by Rajan Khanna
“Get moving, Atticus,” I say, waving the knife at him. “And remember, you try anything and you get cut.”
He swallows and then moves to a metal panel that I now see is a door. He pulls on it, using all of his weight, and with a clang it opens. Beyond I can see more pipes lining the walls and ceiling. “It’s in here,” Atticus says.
“You first,” I say.
I follow close behind him, and Rosie trails me. She slams the metal door back into place, and it sounds so loud in the tunnel that I worry the whole complement that mans the place will come to investigate. But I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down. The tunnel smells like dust and stone and plastic. “What do all of these do?” I ask Atticus.
“They’re all for the helium production,” he says. “Some of them are power, but most of them aren’t.”
“And you help maintain this place?”
“Yes,” he says. “I worked here when Gastown first started. It was . . .” He stops and turns to look back at me. “Nothing like that had been attempted before.”
“Since the Clean,” I say. “I know.”
“They were good to us. They needed us. I mean, it must’ve been hard enough to gather up the people needed to run this place. Some of the people had been working here since the Bug hit, trading helium for goods, but it wasn’t in full production. Gastown changed that. But then . . .”
He doesn’t have to say it. I was there when Valhalla raiders decided they wanted Gastown, and its helium, for themselves, as I’ve mentioned. I try not to think about it much.
“So they force you all to stay here?”
“Some try to run,” Atticus says. “Those who do are usually tracked down and made an example of. Shot on sight or just . . . disappeared. I mean we’re scientists. Mechanics. We can’t match them. They’re thugs. Well, most of them are. But if you can take me with you . . .”
“I said we’ll see.” I wipe some sweat from my forehead and switch the knife to my other hand. “What do you mean, most of them?”
“Most of the men who came here are just guards, here to keep us in line. But there are some other people here as well. Scientists, I think. They’re different. They know what they’re talking about. I think they’re the ones really calling the shots.”
The sinking sensation returns. Of course it would make sense that Miranda’s cadre be part of the running of the plant. “Why don’t you all just work together against them?” I ask.
“When they first came down here, we did,” Atticus says. “We said we wouldn’t work, none of us, and they wouldn’t get their helium. So they took one of the techs and they killed him. Shot him in the head. Then they said they would continue to do that until we went back to work. They would pick at random, too. So there was no telling who they’d choose. They said if we weren’t working anyway, it wouldn’t matter if we all were dead. So . . .”
“So a few of you gave in and then the rest of you had no choice.”
He bobs his head in the affirmative. “What could we do?”
I have a few thoughts, but he’s right—they’re scientists. While they’ve been working, trying to rebuild the world, others have had other priorities. They’re no match for men who have been surviving, and killing to do so, for most of their lives.
Which is not to write them off. Miranda could hold her own, as recent events proved. But these people were probably outclassed in the violence department. And I couldn’t look down on that. I had gambled on those smarter than myself to help bring about a better world.
We move on.
After some further crawling, we arrive at another door similar to the one we came through. “This is the tricky part,” Atticus says.
I feel my stomach sink. “What do you mean?”
“This door opens onto a larger room. They keep some . . . specialized machinery in there. There might be people inside.”
“What kind of specialized machinery?” Rosie asks before I can.
“Um . . . that’s the other thing,” Atticus says. “We have to be careful.”
“What the fuck is going on, Atticus?” I ask.
He turns to look at me and licks his cracked lips. “They keep explosives in there.”
“What?”
“A lot of them.”
“Why?”
“They say some of them are for construction but . . . I think they’re a safeguard,” Atticus says. “There’s even supposed to be something really big in there. I haven’t actually seen it up close. I didn’t want to. But I talked to some of the others about it. They figure that if anyone were to try to take this place, they would set it off and take the plant with it.”
“That’s insane,” Rosie says.
“They are,” I respond. “Okay, we avoid anything that looks like a bomb. Atticus, you go first. See if anyone is there, make up some excuse if you need to. But be aware that if you try to rabbit, I will make sure I slit your throat. Even if there’s an army on the other side, I will kill you with my dying breath.”
“I want to get out of here, I promise,” Atticus says, and I hear the fear in his voice. “You get me out of here and I’ll take you to your ship.”
“You take me to my ship.”
Atticus’s hand curls into a fist, and for a second I think he’s going to take a swing at me. Then he squeezes his eyes closed and says, “Okay. I’ll do it. Just . . . please consider.”
Atticus opens the door to the next room and, on a whim, before I can think twice about it, I crawl out after him. He looks back at me, startled, but I nod and keep my face straight as he turns back to the room.
Rosie stays in the access corridor.
I scan the room and see only two people. One is thin and balding, and by his dress seems like he might be working there. The other one is from Gastown. I can tell by the furs he’s wearing and the two-foot-long machete at his hip. Only one guard. I relax some of the tension out of my shoulders.
Both approach us, but only one of them has his fingers near the handle of his weapon. “What are you doing here?” the thin man says.
Atticus scratches his head. “We need to get to the shipyard. I thought I’d take a shortcut.”
