Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  Things had moved very quickly since obeying the instruction to disarm himself. Almost immediately he’d been hooded to prevent him from seeing, with the cable ties coming out shortly after. Soon enough he was being bundled into the back of a van of some kind, and now he sat utterly helpless, his back against the side wall of a moving vehicle, unable to see where he was going, and unable to do anything about it even if he could.

  That said, he wasn’t completely blind, though his sight was severely reduced. The fabric hood – which seemed to have been cut out of some kind of sack – was far from opaque. Although he couldn’t make out many of the finer details of what was going on around him, small holes in the material afforded him a general sense, and allowed him to pick out some of the more major objects. It’s what had let him know he was getting into a van, and now it’s what was telling him that even if he could see, it would be a very dark place nonetheless.

  Regardless however of his present blindness, John’s objective remained clear. The only thing that mattered right now was maximising his chances of coming out of the situation alive, and if he were to manage such a feat, he’d need to do so whilst also having the ability to stay alive. Accordingly, the most important task he could think of right now, was to figure out where they were going, so he could figure out how to get back.

  Without vision, and with only limited sound due to the muffling effect of the sack, figuring out the route he was being taken on was something he had to rely on motion for. Although not perfect, John was able to use the swaying of his own body, and that of the vehicle he was inside of, to figure out roughly what turns they took, and was able to count out how long they went in a line in order to approximate distance. It was a technique he’d been taught during his time in the military, designed to be used in more or less this exact situation, albeit in countries with much less sophisticated road networks. In any case, at this particular moment, he was incredibly grateful for having been taught the skill.

  Of course, the first stage of the trip was barely worth making note of. It was no secret that the group was based in the stadium barely a hundred metres down the street, and John’s captors hadn’t even bothered to try and hide the fact. They’d simply driven in a straight line along the main road, and before long slowed down in anticipation of turning in. Shortly afterwards they’d driven the small distance between the road and the south-east entrance to the building, and then yanked John back out of the van. This then, was the part where the technique would be put to use.

  “Right, right, two, door”, John said quietly under his breath. “Right, right, two, door”, he repeated, trying to imprint the information into his mind as he waited for his captors to navigate the door with their new hostages. “Right, right, two, door, six”, he continued, counting the number of seconds they spent walking straight after the door and then adding it to the list, “Right, right, two, door, six”, he repeated.

  Almost immediately after entering through the door, John had noticed the presence of an echo. Noticeable only due to the boots of various people clanging loudly on the floor below, John had imagined the reverberation might indicate they were in one of the main communal areas of the stadium, where people would once have bought food and drink in anticipation of heading inside to their seats. John imaged he too was on his way to his seat, though he didn’t have high hopes for what was going to happen there.

  Despite that however, he remained calm and collected. This wasn’t his first time in such a situation, though it was his first time being held by members of his own country. As a man who’d frequently found himself well behind enemy lines, it was inevitable that he’d eventually be captured, even if he managed to do nothing wrong during an entire tour. The sad fact was that such things were expected to happen, but thankfully, that meant there was always a process to get people back.

  During his last such experience, John had spent around six days in some godforsaken hellhole of a house before his release had eventually been negotiated, and even then it had been far from a smooth transaction. More bullets had been fired at the exchange than he himself had fired the entire war, making it a conclusion he was more than hoping wasn’t likely to be repeated this time around.

  Back in the stadium, it was clear they’d reached another door, as everyone had suddenly been brought to a halt, and the sound of keys being fumbled around for had cut through the otherwise silent area fairly abruptly. With such low levels of vision, John’s other senses were heightening more and more by the second, though his hearing was thankfully a sense he was more than capable with already.

  “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door”, he said, continuing to add to the list, and starting to worry that if it got much longer, he’d have a real hard time remembering it. “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door”, he said again. John wasn’t sure what his mental capacity was for remembering such things, or if it would even be worth remembering, but he was damn sure going to try all the same.

  Before long, they were moving again. Along a much longer hallway this time, which once again echoed off into the distance, bouncing off of every wall in what John was certain was flanked with offices on each side, presumably for the various staff who had once helped keep the stadium running. At this point, it was clear they weren’t headed for the centre of the stadium – where John had originally expected the bulk of the base to be located – and were instead navigating the intricate back-end of the building, somewhere he unfortunately had little information on the typical layouts of.

  Soon though they reached another door, which this time appeared to have a person stationed outside of it.

  “These the guys?”, asked a female voice, seemingly coming from the figure who was already stood in front, awaiting the group’s arrival.

  John couldn’t hear more than a grunt in response, but he was fairly certain he saw the man leading the group nod.

