All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  “We may be guinea pigs, but what for? The clones haven’t been too aggressive yet. Soldiers don’t normally fight civilians, so presumably Abel’s experience was an exception. If they had made the clones to infiltrate society, then surely placing them in an urban environment would be a better experimental process?” Heather stood up purposefully.

  Kieran regarded her, aware of the sweat trickling down his neck and back. “Where are you going?”

  Heather looked around. After a moment, her gaze settled on a doorway. “We need to keep moving. I know you hate being forced in one direction, but maybe that’s what we’re here for. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but then again, none of this whole situation does. But sitting here is not going to get us any answers…and it’ll probably get us killed.”

  Kieran knew she was right. They’d made it this far. Kieran rubbed his head, finding that his fingers came away wet. The jumpsuit was sticking to his back.

  The resourceful woman led the way towards the door in front of them. It was a silver door, solid looking, resembling that of a bank vault. Heather examined it closely. There was no handle. Then she noticed a keypad with a fingerprint pane. Kieran, standing beside her asked, “Well, what’s the news?”

  Heather sighed. “Stupid closed door. Looks like we finally have to turn back. We can’t open it. I doubt if our fingerprints are in its keypad database. I don’t want to touch it – the last thing we want to do is to give our whereabouts away.”

  Kieran came closer, peering at it. “I’ve seen one of these before…”

  Heather looked at him in surprise. “Care to share your thoughts?”

  He flashed a glance behind him, looked at the door they’d entered through. He remembered where the panel was. They had run through the door that was festooned with plastic strips. A few minutes later, they had emerged in a barren labyrinth of hallways. They had then taken two left turns, as a result of Kieran’s experience – he had once heard a wise man say: If in doubt, turn left. Next, the couple had discovered a new door. However, before going through this doorway, Kieran had noticed a keypad on the wall. In fact, the door he was remembering and this one were of the same type. The only difference was, this one was closed and the other was open.

  “Hmmm…” Kieran said thoughtfully, looking from the entrance to the exit. He looked at the dead clone. “I wonder…”

  Heather watched Kieran, wondering what was on his mind. He stepped over to the clone, then bent down. “Heather, I think this guy let himself in. Maybe he was here for a reason. Looks like he was passing through and became a victim of bad health and safety. Poor guy.”

  Heather walked over. “So this guy has the fingerprint we need?”

  Kieran smiled. “I think so. Give me a hand with him.”

  “What?” Heather opened her mouth in surprise. “You can’t be fucking serious! You’re telling me you want me to help you lift him?”

  Kieran nodded. “Unless you know another way of doing this.”

  She reached behind her and pulled a kitchen knife from her bag. “Yep, I have a much better idea.”

  She knelt down and grabbed the clone’s hand, placing it palm upwards on the ground. With a swift downward stab, she severed its thumb. Red blood oozed from the cut. She used the knife’s serrated edge to saw through bone and cartilage until she had completely severed the thumb from the hand. The blood oozed for a few seconds more and then stopped as the wound congealed.

  Kieran stood dumbfounded. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  Heather looked down at the body. “He’s dead, we aren’t. That makes us priority in my book. After all, he won’t be needing this thumb anymore.” Heather stood up and positioned the thumb in her fingers so that it was facing outwards.

  “This better work,” she said as they walked to the door. She placed the thumb on the panel. A second passed before the panel lit up green. They heard a beep and then a loud clunking sound from behind the door. Then it opened outwards. Heather smiled. “Now, do you have a tissue or something?”

  Kieran reached into his bag and pulled out a rag and handed it to her. Heather wrapped the thumb in it and handed it back to Kieran. “We might need it again,” she told him as she stepped to the open door and looked through the gap. She moved through.

  He put the thumb in his rucksack, hesitantly, and followed her.

  They found themselves in a huge, white room. However, on closer inspection they could see that there were dashes of grey and silver here and there in the paintwork. Kieran was taken aback as he looked around, and Heather’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  The mystery of how people came to this facility was answered by the sight in front of them. They were standing on a long, wide, white concrete platform.

  A train platform.

  It stretched for the entire length of the room which, Heather estimated, was about a hundred metres. It looked to be about the length of an adult football pitch. Various signboards and other ‘station’ accoutrements made the length appear diminished. Every ten feet or so there were a double set of benches, back-to-back with one another. There were several rubbish bins in different locations, and these had probably never been used.

  Halfway down the platform, a footbridge led off in two directions. They could see that the bridge connected them to two other identical platforms on both sides of the room. Two train tracks, currently unoccupied, stood between the three platforms. The rails were gleaming and perfect. The sleepers were brand new, untouched, made of durable metal rather than timber. The stones in between the sleepers were shining and pristine. The yellow warning lines painted onto the edge of the platforms were crisp and smooth. The ceiling was high, and hanging from it was a solitary black-and-yellow sign suspended above the platform, the only thing fixed to the ceiling, apart from various lighting fixtures.

  Heather whistled in surprise as she stepped forward into the cool, welcoming breeze. “Well, this explains a whole lot,” she said. “What better way to bring people in than by a personal train service—?”

