Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  Trying something different, he took a look at the small scrap of paper which contained the random series of letters, separated at various intervals with backslashes.

  /hfref/Pbyrzna/svyrf/ubzr/v/i/vk

  He cocked his head, thinking that it looked like a directory path filled with nonsense words. Maybe… he thought. He started scratching letters on the bit of paper, trying to catch patterns. He smiled as his hunch proved correct. It was a fairly easy letter substitution cipher. Almost too simple, he thought. A few minutes later, he came up with what actually was indeed a clear directory path.

  /users/Coleman/files/home/i/v/ix

  He progressed through the folder paths, arriving in the ‘home’ folder. This folder held at least a dozen other ones with Roman numeral designations. He opened ‘i,’ which brought up another identical screen. Interesting, Coleman thought, a “combination lock” made of folders. Each folder for three levels contained the same dozen numbers. I have to follow the right path to find the files, he thought.

  He clicked on ‘v’ and ‘ix’ in succession, smiling as the “mlc-spcmn” came up on the screen.

  Opening the file, he saw Coleman’s frozen face once more. He clicked play, and the image began speaking, barely contained excitement radiating from his predacessor.

  “The containment material, by itself a technological marvel, had proven entirely impervious. I couldn’t penetrate the substance. No matter how strong the drill, extremes of heat and cold applied: nothing. Entirely indestructible. Although,” a wide smile split his face, “after a great deal of effort attempting to crack it, I discovered how the mechanism works by sheer accident.” He cupped his empty hands forward. “I held it in my hands.” He chuckled. “I do admit that it was a foolish thing to do, what with the possibility of residue radiation or toxicity, but I simply cradled it gently. As I did, it responded to my touch.” Coleman shook his head and laughed, “I, of course, dropped it in my surprise, which caused it to reseal. With a little further experimentation, I discovered that the key was contact with, specifically, organic tissue warmth; it creates a seam in the material, which, then, easily twists apart.” He broke into another wide, excited grin. “I have already confirmed that the material itself inside is a patch of skin. From a nonterrestrial creature.” He emphasized the last statement, letting the monumental nature of the discovery permeate Michaels’ mind.

  There was a knock on the door. Irritated, he looked up and yelled, “What?”

  At the same time he heard Coleman say, “Yes?” Michaels rolled his eyes as he realized that the knock was on the recording.

  Coleman stood up and pushed his chair away. His face appeared again briefly, saying, “More on this very soon.” After this, the video file ended, Coleman’s hand still stretched across the screen, touching the button to cease recording. Michaels scanned the whole screen. No extra information, nothing to indicate if there was another file or any clues regarding it. He closed out the video file, noticing that a text file had appeared in the folder along with it.

  He opened it, and inside lay:

  Only one in color, but not one in size,

  Stuck firm to the ground, yet easily flies,

  Present in sun, but seldom in rain,

  Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.

  Oh hell, Michaels cursed. A riddle. He hated riddles. His mind just didn’t function very well thinking with abstract concepts. He preferred a more rational, logical approach, not tricks of language.

  On a scrap of paper he scrawled down the riddle. He checked the clock on the wall, startled to realize that it was getting quite late. I suppose that’s enough for today, he thought to himself. He stuffed the piece of paper into the pocket of his lab coat, donning it as he pushed the lid of the terminal closed.

  As he walked out of the door of his office, smiling as he realized it now truly belonged to him. As he traveled to his dwelling, he held a passing curiosity in his mind, wondering when the assault down below would begin.

  Chapter 18: Vigilance

  Malcolm didn’t know what to do. He sat in a chair a few floors up, in a tiny slums apartment building, watching out a window. He was just inside what was considered Miguel’s territory, in one of the many buildings that served as housing for the people who operated in the area.

  He found the corner apartment, which provided a nice long view down a couple of streets. He’d been watching for a few hours, seeing various people walk back and forth, patrolling. They always carried weapons.

  He guessed, and hoped, that it was somewhere near there that they had brought Kaylee. He observed, trying to get a sense of the pattern of guards. He didn’t really notice it, but his cognitive faculties had been steadily improving. He experienced fewer juxtaposed and jumbled memory flashes. His actions were more thought out and planned, less instinctual and improvised.

  Such as his current observation. Anyone who happened to look up may have been fairly unnerved to see something that appeared to be a pair of slanted glowing eyes staring down at them, assuming they could see that far, but he wasn’t worried about it. While he watched them pass, he saw very few people looking around or paying any attention to anything at all.

  Although he didn’t know it, these people, given the light patrol duty, rarely encountered anything. The people who roamed further out were the ones who had to keep a careful watch. Still, very few observers could compete against his stealth and swiftness. He had traveled through the streets to the building in which he sat, passing within feet of them. They didn’t notice.

  More figures were coming down the street. His eyes narrowed as they closed in. He recognized them. Two men, one with long red hair, and a black man. They walked in total silence, looking very nervous and uncomfortable.

  As Malcolm watched them, as he recalled the feeling of automatic weapons fire tearing into and through his body, the burning, shredding pain. One of his hands gripped the windowsill, fury seeping into his body. He remembered having to flee when they dragged Kaylee away, and his anger flared a hot white.

