All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  Gross.

  So she’d leaned across and wiped herself on one of the fallen clone’s garments. Then she realised that they’d all fallen down. They lay randomly on the floor, three on their backs, one on his front. Another was strangely bent, with his arse still perched on the bench, but with his face on the floor. One sat leaning against the wall and three more were just lying on their sides as if they were happily sleeping.

  Nothing moved.

  Why had they fallen? She wondered, curious.

  Heather didn’t want to wait around and find out. She stood up, reeking of puke and feeling terrible, and started walking. She made sure to step between the fallen bodies and navigated well, treading on one outstretched hand. Heather half expected to hear a yelp and for the hand to grab her ankle. But it didn’t. She pushed open the door and went through the opening, slamming it behind her and leaning against it, feeling a huge wave of relief at leaving the inert bodies behind.

  The room was just like all the other hallways, except for one difference. Sure, it was panelled and mirrored in the same way; the steadfast light bars adorned the ceiling and illuminated the room for her. The difference was a gaping hole in the wall. Also there were no doorways. She tried to estimate how much force would be needed to break through one of these walls, and didn’t even want to consider the consequences if she tried to do so.

  She tip-toed across to the hole and peered through it.

  Heather felt as if she might vomit again.

  However, she didn’t, even though the fear returned in droves.

  The room had the same decor once again.

  How fucking predictable and boring!

  The panelling, mirroring and lighting were the same.

  The four dead clones on the ground were her main concern.

  One clone had a hole in his head and lay face down, pools of blood congealing around him. His legs appeared to be broken and his arms were splayed out at awkward angles. His gown was stained dark brown with dried blood.

  Next to him sat another clone, leaning against the wall with his entire left arm and part of the shoulder missing. Heather assumed that was the cause of the blood spatter on the wall behind him, and his limb had simply been obliterated in combat. His throat was also slit and, again, his gown was coloured dark brown with dried blood. Sputum hung from his mouth, mixed with blood.

  As for the third clone, only his legs were visible, the upper half of his body had been slammed through a mirror on the wall, and presumably blood had smeared the wall below it as he’d struggled, now he was impaled on the glass. The fourth man had been beheaded, his headless corpse still standing in the middle of the floor; his arms hung lifeless at his side while his feet remained perfectly stable, supporting the weight of his torso. A shove would clearly knock him over. Behind him, a huge blood smear streaked around the room’s corner, as if one of these corpses had been dragged along.

  Heather desperately wanted to go back.

  But how could she? That route led nowhere.

  She had to go forward, past the headless corpse and follow the blood trail.

  Heather had no choice.

  Stepping carefully so as not to tread in the blood or gore that was festooned around the room, Heather navigated her way to the corner and past the headless corpse. She fully expected the body to come alive and seize her, but it didn’t. Paranoia was starting to creep up on her. She pushed the corpse over for good measure: it wasn’t so disquieting when it was lying down with its buddies. It hit the floor with a soggy squelch. Heather found the corner of the room and peered round it.

  There was another door.

  The blood trail disappeared, presumably continuing beyond it.

  Heather assessed the situation and opened the door.

  The desperate woman found herself on a balcony, high up. She stepped carefully, and looked down.

  She gasped.

  Below her there was a vast room, probably the size of a football pitch, maybe bigger. The space was packed with cylinders, each of which held a clone. From her vantage point the scene reminded her of a test-tube rack in science class at school. Tubes led out of all the cylinders into a cross-section of metal that held them all together and fed them through the wall to an unseen destination.

  Heather heard the hum of liquid feeding into the cylinders, pumping an unknown, blue substance around the bodies. She leaned on the railing, getting her bearings and trying to stop herself from fainting.

  She realised that she hadn’t eaten for hours and felt light-headed. Her mouth was desert dry and could do with some water. She rubbed her head, trying to ignore these discomforts, and groaned.

  “Beautiful isn’t it?”

  Heather opened her eyes

  Had she imagined that? Was her starving body playing tricks on her?

  She put her hands down and listened. All she could hear was the hum of the giant pickling jars.

  “Ever wondered how such peace and tranquillity can be so beastly?” came the voice again.

  Heather whipped around and faced the door behind her. The balcony didn’t lead anywhere except back to the door. To the left of it, there was a small alcove, like a cubbyhole, where a ladder had once been stored, the ladder now detached, part of it projecting out from the ledge.

  A man was standing in the alcove. He was looking at Heather, watching her.

  Smiling.

  Shrouded in shadow, the man spoke again.

  “Nice to see I’m not the only one who gets to appreciate it.”

  Heather remained silent, trying to take in this new development. Who is this? She wondered. Another human? Or a clone?

  “What are you, a mute?” he asked.

  “No…No, I’m just a little scared.”

  The man stepped forward. “Why?”

  “Don’t!” she yelled. “Don’t! Just stay there!”

  “Okay, honey…”

  “I’m not your honey…..I’m not, okay?”

