Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  He crouched and then half-ran to the shelter of the bench, and edged closer to the vat, following the wires as they spiralled their way through the boiling liquid. Then he recoiled, his throat filled with sick. Connected to the wires was the bloodied stump of a human leg, followed by a foot, perfectly preserved. The toes twitched as if they were alive, fed by the mysterious tubes and wires. Jonah stared at the limb, revolted and fascinated. His eyes moved to a second vat nearby. It contained a human hand, wires and tubes bristling out of the severed wrist. Jonah moved into the aisle, still crouching. All along the bench were similar vessels, filled with hands and feet. A quick glance revealed twenty or maybe thirty benches each sporting glass containers and gruesome contents. Jonah snuck between the benches and saw a heart in a clear box, pumping red, viscous liquid through artificial pipes; a set of lungs expanding and contracting as if it were breathing and a brain, twitching with life.

  Jonah crept on. The vats and benches were replaced by lines of machines with robotic arms moving in a graceful dance to create layers of tissue that looked like skin or muscle. Other machines appeared to be printing bones.

  Machine after machine were lined up like a factory production line. Jonah would have been impressed if he wasn’t so revolted by the gruesome outputs: ears and fingernails and a bird’s claw and a monkey’s tail.

  Holding his hand over his mouth to stop the sick, Jonah snuck further down the aisle passing more printing machines and entered a cavernous space, with a high ceiling and no windows. A series of small, red lights shone from the roof making it possible to see, but only just. As his eyes adjusted he saw a vast array of large glass cylinders standing three metres tall and each containing a yellowish fluid, infused with fine bubbles, like fish tanks. As with the vats, tangles of pipes poked from the top and objects floated inside them. He inched forward, making sure he was alone.

  He was within a metre of the first cylinder when he saw an entire human body, naked, floating as if dead, but with oxygen tubes attached to its face. Its limbs were tied by submerged straps. Jonah wanted to run but forced himself to get closer. The body twitched and its chest heaved as if it was breathing. It was a mutant, with a gaping mouth filled with teeth and no lips. And it was huge. Perhaps two metres tall, with hands like softball mitts.

  Jonah looked around and saw that bodies filled each of the cylinders. They were all oversized mutants, some with bulbous heads and distorted faces, some with fleshy hooks for hands or hunchbacks. All male. And there were many: rows and rows, perhaps a thousand cylinders, at first glance.

  Gathering his courage, he approached for a closer look. As he raised his hands to touch the glass, the mutant’s eyelids flickered open to reveal black pupils, diluted wide with terror. Jonah gasped and fell backward as bubbles streamed from the mutant’s screaming mouth. It began to thrash its limbs in a fruitless attempt to escape, causing the fluid to slosh over the top soaking Jonah’s feet.

  Jonah scrambled backwards like a spider, skidding in the mess. The mutants’ black eyes now were open wide and Jonah staggered up and ran clumsily back past the rows of robots and benches to the stairwell. He reached for the door handle and vomited.

  I need to get out of here, he thought, wiping the sick from his lips.

  He dashed down the stairs into the basement and stood for a moment trying to calm down. The image of the thrashing mutant with its gaping mouth and terrified eyes replayed in his head and he shuddered.

  He figured it was too late now to go back to his quarters. But he had no real idea what to do next. He didn’t know where to find Nassim or even where to start the search. Sneaking through the basement he tried all the doors but everything was locked. It ended in a blank wall.

  “Back up top,” he sighed and began the long ascent up the service ladder. It took an age to reach the roof, and all the while his brain filled with the images of what he’d just seen. He imagined the mutant breaking out of the vat and following him up the ladder, its oversized hands grabbing at his ankles.

  He again tiptoed from tower to tower trying the trap doors but they were all shut tight. He even tried sliding into a vent but his shoulders were too wide. Slumped against the relative shade of a cooling tower, he felt helpless. It took all his concentration to stop seeing the mutant’s open mouth, screaming.

