Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  Whipping out her pistol she leapt around the door’s edge and saw a white-walled guardroom, with one chair and a bank of holoscreens. It was empty. The guard had been alone, but for how long was anyone’s guess. It smelt like the ward they’d been held in just days ago.

  Silas was already inside and stepped through into the room. “Won’t they see us?” she asked, excitedly.

  But Silas seemed relaxed. He leaned back against the desk and reached for a half-eaten chocolate bar. “That was impressive,” he said, folding back the foil. “How did you know that I wasn’t going to trade you?”

  The question annoyed Nassim. She didn’t want conversation. “I didn’t. I still don’t. Look, shouldn’t we be shutting down some of these cameras or something?”

  “So you still suspect me of lying?”

  Ignoring the question, Nassim continued to look for the cameras. The rest of the men had filed in, their guns strung over their shoulders. They looked too relaxed. Something was not right. Silas put his pistol on the desk and bit off a chunk of chocolate. He shrugged, as if reluctant to answer her question. “The cameras are turned off, for now. It’s illegal to traffic women in Metricia. So, no one is allowed to know that the good doctor is ordering women for his pleasure. The cameras get turned off for a few minutes, until the exchange is done and the prisoners are safely delivered.”

  “So how long have we got?” she asked, eager to exploit the opportunity.

  “About another twelve minutes or so. Your hard work has bought us a little time.”

  Something was definitely brewing. She moved backwards and pulled out the loaded gun.

  “Time to do what?” she asked.

  “To discuss.”

  “Discuss what? We’re all done with talking and trading. I certainly am,” and she edged towards the door that led into the corridor – into Abaddon. But Silas moved faster and blocked her way. They stood close, his face looking down on her.

  “You’re right to suspect me, Nassim,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Her eyes darted to find Afiz.

  Silas leaned closer, placing a hand on the wall behind her. “It’s true that I have plans,” he continued. His voice was menacing. “But they’re not the ones you think I have. Do you really think I’m interested in money and girls? Do you think a few trinkets or worldly pleasures would quench what burns in my heart? Do you think I’m that shallow, that cheap?”

  He stood over her now, his breath hot on her face. She could almost feel his heart beating.

  “I don’t know what you want ...” she stammered.

  “Of course you don’t. You’re blind to what’s real. You care only for what you see: some children, a few women … your brother.”

  He said it cruelly and she winced.

  “But your vision is weak, Nassim. It’s time for you to open your eyes.”

  She was pinned, his hands now pressed on either side of her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go. I just want to get Wadid!”

  “No.”

  “What do mean no? That’s what this whole mission is for!”

  “No! That’s not what this mission is for. That’s the point, Nassim. It’s never been about Wadid. Do you know what’s on the other side of this door?” he said, gesturing towards to the corridor.

  She shook her head.

  “No, I thought not. I do. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Oh, Wadid is there alright. And so is Mahmoud. And Hakem. And Levi. And Johannes and Richard and Tony and a thousand other men stored in vats like zombies waiting to be brought back from the dead. Nassim, this mission is not about rescuing Wadid. It’s about rescuing our friends, brothers and soldiers. It’s about rescuing the largest mutant army the world has ever seen!”

  Nassim tried to duck out of his way but he had her pinned. “You’re insane. You can’t raise an army,” she spat.

  Silas laughed. “I don’t have to. It’s already been done. Show her.”

  One of the men stepped over to the console and tapped some keys, bringing up holovids of a vast room filled with tall, translucent cylinders.

  “Zoom in,” Silas said and the man moved his fingers through the air to manipulate the image. What Nassim saw sickened her. A naked man floated inside a glass tube, wires and pipes protruding from his nose and mouth. He looked dead but she saw his chest rise and fall. He was breathing.

  “Suspended animation,” Silas said. “Isn’t he magnificent? A man, a mutant man, a superman, bred to be powerful, bred to fight. The Metricians believed they were creating their own army for their endless war against the Landers. And we’ve been helping them, Nassim! Feeding our own children into their mutant machine.”

