by Kevin George
Horace allowed himself to be pulled toward the back of the hangar. He felt so empty and numb that it wasn’t until they reached the covered tunnel entrance that he noticed the backpack slung over Weller’s shoulders. The scientist released him and unzipped the bag, removing a pair of wire cutters he used to clip away at the grate, not stopping even as the opening grew big enough for two people to walk through. He retrieved a flashlight and shoved it into Horace’s hand, instructing him to hold it steady. Horace clicked it on and aimed the beam into the darkness of the tunnel.
“Once we’re inside, you’ll need to show me the way,” Weller said, more of a command than a suggestion.
A swell of emotion filled Horace’s chest and a hard realization hit: his mother was gone forever, his father was gone forever, and Carla was gone forever. He had nobody in life and the legacy of his last name would forever be tied to the creation of beastly humans. The answer became obvious.
“You don’t want The Board to be able to make more Aviary Blast?” he asked.
“Correct.”
“And now that my father is gone, they could only reproduce the Aviary with my blood?” Horace asked. After Weller nodded, Horace took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and folded his hands behind his back. “Then kill me now. Do it, kill me and make sure The Board can never create another monster.”
Horace closed his eyes, ready to accept death, but Dr. Weller shook his head. “Don’t be a martyr. Your father killed himself so The Board would never be able to hurt you. Don’t let his death be meaningless.”
“Life is meaningless,” Horace said. “There’s nothing left out there for any of us. You saw what the villagers became. . . what Carla. . . ISU-Ville is destroyed.”
“That’s not where we’re going,” Weller said.
Horace’s eyebrows lowered. “The underground bunker near the volcano? We don’t even know if it exists. . . or if it was ever completed. . . or if the tunnel reaches that far. . . or if we’ll be accepted by—”
“You’d rather stay here and become a lab rat for a group of people that killed your father and everyone in ISU-Ville?” Weller said. “Don’t worry about where we’re going. There’s a lot you don’t know about it, a lot that most Mountainers don’t know. Reports from The City Below were kept under wraps.”
“My father would’ve told me about that,” Horace said.
“I’m sure he would’ve had he known,” Dr. Weller said. “The Board has been wary of the Jonas family ever since your grandfather spoke in favor of collaborating with other arks. Truth is, The Board didn’t want anyone finding out about the City Below and leaving for the utopia they’ve created there. The huge bunker is separated into several sections, all of which work in harmony. People there are happy and show nothing but appreciation for the Jonas name. Once we arrive, their citizens will immediately look to you as a leader.”
Horace’s heart ached at the idea of living in such a wonderful place, whether it was deep underground or not. Even harder to deal with was wondering what life could’ve been like had he convinced Carla to go to the City Below with him, what life could’ve been like living with her in utopia.
Could I go there and start over? Would I even want to be a leader to so many people? Look how that worked out for my father. . . my father. . .
“If my life could potentially lead to more danger, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?” Horace asked.
“I owe it to your father and grandfather,” Weller said, cutting link after link in the grate. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be alive right now. Yes, The Board will be desperate to find you once they learn that you’re key to the Aviary, but we can’t predict what will happen in the future.”
Horace grabbed Weller’s arm and pulled him away from the grate, the flashlight’s beam dancing in the tunnel ahead of them.
“Now tell me the real reason.”
A wry smile crossed Weller’s lips. “If you die now and The Board catches me, I’ll almost certainly be punished, maybe even killed or injected with 2.0 and left outside to die. If you’re still alive, I could still produce the Aviary Blast, if that’s what they order. As much as I respect your willingness to die to stop the Aviary from falling into the wrong hands—the same as I respected your father’s decision to do the same—I don’t want to make that same sacrifice.”
With that first bit of truth from Weller, Horace nodded, feeling more comfortable as the last large section of grate was removed. Regardless of what was to come—regardless of how long they might or might not survive—Horace felt better at the thought of finally leaving The Mountain. But the adrenaline of escaping soon began to wear off and the emotional crush of what had happened left Horace exhausted, mind and body alike. He tried to focus on escaping, but his mind kept returning to one question.
“How did my father do it?” he asked, his voice drifting into the nearby tunnel, reverberating off of the curved, concrete walls. “How did he kill himself?”
“You don’t want to know, kid.”
“I do, please.”
Dr. Weller sighed but was soon drowned out by another sound. Both men looked back, turning their heads to yelling across the hangar.
“There’ll be time for stories later,” Weller said. “We have to get out of here now.”
Horace frowned but nodded. He started toward the tunnel until Weller grabbed his arm and steered him toward the nearest covered vehicle. Weller ripped off the tarp to an electric golf cart and quickly climbed aboard.
“Not as fancy as some of the hovercraft, but it’ll control better in the tunnel,” he said.
Horace no sooner climbed into the passenger seat than Dr. Weller hit the accelerator, the tires squealing against the hangar floor. Horace ducked his head as they approached the snipped tunnel grate, though Weller had cleared away plenty of grate.
“The flashlight!” Weller snapped.
