worst. The government keeps trying to step in, threatening to cut back funding, claiming the existence of this sort of weaponry is too dangerous. The Bush Administration extended the contracts another fifteen years after the attacks on 9/11. But this new administration is threatening to shut it all down, and of course Elias is stressed and pissed and has started taking it out on the world. Of course, he can't do much now. The disease has crippled him. Wallace is practically running things now and—”
“How long have you been out?” Soren cut in.
“The second someone pushed the button.”
“Sunfall?”
“You know it.”
“Was it Elias?” Soren asked.
“Either him or his demon spawn. The government wanted to test Sunfall in a localized area, somewhere in Afghanistan. A ten mile radius. To see if what they were sinking millions into was worth it. But someone cranked the fucking thing up to full power. Next thing we know, we're watching the world burn. Not literally, of course.”
“Why'd you leave?”
“I told you. Plan B.”
“Joe came to me,” Soren said.
“I know. I sent him.”
“He knew someone would turn on the machine. He supplied me with the antidote.”
“We all knew about it,” Aldo said. “However, we didn't know exactly what would happen when they threw the switch. I had to prepare for the worst.”
Stamping his cigarette out on the ground, Soren squinted at his old friend. “Why do I get the sense you aren't being truthful with me?”
“Alan, look at me. This was all part of Plan B. We knew it was a matter of time before something happened. Sunfall, Quakefall, Stormfa—”