  Nassim wanted to vomit.

  “But all this time we’ve known that one day we’d seize our own army back. The tide is turning! When we go through that door and release our brothers we will unleash the very hell they wished to inflict on us!”

  The veins in Silas’ neck were swollen.

  Nassim moved back but Silas grabbed her.

  “I don’t know what ...” she protested.

  “You don’t know anything! Do you think I let you live and risked everything so we could rescue one man? We, us men,” and he pointed to the five soldiers, “have planned this moment for over ten years. We lived like animals, following orders from that fat thief, bowing before the Metricians and seeing our young men enter Abaddon like lambs to the slaughter. We bided our time and bit our tongues, but the fool Manchester Jones got himself killed and we knew the moment had come. And then you almost spoilt our plans with your little ambush. But I could see that our paths intersect.”

  “I don’t have a path. I just want to get my brother.”

  Silas’ brow furrowed. “Don’t you see, Nassim? Our paths are joined. You will be Queen and I shall be your Lord and together we will rule over all the desert. The Metricians will be vanquished and our rule will extend from Cairo in the south to Darussalam in the east.”

  “You will never be my lord!” Nassim shouted and she wrestled herself away. “You’re a monster! You’re a kidnapper and a murderer! You’re a common criminal. And even if you kidnap me again you’ll never be my lord!”

  “Oh, I will,” he laughed. “I already am. From the moment you failed to kill me I became your lord and you will serve me as my wife. You will lead our people and together we will bring a new rule to Egypt – and then, beyond!”

  At that moment Afiz drew his gun and shot at Silas’ mad, grinning face but one of the men was too quick and shoved up his arm just as the pin fired. The bullet sailed over everyone’s head and into the guardroom ceiling. In seconds Afiz was on the floor with the gun wrestled from his hands and his arms twisted up his back.

  “Ha, ha,” Silas laughed. “So, the little rook defends his queen. Pity. I was beginning to like the kid. Kill him. We need to move.”

  The man who held Afiz’ arm pulled a knife from his belt and brought it up to boy’s throat as if he were ready to slay a goat.

  “Wait!” screeched Nassim. “Wait. There’s been enough killing.”

  The knife hovered beneath Afiz’s exposed neck.

  “Says the woman who ordered my execution,” said Silas. “Continue!”

  “No stop! Wait!” cried Nassim. “Spare him and I’ll give you what you want.”

  Afiz stared at Nassim in alarm. She knew he would rather die than see her possessed by this monster of a man.

  “Ha! Changed your tune so soon, your majesty?” laughed Silas.

  “Don’t kill him, please. I’ll do what you want.”

  The knife wavered.

  “What, you mean join our cause?” asked Silas and he waved at the man to lower the knife. “Or become my wife?”

  “Both. Whatever. Just don’t hurt him,” said Nassim, her voice trailing. She lowered her head, shame and anger swirled inside. She was defeated.

  “Well, that’s a change of heart, your highness. You must like the ki
d. How interesting.” Silas stood for moment his hand on his chin.

  “Tie them up good and tight,” he said at last. “We’ll deal with them soon enough.”

  Rough hands forced Nassim to the floor and bound her arms and feet. They dealt even rougher with Afiz, and the two friends lay hog-tied with gags around their mouths. They watched as the six bandits pulled masks over their noses, gently opened the door to the corridor and slipped from the guardroom without looking behind.

  Nassim cried. She kicked and squirmed and wrestled but the men were masters at tying knots. The harder she twisted the tighter they became and the heavier her heart felt. Her hope of saving Wadid had slipped from her fingers.

  The gates of Abaddon were a trap.

  Chapter 25 - Brothers: awaken!

  Silas led the small pack into a basement corridor and snuck quietly along a line of chrome pipes and grey conduit until they spied a bored-looking Metrician guard, leaning against an exit. Silas waved for Thomas, who, with customary precision, landed a near-silent rifle shot square in the guard’s forehead. Silas lifted the dead man’s hand to the security detection panel. The door opened.

  “What if there’s more security doors?” asked Thomas, looking at the body.