  He was so consumed that he almost didn’t hear voices below. He thought he was imagining things. But they continued and then there was the sound of machinery and doors clunking. Shaking free of his reverie he crawled towards a nearby edge and peered down into a large concrete courtyard, with high steel walls and no windows. A single tree with almost no leaves grew in the centre. It looked like a sick joke.

  The sounds were coming from guards who were moving a group of Landers, dressed in medical gowns, from one side of the courtyard to other. They shuffled as if they were drugged. One tipped sideways and was shoved back into line by a soldier with an electric cattle prod. They were clearly Landers, some even looked like mutants, but they looked young, mostly kids. More prisoners followed from a door underneath him and this time his heart leapt. Her shambling steps made her look like a zombie – but it was her.

  “Nassim!” he hissed, biting his lip.

  A sick butterfly flipped in Jonah’s stomach as he looked at Wadid following Nassim on the slow march across the courtyard. They had 30 metres to cover; perhaps three minutes at the most.

  Jonah looked in vain for ways down. The walls were sheer cliffs of iron. He risked peering further over the edge and was rewarded with the sight of a down-pipe, just twenty metres to his left, running to a corner of the courtyard.

  He dashed across the roof and knelt at the edge. The metal gutter burnt in the daytime heat but it felt strong and he slid his legs and torso off the ledge until his toes caught the pipe. Trusting in Metricia building standards he hung all his weight on the gutter and lowered himself off the edge. The metal groaned under the strain and he could see the rivets bulging. Then, holding on with just one hand, he reached the pipe with the other and let go.

  It took just moments to shimmy down. As soon as his feet hit the concrete pavers he crouched low preparing for his next move. Surprise is the best form of attack, he thought. He stood up, dusted off his shirt and strode towards the line.

  “Hey, you there! Where are you taking these Landers?” he bellowed.

  A guard spun around, his gun raised. For a moment he looked ready to shoot. Jonah kept walking.

  “And who’s asking?” said the guard.

  “I’m Private Jonah Salvatore. Walshe wishes to interrogate these two Landers,” he said, nodding at Nassim and Wadid who swayed, half conscious.

  “Oh really? What did you say your name was, private?” he tapped his shoulder which sported the two stripes of a sergeant.

  Jonah changed his tone. “My apologies Sir, I was in hurry. I should explain. I’m Jonah Salvatore, son of Consul Petreus Salvatore and grandson of General Kenrick. I’m here as a guest of Commander Walshe. He has asked me to retrieve these two mutants and bring them back for questioning. They’ve only just been delivered this week. Fresh meat, eh?”

  The sergeant guffawed and looked at Nassim.

  “Fresh’n’tasty, alright.”

  Jonah was doubting his gamble would work when a commotion at the front of the line distracted the man. One of the prisoners had collapsed and a guard was trying to drag it up. The sergeant turned from Jonah and yelled: “Okay, we’ll have none of that!”

  It was Jonah’s chance. He snatched at the plastic cuffs around Nassim’s and Wadid’s hands and dragged them back towards the door from which they’d just emerged. He dared not look back but strode, then trotted with his Lander friends tripping like drunken sailors in tow. They’d made the door and were almost inside when the sergeant bellowed.

  “Hey! You! Stop!”

  “I don’t think so,” muttered Jonah and he closed the door and turned the lock. They were inside a short landing area followed by descending stairs. Jonah drag
ged Nassim and Wadid to the edge and they staggered, passing doors to other floors, and half-tripping on each flight. Wadid was drooling. Nassim’s eyes were rolling back into her head. They moved like zombies. The sergeant bellowed through the locked door and rattled the handle. Jonah figured they had gained a minute, perhaps two, but they needed more.

  They’d gone down four flights when a siren blared and red lights started pulsing against the walls. Jonah’s heart pumped but he kept descending until they go could go no further except through a door that led to a pipe-lined corridor that he recognised as the basement. He burst through and dragged his doped followers into gloomy passage and searched for the ladder that would take them to the roof. But all the spaces looked the same. He was disorientated. Meanwhile he could now hear footsteps and voices behind them as guards pounded down in pursuit.

