Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  Michaels nodded, still trembling slightly, “Yes, Citizen One.”

  Lange raised his chin, and the hologram appeared to be short of breath. A sudden weariness seemed to suffuse his posture and his expression. “I-” his voice wavered, “need to rest. This meeting is ended. Ensure you…” the eyes squeezed shut for a few seconds, as though in pain. Through gritted teeth he said, “Ensure you do everything as ordered. That is all.” The image shimmered out and the cylinders slid back into the floor.

  Everyone sat frowning, or looking confused. The High Inquisitor turned towards his subordinates whispered in harsh tones at them, eliciting grim looks and reluctant nods. The civilian branch of the council shuffled past Michaels, not meeting anyone’s eyes or speaking before they entered the elevator.

  Michaels nudged the servant, who gave him a hollow-eyed stare, completely oblivious that he was the subject of such disruption. He grabbed the shirt from him and hopped into the elevator, motioning for him to follow. Dunlevy, Myers, and Claudia all stood in quiet contemplation as the doors slid shut and the car began its descent. The servant rolled his head around, slack-jawed and looking at various things in the elevator car.

  At the ground floor, the elevator opened and the occupants dispersed without a word. Claudia, Myers, and Dunlevy all kept their grim expressions, and even Michaels couldn’t help but feel the surrounding gloom. Walking back to his quarters, yawning, he realized, at some point, that the servant was no longer with him. Something about his random appearances and disappearances nagged at Michaels. It just didn’t seem right.

  Yet there were more pressing concerns. Disruption and division in the council, he thought. Threats flying back and forth. Let’s not forget the lack of reluctance to use a horrific bioagent on our own people. He shook his head, yawning again. With all of these troubled thoughts, he wondered if he’d be able to sleep. He tossed the clean shirt onto a chair in his living space, stripped off his damp clothing, and climbed back into bed. His concerns were for naught; he slept soundly within minutes.

  ******

  Jeffrey’s heart was racing as he easily slipped away from Citizen Michaels. The man wasn’t paying the slightest attention to him, so turning down the hallway back towards the exit across the way from the servant’s living space was simple enough. As soon as he was out of sight of anyone, he started running.

  He couldn’t believe the intense stroke of luck it was to actually get invited up to the council chamber room. At most, he had hoped to be able to shadow Michaels and catch fragments of any important conversation.

  After reaching the council floor and mashing the ‘door close’ button, he was able to eavesdrop on almost the entire meeting. He soon wished that he hadn’t been so successful, as the things he heard were terrifying.

  He was pleased enough to hear about the success of the military campaign, even if the Citizens were now aware of it. The message, particularly the silencing end of it, assured that Elijah and everyone else already knew that their secret had been revealed. Jeffrey was confident that they would have been able to deal with it. However, the latter portion of the meeting scared him.

  They had apparently developed some kind of weapon that they believed would eliminate every single individual in the down below area to the point that they were concerned that its devastation would reach the surface. Jeffrey had trembled when the High Inquisitor mentioned, in such an offhand manner, the utility of the event. The callous treatment of “inferior” human life was something that Jeffrey was used to, but he never expected it to extend to the members of the Citizenship as well.

  He moved quickly across the grass, not outright running in case anyone could see him. A jolt of pain like a blunt object crushing his ribs tore through his midsection. He barely took another step before dropping to the ground and curling up. His muscles clenched in what felt like his entire body. Pain so intense, yet he couldn’t even cry out. His heart pounded, sweat poured from his body, and in that instant, he believed he was going to die as everything went dark…

  ******

  Jeffrey awoke, with the moon still shining with silver light over his head. He was lying on the soft grass, and it took him a moment to realize that he had passed out. His limbs trembled from adrenaline and he shivered in the chill of the night air. A wave of nausea passed over him. He gagged and spat a small mouthful of half-congealed blood from his mouth. Internal bleeding, he thought, not a good sign.

  Clamoring to his feet, he started moving again, thoughts already back on his objective. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the labs were too heavily guarded for him to try something like sabotaging the weapon. Not to mention that he had no idea where to search or what the device would look like. No, there was only one thing to do. And it’s really, really stupid, he cringed.