  “Take what you need,” Silas said and gave Thomas a long knife from his belt.

  They dashed up four flights to the same door that Jonah had stood at just a week before. Through the narrow strip of glass they spied benches with body parts boiling in vats of clear, aerated water.

  Silas used the guard’s severed hand to operate the panel and tested the handle. It turned! He pushed the door ajar and scanned the floor for humans and bots, but saw nothing.

  A low hum and gurgling pots was all that he could hear. They entered the room and scurried along the laboratory wall until they were standing at the edge of the vast, red-lit hall, with hundreds of glass cylinders filled with bubbling liquid and suspended super-mutants. The six men stood for a moment, amazed at the sheer scale of the Metrician atrocity.

  “My brothers: meet my brothers,” whispered Silas.

  For a decade, Silas had dreamed of this moment. The vicious raids on Lander villages. The killing and kidnapping of his own kin. The shameful agreement with that ugly gangster, Manchester Jones. Surrendering his victims into the hands of the Metricians. It was all for this moment: his handiwork, his army, suspended, ready to be freed.

  Silas holstered his revolver and approached the first vat. The creature inside was floating, waiting. He raised his hand and touched the glass. It was warm, like a womb.

  “You are magnificent,” he said quietly as his eyes traced the muscular shoulders down to a narrow waist and powerful, masculine legs. On one of its arms hung a massive hand, on the other a set of claws like an eagle’s.

  “Prepare to be born again!” he said. And raising the butt of his rifle he smashed the cylinder with one powerful blow. The glass, made of hard acrylic, shattered into a million fragments and the fluid poured out, followed by the mutant which slithered onto the floor like a giant jellyfish. Gasping for breath and blinking, it lay on its back and shook with the shock of the sudden birth. It groaned as it clumsily shifted onto its hands and knees, tottering like a new-born foal.

  Silas inched forward, his face a mixture of joy and revulsion. Despite waiting ten years for this moment, he’d not thought what he might say.

  “Welcome!” he said at last. “Welcome my brother!”

  The mutant turned its head slowly and blinked, trying to focus.

  “You’ve been reborn!” continue Silas. “Here, let me help you!”

  And summoning his courage to touch the mutant, Silas pulled the creature to its feet. It looked like a Neanderthal, tall and muscular with a prominent forehead and square jaw. And the strange claw for a hand. It leaned heavily on Silas, and gasped for breath. Silas could feel blood pulse in its arms.

  “See, you are alive my brother! Feel the life returning!”

  The mutant flexed its arm and then raised its mighty claw like a weapon. Mucus drooled from its mouth.

  Silas then nodded to the other men who took to the vats with their rifle butts, smashing the glass and watching the mutants pour onto the floor like a fishing boat emptying its nets. Soon the room was awash in yellow fluid. Mutant bodies flopped and flailed, gasping for air.

  Silas remained with the first, who now stood a full head above him, with massive shoulders and arms that could break a tree. As if through a fog, the mutant tried to comprehend what was happening, holding out its arms like foreign objects. The talons clenched and relaxed. Then its eyes began to look further afield, to the vast room of vats and smashing glass and gasping mutants and then finally on the man who stood in front of him grinning.

  The mutant recognised him, but not well; just a nagging thought that this man was not his friend, certainly not his brother. It was like waking from a nightmare. Occasionally, inside its tube, the mutant would experience a stab of memory about a life with people he loved, free from this underwater prison. But the memories would fade and get tangled with crazy thoughts, always underscored by a strong sense of foreboding. Now, reality was emerging like dawn.

  Seeing Silas’ grinning face made something snap

  ◆◆◆

  Despite his gag, Afiz convinced Nassim to calm down and demonstrated how, by alternately tensing and relaxing, he could loosen the knot a little. Bit by bit the ropes around his wrists eased and he was soon able to twist his hand.

  They were wriggling and straining when the back door creaked on its hinges. Nassim spun her head around in time to see a face poke out.

  Matilda!

  Nassim gave a little yelp of surprise, or as much as you can when you’re gagged.