Horace had nearly forgotten the flashlight was still in his hand. He held it up and the beam stretched far into the darkness ahead of them. Within seconds, the yelling of Mountain guards faded behind them. Horace’s ears filled with the sound of rushing air and the whirring of the golf cart’s engine. The cart whined and sputtered as they drove and Weller cursed their luck for choosing a cart that was either defective or not fully charged.
“Can we go back and get another one?” Horace asked, glancing behind them.
“Light!” Weller snapped when the flashlight’s beam veered to the side. Horace apologized and aimed it forward again. “Unless you want to drive right into the guards’ arms, we’re going forward. Let’s hope Moretti or The Board doesn’t want the rest of the security force discovering what’s inside the tunnel. How much farther do we have to go?”
Horace snorted. “It took me. . . I don’t even know how long. . . hours to walk from my ISU to The Mountain. I can’t imagine how much longer it would take to reach the City Below, if the tunnel goes that far.”
Weller gritted his teeth and pushed the accelerator all the way down, shooting the golf cart forward for a few seconds before it began to slow down. Neither man mentioned the engine’s increasingly high-pitched whine, nor did they speak of the gradually slowing speed. Several hours passed without a word between them. Weller continued to push the cart as hard as it would go, the whining making it impossible to hear the approach of potential pursuers. Horace looked back every few minutes and saw only darkness, but that did little to ease the tension in his shoulders or loosen dread’s grip on his chest.
“Now can you tell me what happened to my father?”
“Not if you want to hear any of the guards behind us. . . or anyone that might be lurking in the tunnel ahead,” Dr. Weller said.
Horace felt a shiver rush through him, but not because he actually thought there was danger in these tunnels. Weller’s ‘warning’ was completely without merit, obviously offered to avoid speaking about Samuel’s fate.
“I’ve walked this tunnel,” Horace said. “Nobody’s out there.”
<
br /> Weller’s eyes darted to the side before turning forward again. He said nothing for several seconds. Horace was about to push the subject when Weller finally spoke.
“As we were going after the Aviary information, a guard stumbled upon us,” Dr. Weller said. “I’d hidden it in a spot near the edge of the cliff on the highest level.”
“That’s where my father just—”
“Found you, he told me,” Weller said. “When the guard tried to detain us, your father grabbed hold of him and flung them both over the edge. He wanted me to escape and take you with me.”
They continued in silence until the monotony of the tunnel wall was broken by the entrance to a connecting tunnel.
“Do I take that one?” Weller asked, gently pressing the brakes to peer into the smaller tunnel.
“I went straight the entire time,” Horace said. “There’s a bunch of smaller tunnels, but I didn’t know where any of them led.”
Weller continued driving, ignoring the cart’s inability to accelerate at faster than a crawl.
“Plans were to have all sorts of connections between the three phases of One Corp.’s survival arks,” Weller explained. “Not sure which were finished and which were abandoned before the weather grew too cold and the construction workers stayed in the City Below for good.”
They drove past other side tunnels and more of Horace’s surroundings looked familiar. He didn’t know how much farther to the City Below, but his family’s ISU was getting closer. . . ISU-Ville and Carla were getting closer. . .
Could she have survived? Is there a chance to find her? If I end up in the City Below, could I ever have a normal life? Is there such a thing as a normal life when your last name is Jonas?
Weller pumped the accelerator over and over, coaxing a burst of speed from the golf cart the first few pumps until the engine’s whirring abruptly silenced and they coasted to a stop. Weller smacked the wheel a single time before reaching into the back for his pack, swinging it onto his shoulder and setting out on foot. Horace hurried to keep up, though a part of him wouldn’t have minded separating from the scientist.
“Do you know how much farther until—”
The echo of squealing tires cut off Weller’s question. For a stunned moment, he and Horace looked at one another, each waiting for the other to say something. But neither had the answer and both turned and ran at the same time.
“We almost there?” Weller asked, slowing down to take the backpack off. Horace expected him to ditch it, but Weller hugged the pack tighter to his chest.
“I think. . . we’re getting closer. . . to Jonas ISU. . . but maybe not close enough,” Horace called out between deep breaths.
Weller looked back to see a pinprick of light appearing far into the blackness behind them. With every passing second, the pinprick grew larger and brighter, the echo of yelling guards growing louder.
“I think. . . we’re getting closer. . . but we won’t reach it in time,” Horace said.
Dr. Weller stopped, carefully putting down his bag. Horace tried to grab his arm—tried convincing him to keep going—but Weller swatted him away. He rifled through the bag, retrieving several vials that were carefully sealed.
“Keep going,” Weller said. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“What are you going to do?” Horace asked.
“Cut them off,” Weller said. “When these chemicals are mixed together and ignited, they’ll create a reaction that will. . .”—Weller looked down the tunnel to see the guards getting closer and closer—“. . . trust me, you don’t want to be too close.”
“There’s got to be another way,” Horace said. “I don’t like the idea of causing a cave-in.”
“I like the idea of falling into The Board’s hands even less,” Weller said. “Now get back.”
