Haven Ward

by Elias Witherow

  I punched the door, “Shut up! Just shut up!”

  He wiped his eyes and turned away, walking down the hall, calling back to me, “You’re going to die in here Weston! There’s nothing you can do about it!”

  I kicked the wall, furious, frantic. How could this happen?! What as I suppose to do now?! I refused to sit in my cell while King and the rest fought, but how in the hell was I supposed to get out now? And I was getting drained tomorrow. I wouldn’t have the strength to fight after that.

  I paced, mind racing, pouring over my options. What was going on above me? What if Bones couldn’t unite the tribes? If we all didn’t work together, then King would be wiped out and we were all dead.

  The day trickled by like a stream of muddy water. I couldn’t stop pacing, stretching the fabric of my mind for a way to get out of here. I came up with nothing and became more and more frustrated. It was eating me up from the inside. I needed to be in control. I needed to have an ace hidden up my sleeve, but the hand I was dealt showed no promise.

  I was lying on my back in the middle of my cell, mind exhausted, the anger that had been burning in me, now, a pile of embers.

  I heard a knock come from the glass door and I turned my head. Warden Martin stood with his hands behind his back, staring in at me. I sat up, pulse beginning to quicken. What now?

  He entered, wearing a purple suit and a white silk tie, his hair slicked back, “Hello Weston.”

  I licked my dry lips, “What do you want?”

  A smile lit his face, “No love for me today?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He closed the door, two orange Hazmat officers standing guard just outside, “I can understand your hate towards me, I really can. Sending you to a place like this, being treated like an object instead of a human being.”

  I closed my eyes and put my fingers to them, “Warden, I don’t really feel like listening to your rants today.”

  He nodded, that dazzling white smile still glued to his face, “I’m surprised you don’t like it here. You’re a lot safer here than in Section Z, the food’s better, you don’t have to worry about who’s going to sic you in the back, you have your own cell, and it’s marvelously clean!”

  I looked up at him, “You’re forgetting the part where they drain me of my blood until I die.”

  “We all die don’t we?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to choose how that happens.”

  He pulled out a cigar, flashing his gold lighter, “We all would like that, but no matter where we are or how we live, we rarely get to choose. That’s left up to fate, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t believe in fate. You want something done, you grab it by the balls and do it. Blaming fate is just an excuse for being a coward.”

  Martin lit his cigar, “Wise words for someone so young. You’ve always been able to impress me and I respect that. Not many people can. Not in this...” he twirled his cigar around, leaving trails of smoke, “In this place.”

  “For the second time, what do you want?” I asked.

  He took a long drag, “What I want, is for you to tell me everything there is to know about this…King. Kind of a self righteous name isn’t it?”

  “He didn’t choose it.”

  “Never the less, he’s about to strike out against Haven Ward and I need to know his weaknesses. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up to date on what’s been going on, but your former leader has turned into quite a problem for me.”

  I snorted, “Figure it out yourself.”

  He exhaled, filling the small room with smoke, “Don’t be difficult with me, Weston.”

  “I’m not being difficult, I’m being loyal.”

  He nodded, “And I can appreciate that, I really can, but don’t you see it’s futile? Your life is over as far as you know it. I can ensure it’s not though, if you give me a few…a few pointers.”

  I glared at him, “What in the hell could you offer me? The whole reason I’m in here is because of the Sanction and your damn Hazmats. First you took away my Midtown pass, then you took away my options, then you took away my sister!” I was getting pissed. “So let me ask you, Warden, why in the hell would I want to help you?!”

  Martin watched me with cool eyes, the smoke rising and tangling in his hair, “Why? Because you can do something about it. Isn’t that what you were saying? If you give me real, solid advice on how to beat King, I’ll take you out of this place. I’ll extend my hand and pull you to my side. You can be my personal advisor.”

  I started to laugh, “Holy shit. You’re desperate aren’t you? You’re really afraid of King aren’t you? And you should be. He’s strong and he’s smart and he’s going to bring down your little reign of terror.”

