All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  Hannah slowed to a stop. Looking around, she investigated a grate attached to the wall beside her. It covered a door that seemed to be a protective barrier from the outside world. She gripped the bar and pulled. The door came open with a loud squeak.

  Hannah turned to face Kathryn. “Through here. Be quiet, though. Who knows what’s in there?” Hannah pointed upwards, to the apartments located above the stores. Kathryn knew she was right, anything or anyone could be in those dark, lonely buildings. Kathryn moved slowly, keeping as quiet as possible.

  The dark-haired girl led the way through the newly opened doorway, and Kathryn followed. They emerged in a narrow alleyway that was made entirely of stone. The ceiling arched up and over them in a curve. There was no light, except that coming from the doorway they had entered. Kathryn held it open to allow Hannah to see her way to the end. Hannah signalled for the other woman to shut the door. Kathryn followed her through another door. Light once again filled the area. There were more squeaks from ancient hinges.

  The next courtyard was spacious. The smell of urine and cigarettes pervaded the air. Kathryn looked down and noticed several used syringes, Pringles tubes and discarded bags of fast food. A rat scurried across the floor. In the centre of the courtyard rested a disused fountain, whose running water had obviously stopped many years ago. The only fluids present there were foul bodily fluids and rain. Kathryn held her nose as they traversed the area. After walking through another concrete tunnel, they emerged onto another street. Hannah stopped in front of her.

  Then Kathryn saw it.

  The abandoned train carriages were sitting on a set of large train tracks, which were red with thick rust. Some parts were overgrown with grass, underlining the fact that the train had been here for some time. The shrubs and trees that surrounded it were all either overgrown or dying. A solitary bench sat underneath them, smothered in dead leaves and debris. A shopping trolley rested on its side amongst the grass.

  Nice place, thought Kathryn. She noticed a look of disgust on Hannah’s face.

  The carriages were old too, coloured a faded shade of blue. The carriage to the right had windows along its side that were caked in grime. Nothing was visible inside the train. However, the door on the central carriage looked brand new, being clean and newly painted. It’d obviously been replaced recently, and Kathryn saw the reason why. Beside the door was a black panel, the size of a credit card. A small LCD screen, covered in gauze, was next to it, with a number pad below it. The wheels on the train were rusted solid.

  “Is this it?”

  Hannah smiled. “Yes, indeed. All you have to do is open that door and we are home free.”

  Kathryn surveyed the situation, noticing that a ladder was attached to the carriage’s side. “Why can’t we climb up and over it?”

  Hannah shook her head. “If you do, you are in violation of The Game and you will be shot. They have snipers. No, the only way out is through that door. You have to enter the code. From what Iain told me, no one has ever come this close to escaping before. You would be the first.” Hannah clapped her hands in mock applause. “Yay!”

  Kathryn said nothing. The code could be absolutely anything. She looked at the number pad. The LCD screen was off, and nothing happened when she moved in front of it. Kathryn pushed the button marked C, and the number pad lit up. She paused. Kathryn then keyed in her birthday.

  She stopped to think. Were those numbers too obvious? Could it be that easy? She turned to Hannah. Hannah shrugged. “Sorry. Iain didn’t tell me what you had to do. I don’t think he was expecting you to make it this far. He just told me that the number is important to you and to you only.”

  Kathryn’s finger hovered over the ENTER key. She tapped it. A sharp chirp emitted from the panel. She saw a message in small green letters appear. INCORRECT CODE. TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

  “Shit. It’s going to lock me out if I get it wrong two more times.”

  Hannah said nothing. Her tongue shot out and licked her bottom lip.

  Kathryn looked at the panel. They were so close, yet so far.

  She stepped back and thought about what number it could be. Her mind drew a blank.

  Two more chances.

  Blow them, and they would both die.

  FORTY

  Heather Mason felt as if her life was over.