  Desperate, he looked for a hiding place and chose a corner darkened by the confluence of pipework and pillars. All three collapsed, panting.

  “Nassim!” he hissed, dragging her onto his lap. She starred at him through her drug-induced haze. She mouthed something but nothing came out.

  “What have they done to you?” asked Jonah. “What happened? Why are you in handcuffs?”

  “They mean to kill us,” groaned Wadid.

  “Kill you? Why? How do you know?”

  Wadid held up his hands as evidence. The plastic cut into his flesh. Jonah nodded but it still made no sense. If the Metricians wanted the Landers dead they could have done it days ago. Handcuffs, drugging, labs– the Landers were being used as guinea pigs. But for what?

  He looked with pity at his friends. A tear slid down Nassim’s perfect cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wiped her face with a clumsy thumb. “I’m sorry I didn’t look for you sooner. They didn’t let me. They didn’t answer my questions!” It sounded petulant, like he was making excuses. He pulled Nassim close. “But I’ve got you now, I’ve got ...”

  Footfalls echoed down the passage and the sergeant shouted instructions to the other soldiers. Wadid’s head slowly fell to his chest. Jonah squeezed Nassim tight just as a rifle edged its way around a pillar.

  “Don’t move!” a voice growled.

  Jonah put his lips to Nassim’s ear just as a tranquilliser dart buried deep into his neck.

  “I will find you. I will save you,” he heard himself say as a fog descended over his eyes. He felt overwhelmed but he clung to her until someone grabbed his wrists and dragged him away.

  Chapter 14 - Trust and obey

  Darkness. Warmth. Voices.

  “What does he know?”

  “Not much, I suspect. He saw a lab. Some patients. Nothing that can’t be explained.”

  Jonah felt the warmth and the soft touch of sheets. He strained to open his eyes but there was complete darkness. He tried to call out but he made no sound.

  “He’s a risk.”

  “He’s just a boy!”

  “You’re too sentimental.”

  “You’re too cold.”

  “A matter of opinion. I prefer the facts. We’ve been exposed and I’m worried. The new army is almost ready. We can’t afford any more lapses. We will be watching how you handle this.”

  “There will be nothing to see.”

  “I hope so, for your sake.”

  ◆◆◆

  Jonah smelt his grandfather before he saw him. The large, wood-panelled office with the oversized desk had the whiff of power. And age. Just like GK.

  He was in a hospital bed, hooked up to a knot of wires connected to a floating medibot. At his side sat the old man.

  “Ahhh, the hero awakes,” smiled GK.

  Jonah tried to sit up but was surprised to find himself restrained.

  “Sorry. A precaution. Sedation can have side effects.” GK loosened the straps.

  “I was sedated?”

  “Yes, a bit extreme. I was unhappy about it. No matter. By god, it’s great to see you alive!” He squeezed Jonah’s hand. “Eva is so relieved. We all are. What a merry adventure you’ve led us on!”

  “I’ve had merrier.”

  GK gave a throaty laugh and shook his head. “Well, I see they didn’t kidnap your sense of humour.”

  Jonah was bursting with questions but knew better than to barrage GK just yet. It was so good to see him. They embraced.

  “What happened down there?” GK asked.

  “There’s a lot to tell. I’m not sure where to start.”

  “A good story starts at the beginning.”

  So, Jonah began with his ejection from the hoverpod and the sight of Hugo’s parachute far below. GK frowned most of the way but smiled and slapped his thigh when he heard how many mutants Jonah carved up with his laser. Jonah skipped over the long conversation with Nassim – he didn’t mention her name at all. It felt like a betrayal, but he knew GK wouldn’t approve of his friendship with a Lander.

  “So eventually you arrived at this facility. What did you call it?”

  “Abaddon.”

  GK shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it. What was it like?”

  Jonah described its proportions and meeting Commander Walshe. He mentioned the vending machine and the courtyard garden but stopped short of the one thing that was bursting to come out. He fell silent.

  “This is upsetting you,” said GK softly. “I really must let you rest.”