  A moment later, Malcolm was slightly surprised to notice that he was in a standing position, holding his chair in both hands. The two men were now in the intersection, approaching the corner where Malcolm’s building stood.

  Their heads jerked up, eyes wide with startled fright and assault rifles aimed shakily as they heard the sound of glass breaking above them. Red looked over at his companion, “What was…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence as a wooden chair crashed into the ground inches away, splintering into kindling. The pair screamed simultaneously and fired their weapons in no particular direction. The chatter of automatic weapons fire filled the air for a moment, and the two men backed away, still firing the occasional burst into the darkness. They turned back the way they came and fled.

  As they passed out of sight some distance away, Malcolm’s anger started to abate. He leaned up against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. The rational portion of his mind struggled to assert itself, where as the survival and instinct portion demanded further fight response.

  He had gained enough control over his own behavior to understand that charging in blindly, despite his resilience to harm, would not likely result in any success. A few more deep breaths allowed his rationality to resume control. He walked out of the room, and a few minutes later he emerged, crouching low, in the narrow street once more. He decided that little more could be accomplished by mere observation; both ration and instinct agreed with this.

  He dove into the shadows, having spotted someone coming down the road towards him. He sidled along the brick wall, cutting around a corner to an alley and taking refuge behind a dumpster. He peered around the corner, waiting for the man to go past.

  As the man crossed in front of the alleyway, Malcolm heard the faint fup! of violently displaced air. The man’s body convulsed and a spray of red burst from his back, the weapon he carried falling from limp fingers. Mouth agape, the man made a slow turn, and Mal
colm could see a small red hole in his chest. The man, wearing a now-bloodstained sweatshirt, looked down at his wound. Almost disbelieving and likely in shock, he reached up to touch the injury. He held his bloody fingers up to his face.

  As he did this, Malcolm heard the same fup! noise, and the next bullet passed through the guard’s head, spattering the street with gore. The man crumpled.

  Malcolm remained where he was. He could hear the sounds of a couple of people hurriedly running, coming close, obviously trying to keep their movements quiet. He saw two figures pause in front of the alleyway. They were wearing all-dark camouflage colors, and several of them wore an odd face apparatus. Some half-functioning portion of Malcolm’s memory muttered, ‘gas mask,’ but he couldn’t quite pin down anything else besides the words. The other men paused long enough to drag the body over to the dumpster. He pressed himself into the wall and tilted his head down, hoping they didn’t notice him.

  He heard a clang and felt a slight vibration as the body unceremoniously thudded against the inside of the dumpster. He heard the men moving away, out of the alley and down the street where he intended to travel. When Malcolm looked up; all of the people were already gone. The only sign of their presence, the splatters of blood and human tissue left behind by the dead man’s exit wound.

  Malcolm stood up, but dropped back to his hiding place when he heard a radio crackle, very close by. He waited for what felt like hours, and, as he did, two men appeared, walking slowly and silently by the alley entrance. They were followed by two more, and two more, and so on. A long column of soldiers passed by as Malcolm watched from the shadows. There was something about them that he didn’t like, and he gave a slight, involuntary growl.

  One of the soldiers heard a sound and looked towards its source. He squinted into the darkness, a chill running down his spine as he thought he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him. He shook his head, clearing it, and it was gone.

  Malcolm was already running silently down the alley in the other direction, scaling a fence and ducking around a corner. The scout force that had eliminated the patrolling soldier was already ahead by a good distance, and both groups appeared to be going in the same direction as Kaylee was taken. Despite the obvious danger and what seemed like inevitable violent confrontation, he decided to continue to try and find her. As he ran, his rational mind wondered what he was going to do when he got there, almost surprised when he came up with nothing.

  ******

  The heavy door to the scene shop clanged open. The man in the chair jumped to his feet, startled. He yelled a loud, “Sorry sir!” and started jogging down the hallway; no one was supposed to be present when this door opened, but they were usually given a warning to leave the vicinity.

  He heard the door screeching closed as he neared the entrance to the backstage area, as well as the man he believed to be Elijah call out in that calm, smooth voice, “Wait.” He slowly turned around, seeing the tall, bald, blue-eyed man standing, dusting off his hands.

  Victor walked up to the man. “It is time to stop hiding. Take me to see the prisoners.”

  ******

  Eugene sat in complete darkness with his hands bound behind his back, a gag in his mouth, and a cloth bag over his head. Tanya was in the room with him. He knew this because she had not stopped her muffled screaming and raving since they had been ambushed and captured.

  Following Kaylee’s advice, once the pair had entered the arts district, they had called out every couple of minutes or so, yelling that they were looking for Elijah and that they represented Sergei. “This is stupid.” Tanya kept repeating.

  Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by people clad in black outfits, holding submachine guns. They were quietly instructed to put their hands up and not resist. Even Tanya complied with this, if only briefly, although Eugene had to kick her when she started to mutter curses and insults at them while they were searched for weapons.