  It had been three whole minutes since she had spoken. Kieran was looking at the ground, shame etched on his features. The man claiming to be her father - whether he was being truthful or not - was grinning and staring at her. Heather felt a heat inside her which reminded her of rage, but was actually something much more intense.

  It was fear.

  Pure, unadulterated fear.

  The type of fear that inhabits your physical being. It prevents you from being able to move, function or speak. It overcomes you in such a way, that you struggle to break free of it. If it hadn’t been for the presence of the clones staring at her, Heather felt that she would have collapsed by now.

  It was this reason alone that kept her standing. That and holding onto the bench behind her.

  Heather had lived through this fear before. Just once. She remembered experiencing it when her mother had passed away. Her mother had been an alcoholic, a habitual drinker who was totally dependent on Scotch whisky. It started with a drink after dinner, then two. By the weekends a whole bottle would be consumed. Months later, a bottle would last just twelve hours. Eventually, it reached a stage where even the smell of scotch made Heather physically gag.

  Which cast her mind back to the night she had first met Kieran.

  Until this man, who claimed to be her father, had reminded her of the meeting, it had slipped her mind entirely, and she hadn’t made the connection. Of course, now she realised that Kieran had been the man in the bar, and that’s why he looked familiar. It was also why she had initially found him attractive. She remembered thinking he was a nice guy at the time. The awful realisation hit her: she’d almost had a sexual relationship with her own brother. If what the older man had told them was true.

  A chill snaked through Heather’s body, and she felt herself shaking.

  When Heather’s mother passed away, she’d been a shrunken husk of a woman, destroyed by alcohol and a failing liver. She’d been a shadow of her former self. Heather cherished the memories of her mother. The times they’d spent together before her father left her for another woman; at least that was what her mum had told her.

  Heather’s mother later told her that her father died, and adjusting to widowhood had initiated her dependence on alcohol. After that point, her life had gone downhill. The caring mother Heather had known before her descent into alcoholism was just a treasured memory. Heather cried herself to sleep on many occasions. She would always remember the bedtime stories, teddy bears’ tea parties, and watching her first rom com with her mum. Heather missed her mother dearly and had vowed to disown her father for what he had done to her.

  The time of reckoning had come.

  Heather looked at her ‘father’ with undiluted loathing. As he noticed, the grin left his face. Heather felt as if her eyes were burning through his soul. The fear burning inside her was changing into blind rage and she felt a surge of adrenaline. The situation was changing. Heather flexed her muscles and ground her teeth together.

  “Why the dirty looks, Heather?” Delta tried to make light of it. “Why not come over and say hello to your dear old dad?”

  Heather said nothing. Kieran looked up for the first time in the seven minutes since Delta had dropped his bombshell. He surveyed the clones, who were all still staring at Heather. Kieran gulped down his disgust. “You sick fuck.”

  Delta turned to Kieran with a frown. “Language, my boy, that’s no way to speak to your elders.”

  “Fuck you,” Kieran spat vehemently. “You have no right to come in here and do this to me – to us! If we’re your kids, you’ve just put us through the most emotional hell of our lives. You do realise that we could’ve been an item
?”

  Heather’s gaze shot to Kieran. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself…it was you that was doing the—”

  “—it doesn’t fucking matter, Heather,” he cut her off. “Regardless of who came on to who, we’ve been manipulated and conned into thinking we were in danger. The whole time, we were a fucking experiment for Daddy Dearest here. He put us through this shit, our emotions were never in check. Psychologically, the chance of us hitting on each other was a possibility, as a result of being thrown together in the face of extreme danger.”

  Heather said nothing, simply stood there cracking her knuckles.

  Kieran addressed his next words to Delta: “Tell me, why’d you do this to us?”

  Delta looked at the pair of them. “Because you’re my family.”

  Kieran couldn’t control his laughter. “You treat family this way? Fuck me, if that’s how you behave with your nearest and dearest, I would hate to be your enemy.”

  “Family for me are the enemy, you disrespectful little fuck.”