  A light began to burn in the Warden’s eyes, “Don’t test me, child, or I’ll lose my temper. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

  I said nothing, my eyes meeting his.

  His tone changed, “I’ve heard that a friend of yours was recently captured. What was his name? Roland?”

  I felt my heart stutter.

  He noticed my change and smiled, “Ah. He’s close to you isn’t he? It would be a shame if…if something happened to him wouldn’t it? Maybe a prisoner shanks him…maybe a guard does it? It’s hard to keep track of everyone isn’t it? Hard to control all these…people. Accidents happen.”

  “Don’t you touch him,” I spit, “Don’t you dare. You talk about justice and law. Is this the law you were talking about? Whatever you want, you get? No matter what the cost? What kind of structure is that? How can you rule like that?”

  He shrugged, “Because I choose to.” He began pacing the interior of my cell, “Funny story I heard earlier,” he glanced at me, “You’re in it.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

  “I heard,” he said ignoring me, “That you were trying to escape. You jammed the door to your cell. Very clever. It’s too bad the good doctor Nigel caught you huh? Would have been exciting.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  He stopped pacing and sat down next to me, crossing his legs and stubbing his cigar out on the floor, “Here’s what I can’t figure out though. Maybe you can help me figure it out.” He licked his lips, running a hand over his head to make sure his hair was still perfect, “Why do you want to get out so bad? What is it that you’re trying to get back too? Your life is shit. You have nothing left. King is going to be defeated, it’s only a matter of time, you have no family left, and your one friend is locked away here. So tell me…what exactly is it you’re running to?”

  I sniffed, “It’s not what I’m running to, its what I’m running from.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You.”

  He fell onto his back, roaring with laughter, rolling around like a little kid, holding his stomach, “Oh my! And I that bad!? I apologize! I had no idea! Oh Weston, you are a funny kid!”

  I stood up, disgusted, and walked to the wall, staring at the weeping man who was currently asleep, “Get out of my cell.”

  He sat up, still giggling, “Oh my. Whew. Wow. I haven’t laughed like that in quite some time.”

  I turned back to him, leaning against the glass, arms crossed, “Can you get out?”

  He stood, picking up his crushed cigar stub, “Ah very well. It’s a damn shame you won’t help me though. I can’ t promise Roland will be safe. It’s a dangerous world out there,” he said widening his eyes and cocking a thumb to the ceiling.

  “I’m willing to take the chance,” I said. If only you knew what was coming, you bag of shit.

  He sighed then left my cell, tilting his head back as he exited, “Well ok then. Toodle loo, Weston,” he said twiddling his fingers at me.

  Chapter 16

  I was back on the floor, palms flat. The Warden had left hours ago, letting me resume my careful vigilance. Sweat was beginning to bead on my forehead. They had delivered my food, an extra helping
because of my big draining tomorrow. I didn’t touch it. My mind wasn’t focused on my stomach. Don’t back down King, I thought, keep strong, we need this. Everyone does. Everyone who’s ever been stepped on by the Sanction.

  Suddenly I felt something. Not in my hands, but on the back of my head. Tapping. I turned, seeing the weeping man, cross legged, sitting directly behind me, separated by the glass wall. His eyes seemed to be boring into me, his expression intent. His cheeks had tear stains streaking down them, but his eyes were dry.

  “What?” I said, knowing he probably couldn’t hear me. He just kept tapping in the glass.

  “Stop that,” I growled, closing my eyes and turning back.

  But he didn’t. His finger just kept bobbing back and forth, tap tap tap, the noise starting to get to me. I tried to ignore him, but with the circumstances and everything that was at stake, my temper was short. Finally, after a few minutes, I turned around and slammed my fist into the wall.

  “Shut up!”

  He stopped, jerking his finger back as if I was trying to bite it off. Then he began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, methodically, his eyes never leaving mine. When he finished unbuttoning, he peeled it off and folded it, laying it neatly beside him. Then he tapped the glass once, as if to get my attention, and began to dig his nail into his chest.