  “What happened to him?”, asked the woman, presumably referring to Devon and the blood stains that had streaked down his torn cargo pants.

  “He got mouthy”, said the leading man, in a tone that John was certain meant he was smiling at the same time.

  With that, the door in front swung slowly open with a long, painful creak, and although John couldn’t make out too much detail, appeared to unveil a room in complete darkness. “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door, thirty, right, door”, John said under his breath, still just about within the limits of being able to remember every step of the way, and hoping they were now finally reaching their destination. “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door, thirty, right, door”, he said again.

  Mercifully – albeit far from graciously – John’s hopes were then realised a few feet into the room as he was shoved forwards, sending him slamming face first into the wall a little further in front. With his hands tied up, John had little choice but to slam into the hard surface, though he did at least manage to twist his head around to one side in order to prevent his forehead from being the point of impact, something that might have left him less able to think quickly for a short, but important period of time.

  Almost involuntarily, he collapsed slowly to the ground, just about managing to twist his body around so that he could press his back against the wall, giving him some remote semblance of stability. With his hands painfully grasped by the unforgiving thick plastic of cable ties, it was far from a delicate descent. Sliding down the slippery and perfectly flat wall, John hit the unforgiving ground much harder than he’d anticipated, and bounced slightly before coming to a rest, now sitting with his front facing into the room, and his hands still tied behind him.

  “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door, thirty, right, door”, he said again, no longer needing to add to the list now that he was fairly certain they’d reached what was to be their new home, albeit only temporarily. “Right, right, two, door, six, left, twelve, right, door, thirty, right, door”, he repeated, adamant that he would b
e able to use the information to get both him and Devon out of there just as soon as possible.

  But for now, hearing remained the most important sense, and sure enough that was what quickly came into play. Paying close attention so as to pick out any tiny but important details, John listened as the sound of footsteps came quickly towards his end of the room, presumably from one of the people who’d escorted them to this dark room, and perhaps the same person who’d given John the particularly hard shove into his current position. Before long, the footsteps rose to a volume whereby John knew the person was close, and then culminated in the sack being abruptly yanked off of his head.

  Of course, with such a dark room, there was no blinding light to suddenly adjust to, or some huge revelation to have based on the various aspects of the now visible area around him. Instead, very little was now visible that hadn’t been before, save for some small illumination from what light filtered in from the doorway they’d so recently entered through. That was of course, until the same figure had removed Devon’s hood, and then made their way back over to the room’s entrance, where they then raised their hand, and flicked a switch.

  What happened next was only just barely short of blinding. It gave the sensation of being thrust onto a beach with the sun glaring down directly into your eyes, when you had so recently been tucked up in bed, under the covers in a darkened room. It was as if a torch had been shone into the eyes of a baby for the first time, and even with eyelids immediately slamming shut, there was little that could be done to block out that all-encompassing light. Though all that had really happened of course, was that the lights had been switched on.

  Given the various, sophisticated systems the stadium must once have had for dealing with major electrical outages, John wasn’t all that surprised to find that the place still had power. Such huge spectator-heavy activities couldn’t afford the chaos that sudden darkness would bring, nor could they afford to lose out on the huge amounts of sponsorship money they received from being able to broadcast events to the world. If ever there was somewhere able to keep going without the grid of electricity pumping its sweet nectar their way, a stadium that hosted some of the country’s most popular events on a regular basis was a damn good bet.

  What did surprise John though, was their captor’s decision to keep the electricity running for their benefit. It seemed almost counter-productive to give them artificial light, especially when that one simple thing now represented one of the biggest luxuries left in the world. It occurred to John that darkness would be a much more effective tool for keeping the morale of a captive low, especially when they’d spent the entire journey here in almost complete darkness anyway.

  But then he wondered if it was instead some strange show of a strength, a kind of reminder of what this group was capable of. In the new world, working electricity was incredibly rare, so much so that nobody out there that John had yet met would be willing to waste it, or even to use it for anything less than an emergency. Yet here was this group, illuminating the rooms they used to keep their captives, seemingly willing to throw away something that some strove so hard for.

  In any case, the presence of light was now affording John the ability to make a much more helpful analysis of the current situation. Though it took some time to make the adjustment, John’s eyes slowly but surely began to acclimatise to the new environment, until he could finally stop wincing, and start looking around at the various clues that were now visible in the area immediately surrounding him.

  The first was the room itself; a four-square-metre box with a dropped ceiling and not a single piece of furniture. The walls were painted a bright white – or at least seemed bright given the current level of light – and seemed to be in an utterly perfect condition, almost as if they’d actually been repainted for the occasion. There were of course no windows, and only the same door they’d entered in, but surprisingly, nobody but John and Devon had remained inside, and best John could tell, there wasn’t a single camera to be found.