  Heather’s eyes widened in surprise, while Kieran said nothing, shocked by the outburst. Delta went on: “Do you think I admire my family? Look at you, you’re an auditor. What sort of job is that for a man? Counting numbers and processing spreadsheets. That’s a woman’s job. Your mother would have excelled at that. A man should have a real job. Like me. I run this facility and it holds the best, the most expensive, state-of-the-art technology. I’m a genius. I’ve perfected the cloning process to generate the best and most ruthless soldiers imaginable. They’re going to be at the heart of the next generation of military warfare.” Delta brushed some dust from his lapel.

  “You know how much Japan paid me last month? Twenty three million dollars, which in Yen, is a fuck-load of money. Spain paid me double that, just to give their soldiers a tan and multilingual skills. Heck, even the USA paid me a billion just to ensure that their human soldiers don’t have to go to Afghanistan anymore. Do you know how many families are probably worshipping my technology now? Millions. Anyone who’s ever seen their firstborn come back in a fucking box, or dreaded that knock on the door loves what we’re doing. Of course, it means real soldiers are restricted to desk jobs and administration, but I’m sure they’d rather do that than risk getting their heads blown to shit by some turban-wearing arsehole.”

  Kieran snapped back: “That’s not a job! You’re just a glorified god of war, a merchant of death. Not to mention, a racist. You take money from countries who can’t afford to pay you. They don’t have a choice, war is war and money is tight in this day and age. But countries need to defend themselves. You are taking advantage of the system. That makes you a coward. Proper job, my arse!”

  Delta nodded. “Well, so be it. If I’m a coward, I’m a stinking rich coward. I could buy Pepsi or Apple for fun and shut the fuckers down. My wealth is beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. But let’s not get distracted here. My point is that you’re my enemy because you were a fucking mistake. Your mother, Kieran, was a whore. I got drunk one night and stuck my dick in her and look what came out! I brought you in here because you were searching for me. Weren’t you? And in all honesty, you came pretty close to finding me. I couldn’t have that though, think of the money you could have taken from me. You could’ve ruined my legacy.”

  Silence filled the room. A tear ran down Kieran’s cheek. Heather looked at her brother and saw his hopes of finding his father, a happy reunion, dashed in a second. The younger man staggered slightly. He tried to form a sentence, but nothing came out. Delta squared up to him, hardening the blow: “You’re no son of mine!”

  Kieran stepped backwards. Heather shook her head to try and clear her confusion, taking her brother’s place in front of the man calling himself her father. “So why am I here, then? You can’t blame Kieran for a mistake you made years ago. I don’t recall him being the one who fucked a whore and couldn’t live with the consequences. You’re a chickenshit and a coward. Be a man and take responsibility for your actions!”

  Delta turned to face her. “Oh, Heather, you don’t have a fucking clue, do you? I brought you in here to meet me. I know that your mother did everything she could to turn you against me. She told you I was dead to protect you. She filed a restraining order against me so I couldn’t see you. So I bided my time. I outlasted the booze–hound – you know how much she liked her drink - and I knew it was only a matter of time before it killed her. But with her out of the way, I had access. I had to meet my…” Delta stared at Kieran, “proper child, the one I intended to have.” He turned towards his son. “No offence, Kieran.”

  The younger man looked lost. He was staring into space, so distracted that Heather wasn’t sure if he’d even heard their father’s speech.

  “Well, you met me,” Heather snapped. “Well done. You could’ve just sent a fucking card. Now what? Are you going to kill us? Are you afraid we’ll try and take your fortune?”

  Delta gave a fatuous smile. “Oh no, that won’t happen. My children did well in this competition. Because of you, I’m now a member of one of the most elite conglomerates in the world: The Company. From now on, I will be untouchable, invincible. Which means, your work here is done. Which means, I’m sorry to say, that, yes, I’m going to kill you.”

  The siblings looked at him. As they did, the clones all stood to attention. In unison, they flexed their necks, twisting their heads first to the left, then to the right. Kieran moved closer to his sister.