  “—Or to send people out. And to bring boxes in,” Kieran agreed, thinking back to the previous room. ”This must have come at a significant cost to whoever is in charge of all this. Aren’t trains sanctioned or something? Surely an individual person can’t own a train station?”

  “They can if it’s private. Maybe the trains run underground to get here? There are disused Tube stations and tracks that aren’t regulated. Maybe these are connected?”

  Kieran said nothing. He realised that whoever was in charge here must have sufficient influence and funds to create this, and it was by no means an amateur operation. If it proved nothing else, it confirmed that they were dealing with some seriously powerful people.

  People who wouldn’t want their secrets divulged to the public.

  Who would do literally anything to stop anyone from escaping?

  Heather looked across at Kieran. “This is the way out, obviously it is. These tracks must lead somewhere.”

  Kieran nodded. “They could go for miles. It would be best if we could get on a train.”

  Heather pointed to the tracks. “I don’t see one anywhere. And, at this stage, surely even walking is preferable to staying put.”

  Kieran moved to the edge of the platform and looked down. “All trains have a conductor, or a point of call. I am sure we could find the control tower and call one in. It’s a slim chance, but a reasonable one. Trains don’t just turn up without a schedule or warning. We should look around.”

  Without another word, Heather set off down the platform. She reached the first set of double benches, finding that they were immaculate. She looked into one of the trash cans and it was empty, as if it had never been used. She calculated that either this was a brand new station or simply wasn’t a place that people ever used. Heather believed it was probably a bit of both.

  She stared down the platform and her gaze caught the tracks: two silver strips heading towards an unknown destination. She could
see a wall in the distance, but it was hidden behind the bridge itself and various items on the platform. Heather decided to move further down. She looked at Kieran. “I’m going to head down the platform. Are you coming?”

  “Probably a good idea. We should stick together. We’ll check this platform first then head over the bridge. We should find the control centre soon enough.”

  Kieran walked over to Heather. Saying nothing, they walked along the platform, passing three sets of benches. After they’d passed under the bridge, the room suddenly opened up. Kieran looked around in amazement. “Wow,” was all he said.

  The tracks curved off into the distance, disappearing into two empty, dark voids. The tunnels were an exit to an unknown world. The platforms followed the tracks as far as they could see and then dipped down out of sight, just as you might expect. The same type of benches and trash cans that they’d seen before were dotted all the way along. There was another black and yellow sign, hanging above the platform, not functional. They also noticed a third sign at the middle point of the platform. Just as before, the ceiling was extremely high.

  Kieran was taken aback at the strange sight. Train stations were normally brimming with life and people, whereas this one was empty and deserted. He knew he wouldn’t forget this eerie sight in a hurry. He focused on the end of the other platforms. He realised the control room was likely to be on the left hand platform. He noticed a small booth surrounded by misted glass. It said OFFICE on the door, picked out in clean white letters. “There, Heather,” Kieran told her. “We need to go over there.”

  Kieran turned around to find that Heather was standing stock still a short distance away, with her back to him. He approached her, but as he got closer, he realised she was staring at something on the platform.

  They had come about a third of the way along. And where they’d been standing, mere moments before, stood a clone, looking stoical, with his arms held at hip level. He was wearing a white robe which moved slowly in the minimal wind. His arms were muscular and flexed. His head was tilted forward and he was staring at them.

  “Shit,” Kieran said quietly. “Maybe we can move around him.”

  Heather shook her head. “I doubt it. Look.” Heather pointed to the left-hand platform, which also had an entrance, identical to the one they had just emerged from. On the left hand platform stood several clones, all stock still, hunched and staring. It was clear they had emerged from the entrance within the last few moments. Heather looked across to the right-hand side. She pointed to the right. “And look there.”

  The same scene greeted them. Several more clones were standing there, muscles flexed, all staring across at them. Kieran began to count them. He was looking towards the entrance of the central platform. Clones were walking onto the platform now, behind the solitary figure who already stood there.

  “I count thirty-four, so far,” Kieran muttered. “Where are they coming from?”

  Heather gulped. “More importantly, why are they here? We can take down one or two, maybe three. But we haven’t got a chance against an army of them. How did they know we’re here?”

  “Do you think something fixed to the door tipped them off?”

  Heather nodded. It was a possibility. “Maybe we can run over the tracks to the control room? We would be sitting ducks there, though. At the moment, we have a vast space to make use of. Right now, quite how we do so is beyond me. It’s best not to get cornered.”

  Kieran and Heather stood their ground. All three platforms were blocked by clones. More were joining the throng. Kieran could see them bundling in behind each other. A solid force of men.

  “Kieran,” Heather spoke urgently. “Maybe we can get onto the bridge. If we’re up higher, it would be an advantage. Plus if they come after us, they’d get crushed together in a bottleneck on the narrow pathway.”

  Kieran agreed that it was a good idea: so far the only one they had. They just had to get to the stairs.

  But within seconds, that idea was dashed. In unison, the clones all flexed their neck muscles, their heads leaning to the right in one fluent coordinated movement.