  “I came back,” Matilda whispered. She removed Nassim’s gag. “I came back because I knew what they were going to do. They’re horrible men, like the dwarf. I’ve come to help you.”

  She worked on the knots until they were free and stood, rubbing their wrists.

  “They’ve come to see their army,” Matilda said.

  “We know, they showed us,” replied Nassim, pointing at the monitors. They went to the screens and saw Silas and his men systematically smashing their way through the hall of vats, the mutants spilling onto the floor like eels.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Afiz.

  “You’ve got to stop them,” said Matilda. “They’re cruel men. The worst sort of men to have an army.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly. But what exactly could three kids do against Silas and his henchmen, let alone an army of mutants?

  They both looked at Nassim expectantly.

  “We can’t stop them,” Nassim said at last. “But we can find Wadid before they do. Let’s go!”

  They dashed into the corridor just as a siren blared. The intruders had been detected at last. All the more cover for us, thought Nassim. They had no real idea of where to go but Matilda said the tunnels brought them to the lowest level, so the only way was up. Running down a corridor with silver pipes overhead they found a door to a stairwell, propped open with the body of a Metrician guard. He’d been shot, execution-style, and his right-hand was severed at the wrist. Nassim shuddered at the thought of what Silas would be capable of doing backed by an army of super-mutants.

  Up the stairs they flew, stopping at each level until they too found the lab filled with body parts. Afiz crouched at the door and prepared to make a cautious entrance when shouts, followed by the pounding of boots, echoed from above. The Metricians were on their way.

  “Go!” hissed Nassim and they burst through the door and ran past the vials of bubbling liquid and growing limbs, past the body printers and living brains and into the dimly lit hall where they could hear the smashing of the vats. Behind them the door swung violently open and armed Metrician soldiers exploded through, their sergeant barking instructions. They were stuck: the Metricians streaming in behind, the bandits ahead.

  Nassim spied a narrow cavity b
etween the edge of the building and a line of unbroken cylinders.

  “There!” she pointed and they leapt into the space just as the soldiers raced past them, into the hall.

  “Kill the bandits! But not the mutants!” yelled the sergeant.

  Nassim’s heart beat hard and she pushed Afiz and Matilda against the floor expecting to feel a laser blast on her back. But the soldiers kept running, their eyes fixed on the violence ahead. Seconds later the hall was ablaze with ricocheting bullets and laser beams.

  “Now’s my chance,” breathed Nassim. “Stay hidden. I’m going to look for Wadid.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! I didn’t come here to hide. I’m coming with you!” growled Afiz.

  Nassim couldn’t protest, so leaving Matilda crouching in the shadows, she and Afiz snuck to the closest cylinder and gazed at the mutant encased within, its eyes closed, oblivious to the chaos outside.

  “That’s not him. Next one!”

  They scurried to the next vial, as the shouts and firefight ahead of them escalated. The second mutant hung suspended, one eye lazily opening and closing as if it were reacting to a dream.

  It wasn’t Wadid.

  On they searched, the third, fourth and fifth mutants were all in various states of wakefulness and none of them was her brother.

  “This is hopeless. He could be one of thousands. Or maybe not even in this room at all!” she exclaimed.

  Screams and the sounds of battle filled the air and they stood for a moment contemplating their next move when a flicker of movement, three cylinders deeper into the hall, caught her eye. Surely it was her imagination. Again the mutant spasmed and fluid splashed over the cylinder’s edge.

  “Wait! Look!” said Afiz, grabbing her arm. He’d seen it too.

  Hunched over to avoid being seen, they dashed closer to the fighting but closer also to the creature that resembled Wadid, suspended in yellow liquid, tubes protruding from his nose and side.

  “Wadid!” Nassim screamed. She rushed to the cylinder and slapped her open palm on the glass. Eyes open fully, Wadid stopped thrashing and slowly raised his hand to match Nassim’s. For a moment it seemed like the sound of the fighting ceased and they stood, brother and sister reunited, all the fear and loss reduced to a mere pane of plastic glass.