  “Sure…no problem.”

  “Got any ID?” Heather demanded.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “ID, identification, credentials?”

  “I’m gonna step forward, okay? Look, my hands are up.”

  The man did so, coming out of the shadows. In the light, he was about five foot ten, with a toned build, not skinny but not big-built, and he had spiky brown hair and a moderate covering of body hair, primarily on his arms. She assessed him as a typical gym bunny, going every day, maybe twice on Sundays. He had stunning blue eyes and long eyelashes. He appeared to be effeminate. His smile exposed glorious white teeth and his skin was tanned. There wasn’t a blemish on his entire body.

  The only anomaly was the blood dribbling down his chin.

  His smile made the horrible outpouring all the more menacing.

  Heather realised that this guy could be stunningly attractive were he not in this totally bizarre environment.

  “What’s with the blood, Tarzan?” she asked him.

  For a second the man remained silent, looking puzzled, then he smiled again, his teeth pink from the blood.

  “Long story…”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, well, can I come closer?” he asked.

  “No, you’ll stay there. Blood pissing out of your mouth isn’t exactly filling me with confidence right now.”

  “Look down.”

  “Not on your life.”

  The man pointed down to the football-pitch sized room. Heather followed his directing finger and looked too, keeping her body facing him, ready in case he should attack.

  He didn’t attack.

  The blood smear that had led out here ended at the edge of the balcony. Heather now noticed a few splashes of blood on the railing itself and, upon looking further down, she could see one of the clones, obliterated on the grate below. The hapless creature had fallen about a hundred feet and struck the ground with full force. Blood was everywhere. Coating the cylinders and the floor, it had drenched severa
l manila folders nearby. The body looked shredded, pieces were scattered everywhere.

  The thing had been pushed, she surmised.

  Heather turned back to the man.

  “Well?” she said.

  “What?”

  “You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on or what?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The man sat down on the floor massaging his feet. He wore only a pair of football shorts, and crossing his legs exposed his private parts. Heather glanced away in embarrassment, at an angle, so she couldn’t see him. She waited.

  “How long have you been in here?” he asked, not looking up.

  “I don’t know. In and around my fainting and being out cold from the drugs…I would say at a rough estimate, about two hours.”

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Stop with the questions, I asked you first!”

  “Okay….Well, I’ve been in here about three days I would say. I woke up in a small dingy cell, was let out and I was left to roam the corridors aimlessly. I’ve been here ever since. I haven’t seen anyone else until I saw you minutes ago. Well, I did see someone.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I saw that…thing. The bald creature who tried to kill me.” The man pointed towards the edge of the balcony.

  “Huh?”

  “I came down the ladder there, and he was standing here looking over the edge, silent and motionless. I was ecstatic. I’d found another person! But he didn’t move for minutes, he just stood there doing nothing. When I approached him, he turned and lunged for me. As you can see, I’m not armed, so all I could do was to bite him to fend him off. Took a chunk out of his neck before I could shove him back. When I did, he fell over the ledge and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “How is that so?” Heather was finding it hard to believe what this stranger was saying.

  “Well, he attacked me, why would I make it up? I don’t even know you; I have no reason to lie.”

  “No, I mean, how is that so? I just came through a room of the things and they were completely docile. No emotions, no reactions. They were lifeless shells of….well, whatever.”

  “Weird.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  Silence. The hum of the cylinders below sat patiently in the background.

  The stranger spoke first. “So, anyway, here we are now. Three days, and no people and now you’re here, and if you don’t mind me saying, you are….”

  “Save it, Lothario, I’m not interested, so save your breath.”

  “Easy, tiger… I was going to say a godsend. I was starting to go mad being alone in here.”

  “Easy, Easy! What the fuck do you know about easy?”

  The man stepped back. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through to get here?” Heather went on. “I’ve been stripped of my dignity, I’ve had my clothes and underwear removed and no doubt been felt up during the process. I have been drugged, attacked, kidnapped and betrayed. All I did was go for a drink and the next thing I knew I was in here, half naked, smelling of vomit and being stalked by cloned bald fuckwits.”

  “Do you want to know my story?” the man asked her.

  “No, I just want to get out of here….Wait a minute, you said you’ve been here three days?”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Three days? Explain.”

  “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  “How are you still alive? What’s more, if you don’t mind me saying, you look pretty nourished.”

  “Ah, okay, trade secret I’m afraid…” The man smirked.

  Heather said nothing. Her evil smile spoke volumes.

  “OH, now you’re interested in me.” The man smiled.

  “I’m not interested in you, I just need some food.”

  Heather staggered and leant against the wall. She collapsed to her knees and held her face in her hands. Stress and emotional bankruptcy sank into her consciousness and she felt like she was going to collapse. Her body was racked with pain and anguish, loss and loneliness.

  The stranger just sat there, watching her.