  Delta stood there with a huge grin on his face. “You two are now expendable. Who said kids were hard work?”

  There was a long tense silence. The clones seemed as if they were poised to do something.

  The older man held his arms out towards the creatures.

  “You see, these are my children now.”

  FORTY-ONE

  As darkness descended, Rupert ducked behind the desk before him. The light from the vast TV screen was more than enough to illuminate the room. The tablet computer was still in his hand. He guessed he had maybe five minutes before the guards would be on him.

  Shit.

  You’re trapped, he thought.

  Rupert looked down at the tablet. He swiped the image of the guards with his finger. They were still outside the lift, each of them carrying a machine gun. They moved smoothly, silently, in formation, as if they were following protocol. Rupert hoped they would check each door in turn. It would buy him some time, several minutes at the most. He noticed one guard taking the lead, swiping the first door. The other two remained behind him. Which meant that they only had one keycard. Excellent.

  Five doors left.

  He moved the image to the left and noticed the two women. He enlarged the film strip. The pair were standing in what looked like a disused railway yard. The image was grainy, as if the camera was low quality, which struck Rupert as odd. Why was this camera of a lesser quality than the hundreds of others?

  Bringing his thoughts back to his own predicament, he realised that he was trapped and knew that he wasn’t getting out of there alive. Three versus one, and they had machine guns. It was a death sentence. Rupert knew the best he could hope to achieve was to try and help the other prisoners. And he knew he had to act fast.

  Four doors left.

  Rupert placed two fingers on the tablet and used them to enlarge the picture of the two women. They seemed to be examining a keypad. The picture was still grainy. Rupert noticed a small arrow on the base of the image. He tapped it and the camera moved. A menu came up. The camera’s movement came to a stop. As it did, the two women looked up at it. The more slender of the two stepped forward and waved. Rupert read the menu. He had three options: ALERT, SHUT DOWN, UNLOCK. He didn’t know what they meant. He glanced at the guards on the other screen.

  Three doors left.

  Rupert gave a wave at the tablet’s screen, then felt a wave of embarrassment, realising that they couldn’t see him. He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand, and realised how much he was sweating. ALERT sounded like a disa
ster waiting to happen. He realised the prompts pertained to the image before him, not to the overall images on the TV behind him. He hit SHUT DOWN. Nothing happened. Then the image before him darkened a little. SHUT DOWN was replaced by INITIATE. Realising his error, Rupert hit INITIATE again and the image brightened a little.

  Two doors left.

  Rupert placed the tablet on the floor beside him. He laid down his briefcase and opened it, pulling out the pistol. He pushed the case aside, knowing he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. It was almost go time.

  Returning to the tablet, he could see that the two women were pointing to the keypad frantically. The chunky woman was staring at something off camera. Rupert suddenly realised what he had to do.

  The arched doorway opened. Rupert heard two sets of footsteps coming into the room.

  There was one door left though, surely?

  He realised his error. Of course, with only one door remaining, the other men would be able to follow their leader without waiting for the order.

  Fuck!

  The table above Rupert exploded in a hail of gunfire. Glass smashed, plastic shredded, paper flew everywhere. The noise in the room was deafening as the debris rained down on him. The monitor toppled over and hung from its cord before crashing to the floor. The keyboard was propelled into the wall and shattered into pieces. The frame bent and the table above collapsed inwards, as glass rained down on him

  Then all was quiet.

  Rupert readied his pistol. The tablet was below him. He realised a stream of blood was running down his forehead. A shard of flying glass had cut him. He brushed the blood away with his hand, mixing it with the sweat. As he held his breath he saw the shadows of the guards approaching where he was hiding.

  “We have you surrounded,” came the voice. “You can’t escape. Give up now and we will not kill you.”

  The words were spoken with precision and zero emotion: cold and clinical. Rupert knew they were lying. If he gave himself up, he would be dead within minutes. Game time.