The Gastown man’s eyes are narrowed, discerning.
“This area needs to be kept clear,” Thin Man says. His eyes wander over to me, then down to my knife, and then back to Atticus. I think he takes me for a Gastown punk.
“Sorry,” Atticus says.
I shake my head. “I told you,” I say.
“Okay, okay,” Atticus says. “Since we’re here, can we just cross over to the access corridor? I’m needed in the shipyard and I’m already running late.”
“Okay,” Thin Man says. “Just be quick about it.”
We both nod and move toward the far end of the cavern. I try to catch a look at the equipment. There are large stacks of machinery for unknown purposes. Cranes, scaffolding, and carts as well. And then I catch sight of the large box near the center of the room and the writing on its side.
I’d never seen one before, but Dad talked about them when I was younger. And you’d sometimes hear mention of them in tales from when the Bug first hit. A Firestorm bomb. A tool the government never got the opportunity to employ the way they wanted to.
When the Bug started to spread, they needed a way to contain it. The Firestorm was their answer. A nuke wouldn’t make sense—the radiation would be impossible to contain and the blasted area would be contaminated. A Firestorm used a combination of high-yield explosives and incendiaries to basically scour the area. They had apparently planned on using them in infected areas, burning any Ferals (and innocents) to a crisp, sterilizing the land.
Seeing one, here, makes me stop and start to tremble.
The Gastown thug sees me falter, realizes something is up, and I see him in my peripheral vision coming toward me. I whirl around, the knife in my hand and slashing through the air. It slices him in the throat, catching and tearing it open in a spray of red that I actually don�
�t cringe from.
He goes down, gurgling, the machete in his hand clattering to the floor, and the other man cries out at the violence. Atticus grabs him from behind and pushes him toward me.
“What’s that for?” I hold the knife out to the man, blood still fresh on the blade, and point at the box in the center of the room. The massive fucking bomb.
“Don’t, please,” Thin Man says.
“Tell me,” I insist.
“It’s a Firestorm bomb,” he says.
Atticus exhales loudly.
“I know that. What’s it here for?”
Thin Man looks at his feet. “It’s insurance for Gastown,” he says. “If someone attacks and tries to take it . . .”
“They’ll make sure no one else has access to it.”
Thin Man nods.
“Where did they get it from?” I ask.
“A raid, I don’t know. I think one of the Brains knew where it was. We didn’t exactly have a conversation about it.”
“Brains?”
“Yeah. The smart ones. The Brains. The others are just the Muscle.”
“And you’re in charge of this bomb?” I ask.
Thin Man shrugs. “I know my explosives. That’s why they brought me in. I know how they work.”
I shake my head. This man is the flip side to what Miranda and her friends are doing. He’s a man of Science, keeping the tradition alive, but not to help anyone, not to improve anything. For himself. For a position, for power, for survival—for something. But only for himself.
Like you, Ben, the voice in my head says.
I pull back my arm and hit him in the face as hard as I can. Then I do it again. And again. Atticus is still holding him up so he doesn’t fall. When I’m done expelling my rage, his head sags on his chest, blood leaking from his mouth and lips. I quickly wipe my gloves on his shirt. “Lay him down somewhere over there,” I say. “See if you can tie him down somehow.”
Atticus goes off to take care of it and I go back to grab Rosie.
Her eyebrows raise as she steps out into the room. “Did it all go okay?”
“Mostly.” I point to the bomb. “That right there is a Firestorm. The big boom.”
Her eyes widen. “That thing is massive.” She shakes her head. “They can’t really think—”
“They don’t think,” I say. “They just hunger and they take. They’re no better than the Ferals.”
Atticus returns. “He’s tied up. I found some cables.” I stare hard at him. “You don’t trust me?” he asks.
“Would you in my position?”
“Look, I’m in this now. With you. Do you think I can still stay here even if I wanted to?”
“You didn’t kill anyone. And this was all under duress.” I think for a moment, then look at Rosie. “Check to make sure he’s secure.”
She runs off to the man.
Atticus hangs his head.
“Nothing personal,” I say. “We just can’t afford surprises.”
Rosie returns a few moments later and gives me a nod. “He looks secure. Pretty beat-up, too.”
“He looked at me funny,” I say.
She gives me a hard look but then smirks. “Now can we go and get your ship?”
I look around the room. In addition to the Firestorm there are boxes and crates of all kinds. There’s probably dynamite, C-4, explosives of every variety. They must’ve raided a military facility.
“What?” Rosie asks.
“I’m wondering if we should figure out a way to set all this off.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. It’s not that different from how she usually looks at me. “You want to blow this place?”
I shrug. “Valhalla controls the helium now. We blow this place and they don’t have that anymore. They lose something big.”
Rosie nods her head at Atticus. “There are innocent people here.”
“You heard him,” I say. “They’re prisoners. Some of them might even get out as a result.”
“What about Claudia?” she asks.
And she’s right. I have no idea where Claudia is. How this would affect her plans. But it’s still hard to walk away.
