by Glynn James
Jack looked back up. Casey was still peering down from the bright sky above.
At least it was still daylight, he thought. Though the daylight didn’t reach far enough down into the darkness below.
“Don’t worry,” called Casey “Rope is still proper secure.”
He wondered, as he reached three quarters of the way down the rope, if Casey had decided to be rid of him, just drop him into a hole and be done, but he couldn’t think of a reason why. No, he climbed like a spider, as Casey said. And that was useful. But he still didn’t trust the three men, and several times he had considered just waiting for the right moment to head off on his own, but then Casey caught wind of a recently uncovered underground area. Jack hadn’t been able to resist.
He made his way slowly down the rope. It was easily a drop of sixty feet or more, three floors maybe, though he was now getting close to the bottom. He tried to squint and see into the collapsed rooms on either side of the shaft, but the glare from the sun above was destroying his dark vision.
He was just feet from the floor when he heard the first noise. He froze, dangling there on the rope, looking down into the dark. As his eyes adjusted, the darkness split into different objects. There was movement down there. A lot of it, shapes shifting in the shadows. He willed himself to move, to climb back up the rope, but found himself frozen and it wasn’t until he felt a tug and on the rope that his limbs burst into action and he began to climb once more. Now he began to panic.
“Something’s down here,” he’d shouted, and looked up.
Casey was leaning over the edge, frowning. “What you mean?” he called, as Jack reached the halfway point on his journey back up the rope.
Something was pulling on the rope down below, and Jack glanced down. Barely ten feet behind him, clawing its way up the rope, was a creature Jack still had nightmares about. Its features had been human once, but now its face was shrivelled and sunken, its eyes so far receded into its skull that they were hardly there at all. Teeth that were cracked and broken snapped together rapidly, gnashing at the air between them.
They only came out at night, he knew, but this one was determined, this one was intent on crawling into the daylight after him. There was a curse from above, and Jack launched himself upwards, pulling as hard as he could, his muscles screaming from the abuse. Then he saw what Casey was doing. The man had seen past Jack now, and spotted what was chasing him up the cord, and he’d drawn a knife and was cutting at the rope.
Jack hauled himself further.
Faster, you idiot, move faster, faster. But he could feel the creature below him gaining distance, scaling the rope behind him. Jack managed to reach up with one hand and grasp at the broken ground just as the rope gave way, and the creature below him plummeted back into the darkness, screaming in frustration as it fell, leaving Jack hanging by one hand, swinging in the air. Rough hands reached down and hoisted him out into the sunlight, where he lay for a few minutes, just trying to get his breath back.
“You were going to cut me loose,” said Jack, leaning over onto his side. He glared at Casey.
“No, no,” said Casey. “I was holding on, waiting ‘til you was up. I didn’t cut it all the way.”
Jack looked from Casey to Bron and Sturgis. The two big men were frowning, looking intently at Jack.
They’re waiting for you to make a move on Casey, he thought. And then he thought better of it.
Let it go. Just move on. Tonight. Head off on your own. It’s better that way. It always was. Whenever you get involved with others you always end up in some sort of trouble.
Once More into the…
Now…
Jack hadn’t noticed the vehicle carrying him coming to a stop. It could have happened hours before. He’d drifted in and out of groggy consciousness several times already, so when tingling in the side of his face started to bring him round, it didn’t occur to him to wonder whether the vehicle was still moving or not.
After a moment, he lifted his head from the cold metal floor and cringed as a rush of pins and needles spread slowly into his cheek. His dazed mind, barely able to focus, was vaguely aware that there were noises outside until they reached the back of the vehicle, right next to where he was being held. There were voices and then banging on the panel near his face. Then there was a clunk, and another clunk, much closer, right next to him.
He rolled onto his side as the wall he had been leaning on fell away and swung open. A blast of air and desert heat rushed into the small compartment. The light was blinding, and he closed his eyes as he felt rough hands pull him from his prison and out into the daylight. He was lifted to his feet, but his legs still refused to function correctly, and he staggered, firm hands holding him upright.
“Be still,” said a voice. “Give him a moment.” The voice was muffled, as though spoken through a visor, and Jack’s eyes began slowly to adjust to the bright daylight. He made out the shapes of three armoured figures – facility security forces – gathered around him. Beyond that he saw familiar buildings and a dirt roadway. The figures and his surroundings went from a blur to a slow clarity. He focused on a group standing maybe thirty yards away and felt some slight relief as the face of Tyler and the other E2 crew members registered in his brain.
“You are the one that escaped several months ago,” said one of the troopers. She stood a few feet away, regarding him. Jack looked at the officer. She had opened her front visor and he could see it was the same woman officer that had let him escape. She looked stern and curious.
She let me go, he thought. She’s probably thinking I could cause her trouble if I were to open my mouth.
“I don’t remember much,” he said, hoping the lie was convincing. “I haven’t been able to remember much over the last week or so. And everything before then is gone.”
The officer squinted at him and he wasn’t sure if she believed him. She stood there, not answering.
