Fall of Hades

by Richard Paul Evans

  “You mean the terrorists who attacked the Starxource plant in Zuoying?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are bad people. You should not be with them. It is very dangerous.”

  “They weren’t trying to shut down the plant. They were trying to rescue a little girl we had kidnapped.”

  Mei Li looked upset. “You kidnapped a little girl?”

  “The Elgen did.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Welch leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I know. There is much you don’t understand. It’s better that way.” He held her for a moment, then said, “We don’t have much time. The Elgen could already be on their way here. This morning I need you to get me money and phones.”

  “You need more than one?”

  “I’ll need six. I’ll go out with you.”

  “Six phones? Why so many?”

  “I can only use a phone once.”

  “You can use a phone more than once. You can use it many times. It is not . . . disposable.”

  “I’m saying, I should not use it more than once. The Elgen will be tracking all signals.”

  “How much money will you need?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “I’d take more, but that’s already enough to raise attention.”

  “Are you going to wear the dress again when you go outside?”

  “The burka? No. Not today.”

  “Then you should bathe. You smell like sweat.”

  Welch laughed. “Sorry, when you’re running for your life, personal hygiene takes a backseat.”

  “Why a backseat?”

  He waved his hand. “We’ll go after I shower.”

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later Welch and Mei Li emerged from the apartment to the street below. Even though Welch was wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses, he still didn’t dare walk with Mei Li. He wasn’t willing to risk having her seen with him. She was in enough danger just knowing him, and in Taiwan, a country with a large population but little land, the Elgen had eyes everywhere.

  They walked about a hundred yards to the phone store at the end of the road she lived on. While Mei Li purchased the cell phones, Welch waited for her in the Internet café next door.

  The first thing he did was pull up the website for the Meridian, Idaho, newspaper’s advertising department. He jotted down notes on a napkin someone had left at his table. He was careful not to access anything Elgen, as that’s how he had found several of the electrics, including Michael and Taylor.

  An hour and a half later, Mei Li walked past the café window. She glanced at Welch as if she didn’t know him, then started back to her apartment. He let her walk for a minute until she was well ahead of him, then logged out of the computer, folded the napkin into his pocket, and walked back himself.

  Mei Li was waiting for him at the door to her apartment. “Do you really think they’re watching us?”

  He walked inside before he answered. “I don’t know, but it’s possible. It’s not worth the risk. Did you get everything?”

  “Yes, six phones.”

  “And the money?”

  “It took much time, but no problem.”

  “Good.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “Do you have some writing paper?”

  “Yes.” She retrieved a spiral-bound notebook, and Welch began sketching.

  “Why is it so important to the Elgen to find you?” Mei Li asked.

  “Because I know too much. I know everything. Most of all, I know Hatch. He won’t rest until he has my head on a pike.”

  “A pike is a fish?”

  “It is, but that’s not what I meant. A pike is also a stick with a sharp end.”

  “I am sorry. Sometimes my English . . .”

  “Your English is excellent,” Welch said quickly. “A lot better than my Chinese.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She watched him continue his work. “What are you drawing?”

  “An advertisement. Tonight I’ll scan it and send it to the newspaper.”

  Mei Li looked at him quizzically. “What are you advertising?”

  “For someone to rescue me. I’m sending a secret message to the Electroclan. I just hope someone is paying attention.”

  Hades Island (formerly Niutao), Tuvalu

  Torstyn was tossing back and forth on his bed when he heard the pneumatic hiss of the lock on his cell door. He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep for more than four hours—anything to escape the horror he felt. Making sleep even more difficult was his uncomfortable paper-fabric jumpsuit that made rustling sounds as he rolled in bed. That and the fact that the lights in his cell were always on as the cameras panned back and forth, scanning every inch of the room.

  The Hades cells were patterned after the Purgatory in the academy, with some of Hatch’s own “improvements.” Worst of all, there was a flat-screen monitor built into the wall, and every fifteen minutes it would automatically turn on to a scene of the frenzied rats in the bowl ripping the flesh off some animal or human.

