by Kevin George
“I’m honored to have won the lottery, but let us not forget to mourn the loss of Charles Jonas,” he told them, earning as many curious gazes as nods of agreement. “He’s the reason any of us have this place to live.”
“He’s also the reason we’re in this prison and can’t go elsewhere,” someone called out.
Horace tried to see who it was, but the voice of dissension wasn’t alone. Another villager accused Charles and The Mountain of denying them strong leadership, while yet another complained about Charles promising them an ‘answer’ to their problems but never delivering on it. The entire scene quickly dissolved to a mass complaint session. Horace added a quick promise to visit Sector One often before excusing himself to go inside and pack. With the storm worsening, the crowd quickly dispersed.
Horace gathered the rest of his meager belongings before taking a final glance at his shelter for the past two years. The space was small and many of the systems malfunctioned, but this was where he’d learned the value of freedom, this was where he’d had his first date with Carla, this was where they’d fallen in love. She emerged from the bedroom with a bag full of her belongings.
“Guess I’ll take this stuff back to my parents’ ISU then,” she said.
Horace shook his head and slowly approached her. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. You’re right, the death of Charles Jonas shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less upsetting. He was very. . . important to me.”
“Because he looked out for you after your father died in an accident involving other security guards?” Carla asked.
Horace’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to confirm the story—a lie he’d told many times during the last few years—but couldn’t bring himself to continue the deception. He wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth, but decided now wasn’t the best time. Once we’re moved into the new ISU and have a quiet moment to ourselves. . .
“I want you to come with me,” Horace said. “I want the Jonas ISU to be ours. I know we’re both still young, but I don’t want to live another day without you. The weather. . . the village. . . the gangs. . . everything is getting crazier and crazier. It’s going to be much safer in the new ISU.”
“I can’t just abandon my parents,” Carla said. “But I’m sure we can work out some sort of arrangement.”
Horace smiled and grabbed both of their bags. He opened the front door and found the sky dark and the snow falling so heavily that many ISUs had been lowered into the ground. As excited as Horace was to reach the Jonas ISU, he was equally nervous about whom he’d meet along the way. Though many village supply bunkers had been claimed by one gang or another, there’d yet to be any disputes over ownership of ISUs. Horace wasn’t fully confident that would remain the case much longer.
“Should we wait until the storm breaks?” Carla asked.
Horace shook his head. “The fewer people see us, the better.”
“Can I at least stop in and tell my parents?” Carla asked.
“After we get settled in,” Horace said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Carla frowned but nodded. They pulled their hoods tighter and set off into the storm, keeping their heads down the entire time. Cold air seeped into their clothes and caused them to shiver, but neither wasted the energy needed to complain. Instead, they trudged forward into the snow, trying to navigate the village to locate the famed Jonas ISU. With most of the ISUs underground, Horace realized how truly barren these lands might become one day. Though his heart broke for the death of his grandfather, he couldn’t help but think the move to this new ISU was coming at a dire moment in ISU-Ville’s history.
Every time they passed someone along the way, Horace worried they’d be stopped, that Zwier or one of the other gang leaders would recognize him. But the free-for-all at Supply Bunker Six had obviously drawn a lot of hooligans away, giving Horace and Carla a clear path across the village. Just when they started to wonder if they’d passed the Jonas ISU—or that its hydraulics had automatically engaged and lowered it beneath the surface—they spotted its glowing beacon shining through the snowfall. Horace tried the front door and found it locked.
“Maybe the palm scanner,” Horace called out over the wind.
“How would it know your print if you’ve never been here?” Carla called back.
But Horace already placed his hand on the metallic plate and the door clicked open. Carla raised an eyebrow within her hood, but Horace shrugged and gestured for her to enter first. Any suspicion she may have had was replaced with awe about what they found inside. What struck them first—beyond the stream of warm air that instantly fought back the chilly air—was the sheer size of the interior. The Jonas ISU appeared slightly larger than normal ISUs from the outside, but the inside felt significantly bigger, the entrance to several rooms immediately visible down the wide hallway.
Horace closed the door behind him and heard the lock engage. He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling truly safe for the first time in months. Twice he’d sneaked into this ISU to visit his grandfather, but he still had to look around and pretend to be in awe. When Carla walked into the large reading room, Horace finally dropped his belongings and lowered his head, whispering an apology to Charles Jonas for not seeing him before he died. He didn’t have long to mourn before being interrupted by an unexpected—yet familiar—voice from the other room.
“Father?” he whispered.
“Umm, Marshall, I think you’ll want to come in here,” Carla said.
Horace hurried into the library, immediately scanning the dim room for any sign of his father. But Carla was the only person there; more specifically, she was the only one there in person. Horace looked to a holographic image being projected on the wall adjacent to the lines of bookshelves. Carla stared at the image of a man looking back at her.
“Carla is my girlfriend,” Horace said without being asked, quickly stepping in front of her. “She’ll be spending time with me.”
“Yes, Carla, very interesting,” said the 3D image of Samuel Jonas, his words coming in a panicked slur. “Please, Horace, we must speak. . . in private.”