“I think I may have banged my head,” Jack said.
The officer nodded, then turned to the other troopers. “Make sure to escort him straight to the detention centre and then file the necessary report.” Then she turned and paced away.
Jack watched as she went.
I wasn’t convincing enough, he thought. Haven’t had a lot of practice with lying, recently.
Then he was being ushered forward by the troopers, one of them pushing him and another walking alongside. The third trooper walked ahead, moving along the dirt road and up the hill towards what Jack recognised as the detention compound. It was a good three hundred yards further along the dirt track, and it took maybe half of that distance for his legs to start responding to what his mind was trying to tell them. His body was battling every step of the way.
Must be side effects of being stunned by the drone, he thought. Or doped. Maybe they doped me.
The three troopers escorted him to the concrete compound, and one stepped in front of him as they reached the entrance. Jack noticed that his own hands were bound by pair of electronic cuffs. He couldn’t remember them being put on him.
Had to have happened while I was unconscious, he thought. He followed numbly, still trying to focus.
One of the troopers spoke to another pair of facility staff inside the entrance of the detention building, and then there was more trudging, this time along internal corridors. They turned left, then left again, and then right, onto a corridor with a row of a dozen small doors, half of which were still open. The other half were closed. He was guided into the fourth cell on the right and instructed to sit. He looked around, spotted a bed, and stepped forward, slumping down onto it. He turned to look up at the guard, who stood over him while he removed the cuffs. Jack was about to speak, but before he could, the guard backed out of the room. The door shut firmly with a clunk and a hiss, and Jack found himself in near darkness once more.
So, he thought. Solitary, is it.
He wondered why they deemed it necessary, but no sooner had he had that thought than he noticed a
glowing pale light on the ceiling that was gradually becoming more intense.
Watching Over You
Now…
Jackson tapped his fingers on the desk, impatiently watching the video screen in front of him. The image was grey and flickering, and concentrating on it was giving him a headache. He coughed, turned to look out of his office and then looked back at the screen. It was taking too long, as it always did. The crew were busying themselves, checking over the vehicle, but not quickly enough, in his opinion. He wanted them done and out of there. It was already getting dark outside and soon the shifts would change, and that was when he needed to be moving.
“Patience,” Jackson muttered. It will be time soon enough. You’re just on edge, keen to see what the next delivery will bring, and to see if the deal was being upheld. It had been too long since a delivery. Removing Jagan should have increased productivity, not decreased it. He didn’t like it Not at all. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and pondered the image of the maintenance bay.
The mark on the side of the E2 carrier was there, but he couldn’t be sure that it was the correct one, a deliberate mark. At least not until he got a closer look. He cursed, hammering at one of the keys on the keyboard, wishing that the zoom on the maintenance bay surveillance camera would go closer, and at the same time he made a mental note that he should have it seen to. The cameras on all internal buildings should be replaced with more functional ones. They were, after all, his eyes on the whole facility.
As he sat there, looking at the screen, the image clarified for a moment, and he leaned forward, squinting. Yes, there it was, almost as if answering his demand. A clear double scratch mark that couldn’t be made by some critter. No claws crossed over in such a way. Jackson sat back again, smiling. He wouldn’t have to go down to the bay until much later, when the lights were down and no one was around. The marking was clearer now.
“Excellent,” he muttered, and tapped at the intercom on the other side of his desk. “Rogen,” he said, and waited. After three seconds – almost long enough for him to have the urge to repeat the process – the intercom crackled and the puny, hesitant voice of his assistant replied.
“Yes, so sorry, sir. I was busy.”
“Really,” Jackson said. “Busy, at this time of the evening? Why, I thought you would be at the canteen already.”
“No, sir,” replied Rogen. “I was just relieving myself.”
Jackson coughed. “More information than required.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Silence for a moment. “We have an…errand to run this evening, Rogen. Ten of the clock, prompt. You understand?” said Jackson.
“Yes, sir,” said Rogen. “Not a problem, sir. I—”
“You will need to arrange the usual set of guard shifts to allow for our visit to be private.”
There was a pause, as though Rogen was hesitating. “Yes, of course, Mr. Jackson. Of course, I can arrange that straight away.”
“Good,” said Jackson. “I have excellent feeling about this delivery,” he said, and he released the intercom button.
Yes, he thought, leaning back in his chair once more. I am indeed having a good feeling about this one.
Unseen Unheard
Now…
Ryan crouched low behind the wreckage of a half-crushed vehicle, his body tucked behind the pile of broken concrete at the back. Part of the roof of the vehicle stuck out at an odd angle, providing both cover and darkness as he watched the long line of Junker warriors pass by. He knew a lot of the faces that passed him, and he could hear their conversation even though it was all in hushed tones. Not one of them had spotted him – or would. He was getting too good at this.
But it wouldn’t be easy to follow them. He would need to wait until the very last were almost out of sight, before moving forward, or he would have to navigate around other paths, guessing their route.
I could go alone, he thought. Take a route around them, head through the junk hills and be there before them.