  Torstyn knew the scene hadn’t come from Tuvalu, as the rats were mostly being fed bulls or cows. On Tuvalu, like Taiwan, the rats were fed fish. Still, the video had the desired effect. The constant shrieks of the rats had broken him down emotionally until he could no longer eat, and he kept breaking out in uncontrolled fits of sobbing. Torstyn had tried to use his power to blow the screen, as well as the lights and cameras, but couldn’t. He was powerless in this room. The cell had been designed for Glows.

  * * *

  He had no idea what time or day it was when the door opened and Hatch, escorted by two guards, walked into his cell.

  “Stand up,” Hatch said sharply.

  Torstyn looked at him coolly, without moving. Hatch had already ordered him to be fed to the rats, so he didn’t have much more to fear. Or so he thought.

  “Stand,” Hatch said. He pointed a handheld RESAT at Torstyn and pulled the trigger.

  A powerful wave of pain shot through Torstyn’s body, forcing him to gasp out.

  “All right. You win. But I can’t stand with that on.”

  Hatch turned off the machine. “The next time you disobey an order, I’ll leave it on until you beg to be fed to the rats. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Torstyn said, forcing himself to his feet.

  As soon as he was standing, Hatch said, “Sit.”

  Torstyn did his best not to show his anger as he fell back down onto his bed. One of the guards set a chair down next to Hatch. Hatch slid it forward, then sat down across from Torstyn, his legs slightly spread.

  “Leave us,” Hatch said.

  The guards turned and walked out. Now that Hatch was alone, Torstyn thought of physically attacking him but pushed the idea from his mind. Hatch held his RESAT with the trigger in hand. All he needed to do was flip his finger.

  “So, you’ve had time to regret your decision,” Hatch said softly.

  “Yes, sir,” he said eagerly. Was Hatch thinking of freeing him?

  “Of course you’re hoping that I have had a change of heart.”

  You’d have to have a heart first. “Yes, sir. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Hope can be such a cruel thing,” Hatch said. “Camus was right. From Pandora’s box, where all the ills of humanity swarmed, the Greeks drew out hope after all the others, as the most dreadful of all. . . .”

  Torstyn just gazed at him, trying to decipher his meaning.

  “Unfortunately, for you, at least, what is done is done.” A bizarre frown twisted Hatch’s mouth, and his voice fell. “You are done. It’s already been announced to the troops that there will be a public feeding with you as the main course. They’ve already started the betting pools—you know the ones, you’ve participated in them. They’ll wager on exactly how long you’ll live before your heart stops, or how long your screams will last. I understand there is some wider speculation about this contest. Outside of Vey, we’ve never attempted to feed an ele
ctric to the rats before. But Vey was special, wasn’t he? Unfortunately, you don’t have the same power that he does. Unfortunate for you, at least. I’m actually fine with it.”

  Torstyn just blinked.

  “So the only question that remains, really, is not if it will end for you, but how it will end for you. Will you fade off into oblivion peacefully?” He paused. “I mean, of course, comparatively peacefully? Or in prolonged, horrifying agony?”

  Hatch leaned forward, his hair falling over his dark eyes. “I’ve come to make you a deal. For old times’ sake. If you cooperate with me, I will see that you are anesthetized before going into the bowl. You will not feel those little mouths, bite by bite, eat away your life.” He took a deep breath. “I can also promise you that if you don’t cooperate, I will make sure that your vitals are well protected so that the furry little creatures will have to gnaw their way up your body cavity to end your life. Could you imagine what that would feel like? Rodents under your flesh? What could be more terrible?”

  Torstyn tried not to show his fear but shuddered anyway.

  “It was a medieval torture, you know. During the Inquisition, the torturer would place rats in a cage on top of a prisoner’s body, then put hot coals on top of the cage. The rats would burrow through the body to escape the heat. I can’t imagine how terrifying that would be. I’ve wondered what would be more painful, the rats or the horror itself. What do you think?”