  Heather was playing with her knuckles. She plucked the skin on the back of her hand and let go. She repeated the process several times. The man continued to watch. He stood and leaned on the balcony, and looked over the edge. He sighed loudly.

  Heather looked at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…it’s been a long day. Do you even know why we are here?” Heather continued plucking her skin.

  The man looked at her. “I don’t, unfortunately. Just like you, I’ve been wandering around without a clue.”

  Heather said nothing.

  “I wasn’t joking though. Seeing another human is a godsend. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Heather regarded her new acquaintance. He smiled and held out his hand. “Kieran Haas.”

  “Heather….Mason, Heather Mason.” Heather ran a hand through her hair and forced a smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Heather, and if you don’t mind me saying so, you are a stunner. I’m not coming on to you, I’m just saying it like it is. In the interest of full disclosure of course.”

  Heather smiled.

  “But who am I to talk about looks? I have human blood splattered across my face.”

  Heather took his hand and stood up.

  “I’ll refrain from a hug because we’ve just met,” he continued. “Needless to say, I think we should stick together, okay?”

  “Fine, that’s okay with me;I’m not a close-quarters type of person anyway.”

  “How about a deal? I’ll feed you, if you tell me about yourself…It’ll pass the time?”

  “Done.”

  ***

  Pushing his wine aside the man leaned back in his expensive leather reclining chair and breathed out. His breath felt warm and smelled sweet and had the very familiar scent of booze on it. It wafted up his nostrils seconds after he emptied his lungs.

  A smile broke out on his face and he leaned forward onto his desk and observed his screen closely. His nose was an inch from the bright LCD and the screen felt warm on its tip. The scene became fuzzy when he looked sideways.

  He pulled away and straightened the monitor, as if the pressure of his nose had knocked it completely out of line. In reality it had knocked it only an inch away from its normal position. He tapped the screen and giggled under his breath, then stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him. On the screen, the two people had walked through three corridors and were now leaning down to look at a fallen body.

  SIXTEEN

  Francisco De Goya hadn’t made the decision. The fallen man remained silent for what he thought seemed hours, but in reality, he had remained quiet for nine minutes.

  Nine long minutes.

  Silence was his friend, his only companion in this unspeakable nightmare. Every family man’s worst nightmare had become horribly and viscerally true. Every muscle in his body had strained tight and taut, and he was aware of the pumping of his blood, making him feel light-headed at times, but also keeping him calm and somewhat sane, despite his dilemma.

  The question he’d been asked: who would he sacrifice, his wife or his daughter, had reverberated through his head a million times, and a million times he had been unable to comprehend an answer. Not once had any part of him been able to consider a choice, or even to contemplate the consequences associated with such a decision. Then it dawned on him that it wasn’t exactly a question, but a statement, a statement that would ruin lives, provide bloodshed and most importantly, result in someone’s death.

  His head hurt, throbbed, felt like it was going to explode at any second. He daren’t look up, for the sight that would greet him was something that he didn’t wish to acknowledge.

  Francisco almost fell off his chair as the baseball bat crashed into his temple. He yelled loudly, blood dripped from the instant gash above his eyebrow and then slicked down his face, immediately sp
lattering onto his leg.

  The dark figure grabbed him by his hair and pulled his face up, made him observe his broken family. Tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn’t blink them away. Two strong hands held his face in place, one of them holding his eyes open.

  Amy was unconscious, her skin a deathly pale, and her eyes were mere slits. Her right eye was a deep black and purple, and the swelling looked painful. The dried blood that covered her, both in her hair and on her torso, had turned black now, a contrast to her clammy skin. Her breast was still exposed after the bra’s cup had dropped away. Drool hung from her mouth and her arms shook violently. Francisco knew that his wife would die in the next few hours unless she received medical attention. The deep hole in her back would see to that. He wanted to vomit.

  Sadie had retreated into herself, her head hung low, her eyes closed of their own accord, and Francisco knew that she would have had her arms and legs curled up underneath her if the restraining ropes hadn’t precluded this. Her hair was a mess, her face dark with tear streaks. She too was shaking violently.

  “You are seeing this, aren’t you, you Spic fuck?” his abuser sneered.

  The figure walked over to Amy and stood behind her. He brandished the knife that had already inflicted so much damage on her, and waved it around her head. Amy was oblivious to the threat. The man then walked past Sadie and looked at her hair, moved his head close and made a sniffing noise. He then stood up again and returned to Amy, and ran his gloved hand through her hair. It then moved down and caressed her exposed breast. Amy moaned incoherently.

  “I told you to choose, yet you still disobey me!”

  Francisco said nothing, the tears finally rolling down his face. He was a broken man.

  “I said choose, I remember telling you on about seven occasions and yet, you still disobey me. I don’t think you’re getting the concept of this, are you? I give you a command and you answer, and by answering you save one of your family and you make this whole situation end sooner rather than later. But you haven’t done that.”

  The knife-wielding man walked over to Francisco and knelt down in front of him.