“Who’s Horace?” Carla asked.
Horace took Carla by the arm and guided her out of the room, desperate to avoid the look of suspicion he could feel staring a hole through him.
“Did you see him? He looks crazed,” Horace whispered to her. “Probably still confused from the death of his father. Get some rest in the bedroom in the back while I deal with him.”
“How do you know a bedroom is in the back?” Carla asked.
Horace didn’t want to admit knowing where everything was located in the Jonas ISU. Instead, he shrugged and made up an excuse about bedrooms always being at the back of ISUs. Before Carla could say another word, he rushed back into the library, glancing at her just long enough to see her standing in place, her arms crossed. When he returned to the hologram and looked more closely at his father, Horace realized how right he’d been about his father’s appearance.
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Jonas,” he said, widening his eyes in a silent plea for Samuel to downplay their relationship. “And I can’t begin to explain how truly. . .”—Horace’s voice began to crack, causing him to swallow hard—“. . . truly sorry I was to hear about Charles.”
Samuel’s scraggly facial hair did little to hide how gaunt he’d become since the last time Horace saw him. His cheeks were sunken and his brow was deeply wrinkled, but it was his eyes that disturbed Horace most.
“You weren’t given the family ISU to bring someone else there who might—”
“The family ISU?” Horace hissed, needing all of his willpower to stop from exploding. “You’ve never been out here a single time.”
“Not in person, no, but that doesn’t mean I’m clueless about what your grandfather has stored in there,” Samuel said. “He always talked about keeping records of the world for future generations, not to mention the tunnels he had built underneath
. All I’m saying is there’s a reason he never let anyone else but you inside and I think you should do the same. I don’t know who this girl is, but I think it would be foolish for you to trust—”
“Enough!” Horace snapped, looking up to see the shadow of Carla still standing in the hallway beyond the library. He had no doubt she’d heard everything being said; he also had no doubt her trust in him was gone. “I came to the village because I didn’t want to hear your advice ever again. That’s still the case. Now leave us alone.”
When his father continued to speak, Horace didn’t waste another breath. Using the side of his fist, he smashed the small holographic projector mounted atop the monitor, causing his father’s image to disappear. A moment later, an archaic messaging system popped up on a nearby monitor with words from his father, but Horace pushed the monitor’s power button. He took a deep, silent breath and hurried to the hallway, where Carla remained standing still, her arms crossed.
Her face was no longer skewed in confusion, nor was it twisted in anger as he’d feared. The disappointment in her eyes was far worse than what he’d imagined. He desperately searched for a possible explanation to make things right, but he drew a blank.
“He called you Horace,” Carla said, her voice eerily calm, her face an expressionless mask. “Why?”
Horace shook his head, opening his mouth to deny knowing anything, but he barely managed a gasp.
“Samuel Jonas has a son—Charles Jonas has a grandson—named Horace,” Carla said. “I don’t know anyone that ever saw him in The Mountain. He’d probably be about our age by now.”
“I’m. . . sorry,” Horace said.
“And Marshall?”
“My middle name,” Horace said. “When my father finally allowed me to go to the village, I didn’t want to be known as the Jonas Heir; I didn’t want you to know me as the Jonas Heir. I wanted you to know me for who I am—who I wanted to become—and not who my family was.”
Carla’s lips drew taut and she nodded, but Horace didn’t see any hint of sympathy or understanding.
“You thought I’d use you because of your family? Or you thought I wouldn’t like you? I’m confused how you thought lying would be a good thing,” Carla said. “And your parents? Your father wasn’t really killed in a lab accident.”
“Well. . . obviously not,” Horace said.
“Obviously,” Carla said, her tone oozing with disgust.
“Can you imagine what some of the others would do to me if they realized who I really am? The Zwiers, the other gangs, what they would do to both of us?” Horace asked.
Carla’s façade finally began to crack and her arms lowered to her sides.
“You can contact your father again. . . or someone else at The Mountain. . . explain to them how dangerous things have gotten in ISU-Ville,” Carla said, hope creeping into her voice. “You could help affect positive change around here. Maybe get The Mountain to send security to deal with the supply bunker takeovers.”
Horace frowned and shook his head. “My father. . . he’s never been focused on ISU-Ville. . . or the City Below.”
Carla’s eyebrows lowered. “The City where?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Horace said. “My grandfather was the one who wanted all of One Corp.’s survival arks to thrive; he wanted the arks beyond our lands to survive. Now that he’s gone, I fear we’ll be on our own more than ever. That’s why it’s so important for us to stay in here as much as possible, to protect this ISU.”
“And just ignore that my parents exist?”
“No, of course not, but you’ll have to be careful whenever you—”
“I don’t know if I can do that, if I can just hide my life away, even if it means staying safer,” Carla said. “Especially now that I know who you really are. I don’t know what happened between you and your father—I can sense the animosity you feel for him—but you’re the only one with a chance to get the help we all need.”