Horace couldn’t argue with that logic. He hurried down the hallway, not wanting to be caught when he was so close to his ISU. Weller hurried to catch up a minute later, at which time several Mountain vehicles had materialized down the tunnel. A dozen guards yelled in unison, telling them to stop and surrender. Horace turned to keep running, but Weller grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“But nothing happened,” Horace said, panic flooding his voice. “Did you even do any—”
An explosion rocked the tunnel, causing the ground to shake so severely that Horace nearly lost his balance. In an instant, tons of concrete and rock and dirt rained down around the guards. The last Horace saw of them, the guards were swerving their vehicles to avoid being buried alive, several of them crashing into each other, their yells of anger turning to cries of panic.
The first clump of dirt that struck Horace sent him scurrying. Weller joined him and they outran the worst of the tunnel collapse, looking back a moment later to see nothing but a wall of dirt and debris.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The flashlight’s beam appeared much thinner, failing to cut through the cloud of dust hanging in the tunnel. Horace and Weller continued forward, hearts still pumping from the close call with the guards and tunnel collapse, ears still ringing from the explosion, neither man able to take a deep breath without filling his lungs with dust. Horace held his shirt over his nose and mouth, but the stale air left him on the verge of passing out.
When he spotted a familiar small tunnel entrance minutes later, Horace felt the urge to cry. He waved Weller into it and they soon reached the unlocked door leading into the ISU’s supply bunker. Once inside, Horace slammed the door shut and leaned his back against the door, sliding down to his butt, inhaling deep gulps of clean air.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Weller warned, browsing the rows of shelves. “We’re only staying long enough to rest, resupply and wait for the dust to settle. Who knows how long it’ll take the guards to dig through the debris.”
“They won’t,” Horace said.
Weller shrugged. With the flashlight still in hand, he proceeded toward the small hallway leading up to the ISU. Horace wasn’t afraid to sit in the dark—he’d been gone from the ISU for years, but had dreamed so much about it that he could traverse it blindfolded—but he didn’t like the idea of Weller having free reign. He followed the scientist, catching up to him as they passed the small passageway leading to the hydraulics system. Weller shined a light inside the small space.
“I’ll crawl in later and check to make sure they’re properly oiled,” Horace said.
Weller nodded and approached the other door in the underground supply bunker. He tried the handle and found it locked.
“Radio room,” Horace explained. “Connected to the Comm Center beyond the Mountain. My grandfather wanted constant updates about communication with other arks beyond our lands. Obviously the room doesn’t matter with the Comm Center shut down now.”
Weller proceeded to the ladder leading above. The climb to ISU’s hatch was only a few rungs, indicating that the ISU was currently below ground. Before Horace left for The Mountain, he’d set the hydraulics to automatic, scheduling the ISU to rise above the surface to recharge its solar panels whenever its power supply was too low. He’d feared an attack on the ISU from villagers, but he’d watched subsequent drone footage and found villagers staying away. He’d expected the ISU’s solar panels or power unit to break over time, but the Jonas ISU had been built with better materials than the rest of the village and never failed to rise and lower on a consistent basis.
When they entered the ISU, Horace found most of the automatic lights still glowing. His family’s village home was exactly as he’d left it. Weller clicked off the flashlight and walked ahead, but Horace hung back for a moment, suddenly overcome with emotion, feeling at home for the first time in years. But his eyes immediately found the front door and he recalled the moment Carla had rushed out after discovering his big lie. . .
The sound of running water snapped him out of his reverie. Horace hobbled into the kitchen, where he found Dr. Weller taking long gulps from the sink. Horace’s throat suddenly felt dry and s
cratchy, and he drank desperately once Weller had had his fill. Weller turned his attention to the cabinets, finding them stocked with packages of freeze-dried food. He tore them open and ate fervently, ignoring the bits that fell from his mouth. Horace started toward the control panel by the front door, but Weller shook his head.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“She might be out there. . . Carla,” Horace said.
Weller shook his head. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but your girlfriend was injected, same as the others.”
“You don’t know that,” Horace said.
Weller snorted, as if he knew more that he wasn’t saying. Horace didn’t eat quite as savagely as Weller and kept a close watch on him. Now that their lives weren’t in danger—at least immediate danger—Horace’s lack of trust in Weller had returned in full force. Still, he knew deep down that Carla’s chances of being alive—and being herself—were distant at best, a thought that sent his stomach swirling. He tossed his unfinished food onto the counter and considered raising the ISU, walking outside, allowing the beasts to get him. . .
But a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him not to give up on life, reminded him that he still had a chance to survive, unlike countless millions of people across the world. Weller said little else and after eating, he wandered into the library, running a finger along some of the books on the shelves, proclaiming all of them to be worthless. Horace watched him closely, and it wasn’t long before the scientist collapsed onto the library’s large reading chair, folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
“We’d better rest,” Weller said with a yawn. One eye popped open and immediately turned on Horace. “And don’t get any funny ideas while I’m sleeping.”
Weller’s snores filled the ISU minutes later. Every part of Horace’s body begged for sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to go to the bedroom. He headed back below, inspecting the hydraulics, finding them in working order. Once back in the ISU, he peered through the curtains of every window, finding the same darkened, concrete wall outside. He ended up at the control panel, his finger hovering over the button to engage the hydraulics, Weller’s warning the only thing making him hesitate.