  Their hands were bound. Because Tanya refused to keep silent, they tied wide strips of cloth across both of their mouths, gagging them. Finally, dark cloth bags were pulled over their heads, and they were then roughly led a distance that Eugene guessed to be several blocks. They heard the sound of a large door sliding open, and they moved inside. After several turns, some more time spent walking, and a few flights of stairs, they were shoved into a small empty dark room.

  There was a click as the door locked from the outside when it closed. Then they were left for some amount of time that Eugene, without being able to look at a timepiece, wasn’t certain of. He was sure that it felt a lot longer than it actually was, with the constant muffled yells of Tanya. He was starting to get a headache, but he knew better than to try and silence her; it would only make things worse.

  They heard the door open and turned towards it, seeing fragments of hallway light shine through their head coverings. The bags were pulled off their heads and their gags removed. Eugene winced as the room filled with the sound of Tanya’s loud cursing and insults as her mouth was freed. The soldiers, surprised at her intensity, were taken aback for a second. They stepped forward again, one of them restraining her. Tanya’s eyes lit up with rage, and Eugene gave an internal sigh of relief, as the other replaced the gag over her mouth. She thrashed around, but the soldier held her firm.

  Eugene raised his eyebrows at the other man, who warily removed his gag and hadn’t quite stepped away. Eugene bowed his head and gave a polite, “Thank you.”

  The soldier gave a sigh of relief and unbound Eugene’s hands. He rubbed his wrists and thanked the man once more, completely ignoring Tanya’s jumping, thrashing, and muffled yelling, as the other soldier struggled to keep her under control.

  The man who released Eugene walked to the entrance and flipped the light switch in the room as another person walked through the door. Eugene’s mouth hung open slightly as the person had to duck under the frame. He was easily more than six feet tall. Eugene could instantly identify the large man’s European descent; fair skin, prominent bone structure. His bald-head and piercing blue eyes were unnerving as they drilled into Eugene. Even Tanya had ceased struggling as the man came into the room, looking at him with a wary, nervous eye.

  “Who are you?” inquired a very smooth, calm, deep voice.

  “Eugene,” he hesitated, “who… who are you?”

  The man cracked the slightest of smiles, “I am Elijah. I believe you were looking for me.”

  Eugene’s eyes widened, and he broke out into a huge smile, “Oh, yes! Yes, good! I am here representing Sergei. He, I… We wish to speak with you regarding a… union. Of sorts.”

  The man calling himself Elijah cocked his head slightly, “Yes, of course. But tell me; how is it that you were aware of our presence in this area. This is very important, so speak. Now.” Eugene felt a chill at the order, understanding in Elijah’s tone that an improper response would likely cause him and Tanya a great deal of trouble.

  Eugene stammered, nervous, “I, uh, we. We had, uh, heard some… some rumors about your relative location. When we were traveling, we, we came across a wanderer. A woman! She told us that, uh, that she thought we were heading in the correct direction.” He cleared his throat. “We came through this way when your men captured us.”

  ‘Elijah’ stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. “All right, then. Come with me.” He tilted his head towards Tanya, and the soldier holding her pulled her gag, untied her hands, and released her. She shot him a glare but held her silence as the large man beckoned to the two of them and walked out of the room.

  Not turning back, he said, “You must be hungry. Come with me, and we shall speak.” Eugene and Tanya exchanged quick glances then followed the man out. Initial shoddy treatment aside, this was exactly what they had hoped for.

  Chapter 19: Preparations

  As soon as one of his scouts reported movement out of the Escape, Rick mobilized his troops. He commanded about fifty trusted men, all well-versed in guerilla tactics: it was this force that had
executed the successful ambush of recent days. Due to extreme fortune, that Rick himself could easily admit, and enemy incompetence, which was certain, they had incurred no losses and only a couple of minor injuries. Wholesale slaughter, but really only because they were idiots, he thought.

  Rick’s group hurriedly moved down the streets, in a half-crouch, donning black and gray camouflage. Due to there not being a huge amount of weapons, or ammunition for that matter, they carried an assortment of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and submachine guns. For the most part, they each held one that they preferred or displayed aptitude with. In terms of organization, they were divided into five groups of ten, each with a squad leader. They were expected to act independently and make decisions on their own, if it was necessary.

  He received another radio transmission, giving him rough estimates of enemy troop numbers. His slid the radio back into its pouch and clenched his jaw. This isn’t going to be easy, he thought. Hopefully, Miguel’s people didn’t get caught with their pants too far down. As much as he hated to admit it, he would probably need their help.

  His scouts reported in again, saying that the flow of soldiers out of Purgatory had appeared to have ceased, totaling about four hundred well-armed soldiers. Yep, definitely going to need their help. A couple dozen or so of them had remained behind to garrison the Escape building, and they appeared to be setting up for an extended stay.

  Rick paused, considering his options. He called together his squad leaders for a quick conference. He always tried to keep an open policy with them, giving them every possible piece of information, and their insight was often valuable. He was unquestionably the leader, but he didn’t operate with a tight fist.

  After he finished speaking, there was quick, unanimous agreement about his proposed first objective. It would entail a delay in getting set up to help out Miguel’s forces, and it involved a great deal of risk. If they succeeded, they could do a great deal of damage to the enemy’s position.