  I winced as I watched, not knowing what he was up to, watching as blood began to sprout where his fingernail had dug. The man’s eyes never changed, never showed any sign of pain as he continued. I realized he was carving words into his flesh. When he was finished, he sucked a drop of blood off his finger and pointed at me, then back to the message on his chest.

  My brow furrowed.

  Angel of Hell.

  That was all it said. The man kept pointing at me and then back at his chest, nodding his head as if I understood what it meant. I slowly shook my head.

  “Sure buddy, whatever you say,” I muttered. What was that suppose to mean? That I’m the Angel of Hell?

  I tapped the glass, looking at him, “If you were sane, I’d ask you what that meant. Of course, if you were sane, you wouldn’t be carving bloody messages into your chest.”

  Suddenly, I felt it. I almost missed it, but I caught the tail end of the tremor. Just a slight shaking, but a few seconds later, another came. I sprang to my feet, going to the door, looking out. Another came, this one with more force and the ground actually shook. I looked back at the man and he was sitting, shaking his head, weeping, hands over his face.

  I put my hands on the door and tried to pry it open, heart pounding. I needed to get out of here, now. I tried the door again in vain. Shit! I grabbed my plate of food and began to pound it against the glass. I threw it down finally, crying out in frustration, pacing, running my hands through my hair. I noticed that a few doctors were quickly walking by looking nervous, looking up at the ceiling. A couple Hazmats trotted past, their radios squawking.

  “Hey, what’s going on!?” I yelled after them. They didn’t even break stride.

  I punched the wall, “Damn it!” Every breath was coming fast. Every ounce and fiber of my being dying to get out of this damn cell.

  But I couldn’t. No matter what I did, the glass never shattered, the door never budged. I was trapped, waiting for salvation or damnation, depending on who got to me first. Minutes dragged into hours and every painful second that ticked by, I grew more anxious. The tremors continued, steady and aggressive. My neighbor eventually crawled onto his bed and fell asleep. I watched as the blood from his chest dripped onto the perfect white tile.

  Hours later, as I was sitting on my bed, the lights began to flicker. I sat up, looking as the fluorescents coughed and sputtered, like a dying man taking his last gasps. From down the hall, I saw two Hazmats and Nigel running towards my cell, stumbling as the floor shook from a massive impact overhead. This time I heard the distant boom! of a bombshell.

  Recovering, the small team got to my cell and opened it. Nigel looked flustered, his face red and puffed, out of his element. The two Hazmats came into the cell with him, guns trained on me.

  “Give me your arms! Both of them!” Nigel said, taking out a small case from his lab coat. He seemed to be in a hurry, quickly putting the case on the floor and snapping it open.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, not moving.

  “It doesn’t matter, I’m taking your blood, so give me your damn arms!” He snapped, taking out two needles and wielding them like a pair of pistols.

  I shrunk away, “What the hell are you doing?! I’m not giving you anything until you tell me what’s going on!”

  Nigel advanced on me, snarling through gritted teeth, “We’re being attacked, the whole fucking prison is rioting above us and I’m going to suck all your blood out! Does that answer the question for you?!”

  I licked my lips, keeping my distance. So it was really happening. King had begun the assault and the prisoners had decided to listen to Bones. I couldn’t believe it. The old bastard had pulled it off. I felt sparks of hope in my chest, but I quenched them as I assessed my situation. I had to think of some way to buy some time, anything, just so long my life didn’t end here. I didn’t have any options though. No hidden tricks. I couldn’t fight two Hazmats. I was just a kid. I needed a miracle.

  “Stay still and give me your arms!” Nigel roared.

  As he approached me, a greedy light in his eyes, I felt a sinking acceptance. This was it. It was over.

  But as he grabbed me, one of the Hazmats suddenly raised his rifle and blew the others head off. I jumped at the sudden sound, Nigel spinning around as shock gripped him, both of us watching as the dead Hazmat collapsed, his head a meaty slew of gore.