No. Too risky. There were more than bugs out there to worry about. He could only range so far away from the junk town before starting to move into territory that was much too dangerous. And the closer he got to one of the facilities, the more chance there was of being spotted by a patrol of troopers, or worse, an active drone.
No. Patience was key, here. That much he had learned from Jack. There was a time to rush, to get to some place in a hurry, but when it came to stealth the key was not making mistakes, not rushing forward and risking giving yourself away. If any of the Junkers spotted him he would be chastised and sent back, and FirstMan would hear about it. If he was caught because he went on ahead of them, well, no one would probably hear of it, and he’d never see any of them again.
And let’s face the truth of it, he thought. You don’t even know why you’re following, do you? You can’t change what’s going to happen. Jack was already out there, probably already captured by now and on his way to the facility, just where he was supposed to be for the plan to work. You’re just a tag along, and an unwelcome one, at that.
But what happens when it all kicks off, when the defences of the facility go down and hundreds of Junkers rush in? War is what will happen. And in the middle of it will be Jack.
That thought set Ryan’s mind racing with questions. How could he help? Was he just going to be a witness? When everything went crazy, was he going to run in there, like an idiot, and hope to help in some way?
And where was FirstMan anyway? Ryan had expected him to be leading the expedition, but the man had been absent for nearly two days.
I don’t know, he thought. I really don’t know.
On my Orders
Now…
FirstMan knelt in the trash and peered over the ridge. From his position, overlooking the open expanse between mountains of trash and the facility three hundred yards away, he could see the whole theatre of his operation. The flat, bare ground started just yards away, down the slope of junk. The entire distance between the defensive barrier and where he and his men were hiding was almost completely void of debris, having been cleared years ago to allow a good distance between the trash mountains that were the wealth of the Junklands and the main facility. It was a killing ground, and unless his plan went exactly as he wanted it to, that was what it could become.
FirstMan sighed. Even with the protective combat armour his own men wore, they were vulnerable. The Junkers wouldn’t stand a chance against the perimeter defences. The guns, even though they were sparsely placed – maybe a hundred yards apart – were powerful enough to cut a man in two, ablative armour or none.
The drone strike meant everything. Jack’s position in the detention centre meant everything. Of course, that one was the biggest uncertainty. From the trash mountains, they couldn’t see far enough into the facility to know that the man had been taken there, it was mostly hope.
Mostly.
“Well?” FirstMan asked, turning to Hyde, the tech trooper kneeling beside him.
“I’m still picking up the signal,” said Hyde, nodding. “And the feedback delay, and trajectory of point of origin, suggest that he is definitely inside the detention centre.” Hyde grinned at this.
“Excellent,” said FirstMan.
“Only one slight hiccup on that,” said Hyde.
Always, FirstMan thought. Always there is something not quite how we want it to be.
“Go on,” said FirstMan.
“Well,” Hyde continued. “If the estimate is correct, they’ve put him in the left wing.”
FirstMan frowned. “Why would they do that? He’s not brain fried. One look at him and you know he’s not.”
“We know that,” said Hyde, “But they appear to have decided otherwise.”
FirstMan considered this for moment. “Does this cause us a problem?”
Hyde shrugged. “Technically, no. It’s still more than close enough to take down the grid. The problem is, when the magnetic locks in the detention block stop wor
king, our friend Jack may find himself in company that isn’t the most stable.”
FirstMan crouched low, taking cover behind an overhang of rebar as he looked over the space between them and the perimeter fence.
“Unfortunately, he will have to deal with that,” said FirstMan. “He’s tough. Tougher than I first thought.”
Hyde nodded.
“He’ll be fine,” said FirstMan. “Let’s get prepped, hunkered down so we’re ready for dawn.”
FirstMan looked around. On top of the pile of trash, keeping under cover using the front of a vehicle that jutted out, RightHand also knelt and had been spending the last hour using a viewfinder to scour the perimeter. The rest of his troops, at least the ones armed with shock rifles, had spread out further along the ridge, and behind them, hiding amongst the trash, his larger assault force was waiting. The Junkers themselves lay low in the valley of trash, mostly huddled in small groups, some of them lying down, catching some needed rest before the assault.
FirstMan squinted through the viewfinder.
“Is the dampener working?” he asked RightHand. The man glanced at him and looked behind them at a small machine another of their techs was monitoring, using it to hide their presence.
“I hope so,” said RightHand. “If it isn’t, then they’re being very lax with the perimeter watch.”
FirstMan peered through the viewfinder again, scanning the perimeter, checking the towers, the walkways. He remembered walking those boards himself. They called them the boards, but it was a concrete and metal structure, with towers every hundred yards or so, and underneath that was a mesh fence charged with enough power to instantly kill a man.
The towers also held scanning equipment that should, right now, be alerting the admin office to mass intrusions on the perimeter.
That was what the dampener was for. To hide them.
There was no big light display given off by the defence wall; the fence merely hummed. If they stood within a few yards of it, the static was tangible and would make their hair stand on end. If they went too close…well that was another thing entirely.