  Jonah bit his lip. He so wanted to tell GK about the lab, the horrific experiments, the line of prisoners – and Nassim. He wanted GK to command a mission to destroy that hideous place. And rescue her.

  GK paused, as if he was unsure about something too.

  “I know about your, er, escape.”

  Jonah looked at his sheets, his face burning with embarrassment. His chest thumped.

  “It’s okay, you’re naturally adventurous. You are my grandson after all,” he chuckled. “They tell me you were gone for over an hour. Where did you go? What did you see?”

  Jonah scrunched the sheets with his hands. He was sweating.

  “Come on, son. You will be debriefed eventually. They’ll give me something boring and official to read. I want to hear it from you, man-to-man. What did you see down there in those labs?”

  Jonah froze. He hadn’t said anything about labs. He’d said nothing at all. GK knew more than he claimed. This is a test, thought Jonah. He chose his words carefully.

  “I saw some prisoners, the same people who were in the mutants’ wagon.”

  “Prisoners? How many?

  “Ten, twelve, I didn’t really count.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Being moved, across a quad. They were shuffling like they were drugged or chained – hard to tell.”

  “What else did you see?”

  “Nothing,” Jonah lied.

  “Why did you try to grab the two Landers?”

  GK knew everything! Jonah spoke cautiously. “I didn’t like the way they were being treated. After what we’d been through I wanted them to get the same medical treatment they’d given us.”

  “Even though they were Landers?”

  “Well, yes, they were Landers but they weren’t mutants.”

  “How did you know that? Not all Landers are mutated but they all carry the Contagion. It can remain dormant for years. You know that, don’t you?”

  Jonah shrugged.

  “Jonah, look at me.” GK’s voice dropped. His grandfatherly tone was changing. “It’s amazing that you weren’t infected by those Landers. You’re lucky to be alive. But you’re also lucky that you’re in my care and not locked in some godforsaken brig. What you did was dangerous, to you and to Metricia. Some might say it was treasonous. Helping the enemy escape is a crime for anyone, but especially for a soldier.”

  His grey eyes drilled into Jonah.

  “Do you realise how serious this is?”

  “Yes,” whispered Jonah. It took all his strength to stay calm. He wanted to throw himself into his grandfather’s arms and explain why
he did it, what they were doing to Nassim. He wanted to beg for help to save her.

  “Okay, good. Now here’s the thing...”

  A knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Ah look, here comes the food.”

  The door opened and a young man wheeled in a trolley with china plates and silver cutlery. Savoury smells filled the room. Jonah’s stomach gurgled.

  “What have we here, Yang?” chimed GK cheerily.

  “Handpicked broccoli and baby carrots from Francisco, asparagus in a white jus and Angus beef steak, from Aotearoa, sir,” replied the man.

  “Beef, eh? Well, well, what a treat,” and he licked lips like a child. “Ever had beef before, Jonah?”

  Jonah shook his head. No one had beef. Not even the Petreus family. Beef-flavoured steak, yes, but not real meat.

  GK arranged a plate of food along with a starched white napkin on Jonah’s lap and passed him a shiny knife and fork. They felt heavy in his grip.

  “Eat,” GK said, nodding at the food.

  Jonah drew the knife through the meat. Crimson juice oozed from the cut and inside the flesh looked as smooth as fudge. Pulling it up to his lips he could smell the rich, salty flavour. It dissolved in his mouth.

  “Rather good, eh?” mumbled GK. Juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  Jonah nodded. Real beef! Where did real beef come from, he wondered. Aotearoa had no farms. It was a hydropolis like Madrid. They ate in silence, every mouthful an explosion of flavour, until the plates were wiped clean.

  GK leaned back and pushed the plate away with toe of his shoe. “Got to be some privileges for us workers,” and winked. Jonah felt guilty eating food no one else ever tasted. GK slurped on a Mets.

  “Now, where were we? Ah, yes,” and he burped. “I have powers, Jonah. Comes with the role. I have the authority to wipe this from your record. You can simply walk from here and rejoin your troop. But it comes at a cost: you need to tell me what else you saw in this Abaddon.”