  “Oh shit. This looks familiar. Heather, get ready…”

  The clones moved their heads to an upright position.

  They started to walk. An entire army was headed their way.

  Heather and Kieran were surrounded.

  ***

  Welcome to Phase Four.

  Delta was smiling, for two good reasons.

  First, his plan had come to fruition: Phase Four was in place, and all he had to do was give the order. He had consumed more than his fair share of alcohol this evening, but his senses were tuned, sharp, and brazen. He was ready to go. In mere moments, his plan would be put into action, his fate in The Game decided.

  And then he found out that he was the only Chronicle left in the game. He had already seen his fellow Chronicles come and go. The last one, his only competition, had been killed ‘in-game’. He had faced off against his Choice and paid the ultimate price. Delta was now the only person left in charge.

  Which meant he’d won.

  Regardless of what transpired in the future, no matter what happened, he was the winner. Delta was now a proud member of The Company. He was in the unique position of being able to do anything he wanted. Never had a Chronicle been given this opportunity before. He could break the rules if he so desired. He didn’t want to do so, but having the choice was a feeling that he would relish for his final moments in The Game.

  Hence Phase Four. It would be the ultimate finale. A hundred clones bearing down on his Choices all at once. After all, if he was going to face his Choices, he wouldn’t make the same mistake as Charlie had. No, he would go into The Game, announce his win, and then kill his Choices. Kill them slowly, and without remorse. He didn’t need any psychotic war veterans or Nazi skinheads or some racist murderer to help him. No, he just needed to be there. After all, once he presented himself to the Choices, their reaction alone would be worthy of winning The Game. Oh, how he would enjoy that part of it!

  He picked up his phone and dialled. After a moment, he got an answer. “Hello?…Yep, it’s Delta. I want to go into The Game… Yes, I know it isn’t Phase Five, I’m aware of that, but no one is left, so I can do what I want… I want to be the first Chronicle to end The Game before Phase Five… What are my reasons? Trust me, when you see what I’m going to do, you will love the results. Prepare to get the biggest ratings in your history. Yes, I want in… No, I don’t need any weapons… Thank you. Trust me, you will not regret it… Two million? Done.”

  Delta was about to hang up, then he remembered something and quickly spoke into the receiver again. “Oh yes, sorry, hello? Yes, sorry, could you give your boss one more message for me? A hint, so to speak. Yes. Could you tell him that Mr. Mason said hello? Thank you.”

  Delta turned to the screen. The clones were ready. He tapped his keyboard and instantly the clones began to move in. A smile crept across Delta’s face. Heather Mason and Kieran Haas were standing together, surrounded.

  “Mr. Mason,” he said to himself. “The time has come for you to be reunited with your daughter.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Kathryn counted up to two minutes in her head.

  Slow, observant minutes.

  Shrouded in shadow, Kathryn stood in the alleyway that divided both her doppelganger office block and the building parallel to it. Looking up, she could see the walkway between the buildings, nearly hidden by the darkness above. The alleyway itself was empty, but for a green dumpster positioned against one wall. The shadows allowed Kathryn to approach the road in complete stealth. She stood at the entrance to the street, watching. She rubbed the back of her head tenderly. It still hurt from the altercation earlier.

  Three minutes.

  The street was quiet. Too quiet for Kathryn’s liking. If the past hours had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected. She thought back to the night’s previous events. She wondered if the men would ever ha
ve known she was there if she had remained hidden. As if to answer her own question she realised that the Chronicle, whoever he was, would have informed them of her whereabouts. Regardless of her actions, Kathryn believed that she would have been discovered eventually. It was only a matter of time.

  Four minutes.

  She peeked out from the alleyway. Looking to her right, Kathryn could see the jeep. It was still parked on top of the man’s body. The vehicle was angled, as if it had mounted the curb in haphazard fashion. Several trees that lined the outside of the building were swaying in a mild breeze.

  Across the road was a nondescript building, its exterior redolent of age and grace. She fancied that it must have been modelled on a library or a police station. The windows were dark and gloomy, reminding her of a church. A solitary vehicle stood in its parking lot, burned out and blackened. Such buildings always seemed to have elegance. How could all this be copied? Or was it just the interiors that were facsimiles of the originals? She had been lucky to find that the fire escapes were laid out in a similar way.

  Five minutes.

  Kathryn looked left. Directly opposite was the theatre. It illuminated the street in a pink hue that was reflected upwards from the wet tarmac. Kathryn tried to remember when it had last rained, but couldn’t recall.

  The front entrance of the theatre looked to be deserted. The doors were open, one of them hanging off its hinges. As before, the display cabinets, usually reserved for upcoming attraction posters, were shattered and adorned with graffiti. Kathryn noted that the surroundings did not appear to have changed. It seemed that the only activity occurring in this place was that of her and her former pursuers.

  Looking further to the left, Kathryn saw the road she needed to get to. It wasn’t too far away, and the road was flanked by a brick wall which curved off into the blackness. She realised that the road was actually skirting the theatre itself and curving round a corner. Possibly leading to more parking spaces.

  Six minutes.