  To John’s right, himself currently sat in a similar position to John, albeit on the next wall along, was the seemingly upbeat Devon. Despite his recent wound, John could tell Devon had been in much the same mindset as him, his own lips currently uttering what John was fairly certain were also a list of the directions they’d travelled along in order to get here, repeating them a couple more times until they were firmly committed, before turning to John and finally opening his mouth.

  “So”, Devon started, “What’s the plan?”.

  Chapter 28: Attention to detail

  At times of great peril and crisis, when an unfamiliar environment is thrust upon a person and incredibly high expectations are put in place, a history with the military is nothing short of a godsend. Skills desperately suited to dire situations like this one, such as problem solving, planning and strategizing could of course be taught, but knowing how to utilise them in life or death scenarios was something only those who had truly experienced such events could ever become good at, and for the most part, only those in the military were afforded such opportunities.

  Of course, not everyone in the military went in with the ambition to become the best soldier they could be, and even less went in intending to rise through the ranks and focus on their ability to strategize or manage situations. Some went in because they had no other option, others went in because they wanted to do something noble like defend their country, and plenty more went in for plenty of other reasons.

  For Devon, his reasons for joining had been somewhat of a mix between nobility and patriotism. He’d seen what extremes so many people were willing to go to do harm to his country, and he’d seen the respect a veteran demanded without saying a word, and both of those things struck a real chord with the man. So given he already had the physical capabilities, and more than possessed the mental skills required of a recruit, Devon signed up to do his tour of duty, and ended up staying on for several more.

  But despite years of solid progression and a well-recognised desire to do much more for the military than fire a few shots and then head back to camp for the night, Devon had never seen a career in the service. Though he’d risen through the ranks at a good pace, his desire and qualifications in the medical field had eventually pulled him out of active duty, in order to get back on track chasing his dream. What had been left though, would always remain a skilled, albeit not perfect, soldier.

  In situations such as this one, Devon was more than qualified to begin brainstorming – and eventually put into practice – ideas for an escape. But despite his abilities, he knew one thing from his time in the army better than ever, and that was that if you weren’t the most skilled person in the room for a job, and you weren’t absolutely certain you knew the right thing to do, then both the easiest and most sensible thing to do, was to ask the question, and that was exactly why he was now turned to face the significantly more decorated veteran to his left.

  “John”, Devon repeated, wondering why he’d yet to receive a response, “What’s the plan here?”, he asked.

  John didn’t respond. Instead he nodded in various directions around the empty room, pointing to ever so slightly raised floorboards, the gap under the door, and just about every other even slightly different roof tile spread throughout the dropped ceiling, mouthing as he did some obscure version of the words “camera” and “microphone”.

  Realising what his superior was getting at, Devon set about inspecting the room in greater detail. Whilst he was not the most experienced soldier in the room, he was fairly certain he had greater experience with the technical side of warfare, and that had, on some occasions, spread to both the fitting and finding of bugs. Accordingly, he considered himself to be a fairly useful asset in the current situation, and had every intention of showing that fact off.

  Looking around the room, Devon’s attention jumped between the various possible points for planting such bugs. The reality however was that in a room as simple and plain as this one, the good spots were few and far
between. There were no desks to hide cameras underneath, no rugs on the floor to obscure a microphone, and the room’s lighting was so bright there weren’t even any dark corners that might have masked the presence of a darkened object. What he was left with was just two possible points, each of which he now realised John had been gesturing towards.

  The first was the door through which they had entered. Although it was unlikely someone might have gone to the trouble of dismantling its frame in order to fit some kind of bug, it was still entirely possible that someone or something might be listening in from the other side. Whether via some incredibly simple system such as simply pressing an ear to the door, or by using some kind of specialist camera designed to see through the tight gaps around the door itself, the door represented a very possible point of spying.

  Pressing his back hard against the wall to his rear, Devon slowly shimmied his way up onto his feet. It was a difficult process, especially given the pain he continued to experience from the wound on his leg – which had thankfully begun to seal back up – but before long he was standing once more, and began slowly making his way over to the door, taking care not to make too much noise on his way.

  Arriving at the entrance, Devon quickly scanned around the edges. First and foremost, he was looking for small objects blocking the gaps around the frame, tiny absences in what was otherwise a see-through area, that might indicate the presence of some secret device. But upon completing a search around the majority of the door viewable from standing height – and then lowering himself down onto the ground to check from floor level – he quickly ascertained that this was not the case, and so twisted around so that his back was once more against the wall, and looked upwards instead.