  Torstyn didn’t answer.

  “No, I don’t suppose you’d care to conjecture. So I’ll continue with my offer. If you fail to help me, you will be terrifyingly aware of every rat’s bite. Your head and eyes will be caged, so you can see your own skeleton as the rodents strip the flesh from your legs and arms to the bones. You will witness your own slow consumption.” He leaned back. “So, traitor, what will it be? Cooperation or untold agony?”

  “What do you want?” Torstyn asked.

  Hatch leaned in. “What I want is Welch. Where is he?”

  Torstyn just looked at him. “I don’t know.”

  Hatch gazed at him for a moment, then, with an audible sigh, stood. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Torstyn said frantically. “We helped him off the boat. He got into a taxi with two guards. That’s all I know. I’m telling the truth.”

  Hatch looked at him sadly. “That’s unfortunate for both of us, but especially for you.” As he walked to the door, the guards opened it for him. Hatch turned back. “Tara was more creative. She made up a story. I knew she was lying, of course, but I don’t fault her for trying. Fear is a powerful motivator.” The guards stepped to Hatch’s sides.

  “If it makes you feel any better, in the words of Röhm, all revolutions devour their own children.” A strange, infantile smile crossed his face. He sang sweetly:

  “Red of the morning, red of the morning,

  Thou lightest us to early death.

  Yesterday mounted on a proud street,

  Today a bullet through the breast.”

  Hatch stared into Torstyn’s eyes. “You will be the first to go. You have fifteen days left to live. I suggest you use that time figuring out where Welch is.” He walked out the door. The door hissed as the pneumatic lock sealed the cell after him. Torstyn fell over on the bed and sobbed.

  * * *

  After his visit to Tara and Torstyn, Hatch walked to the D corridor to visit Quentin, who had been released from Cell 25 just three days earlier.

  Quentin was still in pain and was curled up in a fetal position on his cell’s hard cot. His room was bare. He had no sheets, nothing he could hang himself with, not even his clothing, which, like Torstyn’s and Tara’s garb, was a pink, paper-fabric jumpsuit.

  He had woken confused. He couldn’t remember if it was the day he would be moved into the monkey cage. He thought he remembered a guard telling him that, but he couldn’t remember or even be sure whether the guards were toying with him or not.

  Ever since his stay in Cell 25 he had trouble keeping his thoughts together. Even with all the terror and humiliation of the monkey cage, he would still choose it over Cell 25. How had Vey survived it? Vey was a lot stronger than Quentin had given him credit for.

  There was a loud burst of air, and Quentin looked up to see his door open. Hatch walked into Quentin’s cell, leaving his guards outside.

  “I came to see if you were ready to tell me about Welch.”

  Quentin looked away from him.

  “I’ve been visiting with your partners in crime—the ones you’ve murdered by involving them in your plot. Not surprisingly, they are not doing well. It seems that they are afraid to die. Where you, on the other hand, would gladly die, wouldn’t you?”

  Quentin tightly closed his eyes.

  “Cell 25 has that effect,” Hatch said softly. “I went to see if they would tell me where Welch is. But they don’t know, do they? Not that that would have spared them anything. Either way they will die a horrible and ignominious death.” He walked closer to Quentin’s cot. “I would ask if you knew where he was, but I know you don’t—otherwise you would have told us in Cell 25. You have nothing to give me.”

  “Then what do you want?” Quentin asked.

  “I just wanted to see you.” Hatch sat down on the edge of Quentin’s cot. “And enlighten you.

  “You might be wondering, why the monkey cage? I did not invent this torture, you know. I wish I had, but someone beat me to it. There is precedence for this. You’ll be glad to know you’re in good company.

  “At the end of World War II, the Americans established an army disciplinary camp in Pisa, Italy. Right next to the famous leaning tower. At that time, the greatest attraction in Pisa was not the tower. It was an American traitor named Ezra Loomis Pound. Pound wasn’t just any American; he was one of the most famous poets in the world. He was a friend to Yeats. He collaborated with T. S. Eliot on his masterpiece ‘The Waste Land’—in fact, the book is dedicated to Pound. He even hung around with Ernest Hemingway. He learned boxing from him.