  Gun still smoking, the live Hazmat ripped off his mask.

  “Bones!” I choked.

  He stepped forward and grabbed Nigel by the throat, pulling him away from me. His old face was alight with a deadly glow that I had never seen him wear. It was chilling.

  “What are you doing!?” Nigel said, struggling against the gauntlet at his throat. “Release me you idiot!”

  Bones tightened his grip, “Shut up you monster. What you’ve done to this boy is fucking unforgivable.” Nigel’s eyes bulged as Bones squeezed his hand, choking the life from him.

  “I’m not the enemy, Hazmat!” Nigel cried as his face went blue.

  Bones fingers dug into his neck, cutting through the skin, drawing blood, “Think again.” With a sick ripping sound, his gauntlet punctured Nigel’s throat, his hand disappearing into the bloody flesh. Gurgling, screaming, Nigel died, watching as his blood poured over Bones hand.

  When the doctor had stopped struggling, Bones cast his body on the floor, wiping his hand disgustedly on his neon green armor.

  “W-what are you doing here!?” I cried, finally getting my voice back.

  Bones glanced at me, placing his mask back on, “I’m here to get you out. When you didn’t show up, I began to worry.”

  I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened. Nigel’s corpse lay at my feet, blood oozing across the floor.

  “How did you get the suit?!” I asked.

  Bones handed me a pistol he had strapped to his thigh, “It was easy. The prison is in a full scale riot. I had a sit down with the tribe leaders. You were right, they listened. Once they understood what was really going on here, they were furious. I had to talk them into waiting for King to strike before rebelling. That part wasn’t easy. It’s madness up there. Hazmats are trying to control us, but with everyone united, they’re in just as much chaos as us. I killed one of them and took his suit, then I stood back and watched the Underdogs rip apart an officer. When they were done with him, I simply stepped in and took his pass key. That’s how I got down here.”

  I gripped the gun and glanced around, “Have you heard anything about what’s going on outside?”

  Bones opened the cell door and motioned me forward, “Let’s go. I haven’t heard anything, beside the continuous barrage of explosions. P
art of Celsius block has collapsed.”

  We exited the cell, the pistol feeling right in my hands. Prisoners were standing at their doors, looking at us with dead eyes. No one was pounding on the glass, screaming to let them out, none were cheering, none cared. It was as if they were watching a dream, knowing that what they saw was just an illusion. But that wasn’t the case. This was happening and it was happening now.

  “We need to release them,” I said, trotting behind Bones.

  “I know, I have no idea where I’m going though. All this commotion has turned me around,” he said.

  We turned a corner and were confronted by three Hazmats, all talking quickly, confused. They turned to us, raising their guns.

  Bones raised his hand, goggles glowing, “Hold up! We’re allies!”

  As they relaxed I brought up my pistol and shot two of them in the head, my gun kicking back as a pair of smoking shells ejected. Bones finished the last one, his rifle making my pistol sound like a toy. The three went down before they even knew what was happening.

  “Hurry,” Bones urged.

  We ran, the bombs exploding outside Haven Ward reaching us and shaking the ground. We passed doctors scurrying around like rats, panicked, in complete disarray. Corridors blended into each other, doors and labs blurred as we passed them.

  Eventually, we found ourselves in an open room, surrounded by computer screens, each blinking and singing their own technological tune. Sitting around these computers were techies, all looking up as we came to a skidding halt. Luckily there were no Hazmats, just dorks in gray uniforms, keeping this nightmare running, this underground hell.

  “No one move!” Bones yelled, throwing off his mask. His face was moped with sweat. A few of the techs began to stand, alarmed.

  I pointed my gun at the first one and shot him in leg, “We’re not screwing around!”

  That seemed to get their attention. Their asses immediately were glued back to their seats. Bones walked through them, scanning the screens, looking at the mass of buttons and control boards.