“These people almost killed you and your brother,” I say, meeting her eyes.
“Yes,” she says. “They did. And I want to hurt them, too, but this isn’t the way. There are too many unknowns.”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. Inhale. Exhale. You’re not here to save the world, Ben. You’re here for your ship.
When I open my eyes, I nod. “I’m still taking a few of the smaller explosives, though,” I say. I grab some of the C-4 and a few detonators. You never know when this stuff will come in handy. Then I turn to my companions.
“Let’s go,” I say.
My ship awaits.
We continue on down the next stretch of access corridor. I try to put the Firestorm out of my mind, but I can’t. It’s bad enough that Valhalla has become more aggressive. That they’ve enlisted scientists in their cause. But to have that kind of firepower. . . . With that they could take out a whole city. Not just Gastown. Tamoanchan. All those people at risk. Diego. Rosie. Rabbi Cohen. Sergei.
Miranda.
Someone needs to stop them.
But not you, Ben. Right?
Fucking voice.
“How far ahead is it now?” I ask Atticus.
“After the end of this passage we have to cross another corridor.” He mops at his neck with a handkerchief. “After that I think it’s just one last service tunnel and then that should lead us directly to the moorage.”
“You think?”
“I don’t come this way very much. I’m not really sure what they do over here.”
“But you still know where we’re going?”
Atticus nods.
“Good,” I say. “I’m anxious to get the Cherub and get out of here.”
“Me, too,” Rosie says.
We reach the end of the access corridor and stop at the metal door. Just like in foraging, this is the tricky part. Is there anything—or anyone, in this case—on the other side? If so, which direction? Are they armed? How many are there?
I place my hand flat against the metal surface, inhale, then open it.
As Atticus said, it opens onto a corridor running perpendicular to ours. It’s wider than the previous corridors. It goes down some distance to our left, but to our right it leads to a set of double doors, heavy dark steel with bars across them.
The corridor seems empty, so I step into it, my revolver out but down by my side so it won’t seem obvious to anyone who might happen by. Then I hold the door open for Rosie and Atticus to come out.
Atticus steps out and wipes his neck again with his handkerchief. “We have to move down to the left,” he says. But his eyes stray to the heavy metal doors.
“What’s over there?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “They don’t usually lock things up so well around here.”
I wonder what’s beyond the doors, but I push the thought aside. I’m here to get the Cherub and get out.
But Rosie moves toward the door. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “We need to keep moving before someone finds us.”
Rosie shakes her head. “It looks like there’s something important behind here.”
“Then it’s likely to be guarded,” I say.
She turns to face me. “You were the one who said we could get intelligence down here. I think it’s worth a look.”
I look to Atticus, but I can tell he’s interested too. “Give me a hand with these,” Rosie says, and together she and Atticus begin sliding aside the bars.
“Goddamnit,” I say. But I move closer to them, ready to shoot if anything comes out of the door.
Rosie pulls open the door and a smell comes out. Death. Rotting meat. Shit. I raise the revolver and push past them into the room.
It’s a large room, the largest I’ve seen in this place, and I come to a railing that looks down ove
r the rest of the room, which is something like two floors down. In the center of the room is a pit, dug out of the floor, and in the middle of the pit, pacing, is the largest Feral I’ve ever seen. This one’s female, long greasy hair trailing down its back, no clothes to speak of. Grime or dirt or worse darkening its skin. But as it moves I can see the muscles bunch and ripple. Its shoulders, arms, legs, everything are huge. It’s terrifying.
Also in the pit, pushed to one side, are the remains of something that was once human. I don’t know if it was a Feral or not. I can’t even tell whether it was male or female from what’s left of it.
I tense up. From where I am, there’s no real chance of infection. I’m a floor up from the pit, and the floor goes down a ways. The Feral couldn’t climb up. Any fluids it could sling would fall far short of reaching me, but I can’t seem to help myself.
“What are they doing keeping a Feral in here?” I say to Atticus, who along with Rosie has joined me.
“I . . . don’t know,” Atticus says.
I raise my revolver and try to figure out if I can hit the thing from here. Whatever it’s being used for can’t be good. Before I can fire, though, I hear a sound from below us and I pull Atticus and Rosie down. But while the metal walkway is not see-through from the bottom, it is from the side.
“Move!” someone barks.
“No,” another voice, quavering, answers.
Then three people come into view. The one in front is a man, face uncovered, balding with a fringe of copper hair. Pushing him ahead is a Valhalla thug with an animal-skin coat and a rifle. Behind both of them is a woman with a black cap.
Fuck, I think, and pull Rosie and Atticus back. But the metal walkway starts clanging under our movement and so I stop.
The man below is still chanting “no” over and over again as he is pushed forward.
“Wilson,” I hear Atticus say. One of his coworkers, perhaps?
When Wilson nears the edge of the pit he starts to scream. A high keening sound that reverberates through the room.
“You shouldn’t have run,” the woman in the back cap says, loud enough that the sound carries to where we are.