  “He was an absurd little man, the pride of the world’s intelligentsia and the social elite. He was invited to all their fancy soirees. He once attended a London society party dressed in an all-green suit made from the felt of a billiard table.

  “But none of that mattered after the war. He had betrayed his country. He, like you, was a traitor. To punish Pound for collaborating with the enemy, the Americans put him in a monkey cage. It didn’t take long for it to crack his beautiful mind.

  “The uncultured American soldiers would stand next to the cage and listen to the madman rant in English, Italian, Chinese, French, and even some languages he made up. They didn’t realize that what he was ranting was the brilliant mental vomit of a genius, and what he said became some of the greatest poetry of his time:

  “The enormous tragedy of the dream in the peasant’s bent shoulders

  Manes! Manes was tanned and stuffed,

  Thus Ben and la Clara a Milano

  by the heels at Milano

  . . .

  yet say this to the Possum: a bang, not a whimper,

  with a bang not with a whimper, . . .

  “Ben and Clara were Benito Mussolini and his mistress, Clara, who were hung by their feet in Milano. The Possum was Pound’s nickname for his old friend T. S. Eliot. He was mocking Eliot’s poem ‘The Hollow Men.’” Hatch sighed. “This is how the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.

  “Imagine the sight of it, this brilliant cracked mind throwing his pearls to the swine. It was Pound who later declared, ‘All America is an insane asylum.’” Hatch looked at Quentin. “He was right, you know. Except he was too limited in his scope. The whole world is an asylum. And it needs a new director.

  “Tomorrow you go to the cage. Perhaps there you too will find the insanity of genius.” A cruel smile crossed his face. “Or, then again, maybe just insanity.” Hatch walked to the door. “Eliot was right, not Pound. This is how the world ends, not with a ba
ng, but a whimper.”

  “There will be a bang,” Quentin said. “The sound of your fall after you’re brought down and made to pay for your crimes.”

  “You’re delusional,” Hatch said. “Who can challenge me? Who can’t I buy off?”

  “Michael Vey,” Quentin said. “He’s the good guy. I can see that now. And in the end he’s going to win.”

  For just a moment Hatch’s arrogance flickered. Then his eyes narrowed. “Michael Vey is nothing. And in the end I will feed you his flesh.” He turned and walked out of the cell.

  Quentin curled back up into a fetal position.

  Early the next morning the lights turned on in Quentin’s cell, signaling the start of a new day. Actually, a new life. A terrible life. Quentin wondered how long he would survive it.

  He forced himself from his bed and walked over to the sink. For reasons he didn’t understand he desperately wanted to brush his teeth—a strange desire, considering what was to come. He was shaking so hard, he had trouble holding the brush.

  His heart froze when he heard the sharp, synchronized clicks of heavy boot steps coming down the hall, followed by the hiss of his cell door’s pneumatic lock.

  The door swung open. Quentin turned to see a guard step inside his cell. He wore the scarlet armband of a Zone Captain, just one level down from an EGG. Behind him was a lower-ranked Squad Captain in the purple Elgen uniform. The men were followed by twelve guards.

  Hatch was noticeably absent. Quentin guessed that he was making a point by not being there. He was also making a point by sending a dozen guards when two would have been sufficient. In Quentin’s present, weakened condition, one would have been enough. The guards were wearing dress uniforms, which meant that his internment would be a ceremony of sorts. There would be an audience at his encagement.

  The Zone Captain spoke. “Quentin, face me.”

  Quentin slowly turned around. Since Cell 25, all his movements seemed slow. He looked the captain in the eyes.

  “For acts of treason against Admiral-General Hatch and the Elgen politic, you have been sentenced to life internment in the eastern primate cage of the Hatch Center Square. Guards, take the prisoner.”