Horace looked toward the ISU’s library and imagined the messaging system. He also imagined his father laughing at him and his choice to leave The Mountain, the same reaction he’d given to Horace’s mother leaving the safety of One Corp.’s lands. He refused to crawl back to his father for help, regardless of what that meant for his own future. Still, he didn’t enjoy causing Carla’s hopeful expression to vanish as he shook his head.
“I may have been a Jonas at one time, but not anymore,” Horace said. “I’m no more or less important than anyone else in the village.”
Carla huffed. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said, heading for the front door.
“Wait,” Horace said, hurrying after her. “Can’t we talk about this? Where are you going?”
“Doesn’t sound like there’s much left to talk about,” she said. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with everything. . . or anything. I need some time to think.”
Carla pulled her parka’s hood tightly over her head, staring at Horace for a long, awkward moment. He sensed that she wanted him to say something to make things right, but he didn’t know what that could be. Instead, he watched with utter helplessness as Carla disappeared through the front door and into the storm.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Clay Lewiston glanced at the Mountainers squeezed together on both sides of him, the entire group being herded toward the bottommost level. Clay knew some of their faces, including the majority of men that worked beside him in The Mountain’s engineering department (though, in fairness, the bulk of their work had been planned and completed months or even years ago). Other faces were only vaguely familiar, though he recognized a few scientists who’d worked in the increasingly quieter laboratory levels. No matter the face, all appeared to be suffering the same feeling as Clay.
Panic. That wasn’t an unsurprising reaction from nearly fifty men who’d been woken in the middle of the night by The Mountain’s security force, ordered to abandon their living quarters, many of them leaving behind wives and children. Those who’d resisted were easy to spot in the crowd; they were the ones whose panic was hidden beneath blood and recent swelling.
“I’m not taking another step until we’re told what’s going on,” cried a voice near the front of the crowd.
A few brave souls murmured their agreement. Enough men stopped near the bottom of the steps to halt the entire group. Clay already felt claustrophobic in the crowded, tight confines of The Mountain’s main stairwell, but that feeling grew worse as more people were forced down the steps behind him.
“Move it now!” an authoritative voice called from above, an order echoed by several members of Mountain security within the group.
“Where are you taking us?” someone else called out.
“Where does it look like?” another voice cried. Clay couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to a security guard or a prisoner. “The bottom level is the hangar bay!”
“There’s no need to panic,” called out a guard a few feet from Clay. “You’ve all been selected for a very important reason by—”
“It doesn’t matter who gave the commands!” another guard snapped. “When you live in The Mountain and you’re told where to go, you go. We don’t want to make this unpleasant.”
“Leaving behind my frightened wife was unpleasant for me!” one of the prisoners yelled.
Clay thought not only of his two daughters but also Mel, his wife of twenty years, the only woman he’d ever loved, all three of whom he’d been forced to leave behind, all three of whom he’d heard cry out his name as the guards forced him away. He’d told his family that he’d be back, that he must be needed for an emergency situation, that secrecy was needed to avoid panic or chaos; in truth, Clay had worried in that very moment that he’d never see his family again. Now that that possibility seemed likely, he found him pushing back against the crush of people around him.
“We want to go back to our families!” Clay called. “My wife and daughters need me!”
Others cri
ed in agreement and followed his lead as he tried to push back up the stairwell. At first, the group of men was too strong for the guards. The crowd shoved and yelled, creating pandemonium in the face of those attempting to control them. Clay joined right in, his screams primal, less dignified than how he’d lived the rest of his life. He never thought he’d act like this, but then again, he never thought he’d need to act like this. He didn’t know what the long-term would hold for him and his family, but he had every intention of getting back to his living quarters, of never again leaving his wife and daughters that he loved so—
A gunshot echoed through the stairwell and Clay felt warm liquid spray across his face. He immediately stopped pushing, as did those around him. It took Clay a moment to realize the liquid was blood and another moment to see the man next to him suddenly crumple. Clay stared at the man, who was dead before his body hit the steps. He wondered if the gunshot had been meant for him. Shocked silence filled the stairwell until one of the guards yelled that obedience was not optional.
Clay wiped his face with his sleeves, smearing red stains across his cheeks. He bent over to help the fallen man, but nobody could’ve saved him. The men behind Clay implored him to keep going so he did, carefully stepping over the fallen body. By the time the crowd of men reached the bottom of the stairwell and emerged into the dank, dusty hangar bay, all of the guards held their weapons at the ready, no longer following the charade of this being a friendly gathering.
Clay hadn’t set foot in the hangar since arriving at The Mountain several years earlier. That day, the hangar had been a bright, lively hive of activity, construction workers streaming in and out of the facility while countless One Corp. employees were brought to their new home away from the dangers of the collapsing world. Now, the cavernous bay was dark and quiet, its main door closed, most of the floor space taken up by large objects covered in tarps. Clay heard the familiar crunching of rocks echoing from the far end of the hangar, but it was too dark in the back to see what was happening. Still, he and the others had been around long enough to recognize the sound of drilling, not that he’d been privy to any information about drilling being done in the hangar.