  He entered the dark servants’ quarters where many of his fellow slaves were sleeping. A few beds were empty, with people gone to do various tasks. Jeffrey went to his bed and stripped the sheets from it.

  As he worked, a few servants would come in, give him a passing glance, then go to sleep. He had taken a few sheets from their beds, but, if his fellow slaves noticed that they slept on a bare mattress, they gave no indication. Nor did they seem to notice when he shoved them aside to steal the bedding out from under them. As it was, most of the servants slept on top of their sheets fully clothed. Even some of the earlier trial versions subjected to the conditioning required direct instruction on personal maintenance, hygiene, and even when to eat, before the process was refined.

  A sense of foreboding filled him, and some part of his mind kept telling him over and over that this was a terrible idea. He checked over each length and each knot, testing the strength of his makeshift rope. He rechecked it, then tested it again, slowly gaining the slightest measure of confidence in his plan.

  Weary though he was, and with a wicked feeling of corrosive acidity burning in his stomach, in spite of his lack of any food, he understood that his task remained urgent. With a huge, and surprisingly heavy, coil of dozens of tied-together bed sheets looped over his shoulder, he set off out of the barracks. He couldn’t find a reasonable way of concealing it but didn’t worry as it was late enough to avoid being seen. Even with ominous things looming ahead, the thought of not having to return to enslavement brought a tiny smile to his face.

  Chapter 30: Departing

  No one had instructed him to do otherwise, so the guards in front of the scene shop in the Highland returned to their posts and covered their shifts, watching over what they thought was an empty room. Even though Elijah had left already, they could still hear the occasional sound coming from within.

  The guards continued showing up and changing shifts when appropriate; the current one had been on for near seven hours. It was dull, sitting in one spot for that long, but for older or less fit members of Elijah’s enclave, it was an easy enough job that entailed the least amount of risk. One hour to go, and the guard on duty thumbed through another magazine.

  He was startled when the sounds of metallic screeching issued from the door as the bolts slid free, and with a loud creak it swung open. Out of it walked a shabby-looking old man. He wore a patchy light brown coat and blue jeans. Wiry, silver hair adorned his head, along with a kindly smile.

  “Hello.” the man said.

  The guard eyed him warily, gripping the butt of his sidearm. “Who are you?”

  “Me?” The man shook his head, laughing, “Klaus is my name. I was Elijah’s personal assistant.”

  The guard loosened his grasp on the weapon, but kept his hand on it. “Personal assistant? I’ve never heard of you before.” He said, suspicious.

  ‘Klaus’ held up his hands, “I assure you, I’m no threat. I’ve been taking care of Elijah’s needs now for years. He didn’t go out, so neither did I. He contacted me today with some requests for personal effects.” He took on a lower, more hushed tone, and looked back and forth down the hallway, “From what I hear, we might not have to live li
ke this for very much longer.”

  The guard’s eyes widened. “Really?” he whispered.

  He nodded, “Oh yes, it sounds like things are moving along. I’ll tell you what,” he held up a finger, “I have to get going, but if I hear anything else about it,” he winked at the man, “I’ll let you know, okay?”

  The guard nodded, an excited look in his eyes. Elijah gave him a pat on the shoulder before moving down the hallway. The guard sat down, so amazed by the thought of leaving the darkness and decay behind that he didn’t even notice that the man had not appeared to have been carrying anything, personal effects or otherwise.

  Elijah found pretending not to be himself irritating, but he did not know exactly how suspicious and paranoid the guard would be if he made the claim. Few people, save for well-trusted individuals, knew who he was for a very good reason; so that he wouldn’t be targeted. Sure, while posing as him, Victor hadn’t yet been threatened, but Elijah liked to eliminate potential risk to his person. Of course, this anonymity meant that, at some point, he would likely have to convince other people that he, and not Victor, was the real Elijah. It shouldn’t be a problem because Victor won’t dispute it, he thought, but he isn’t here right now.

  Elijah was tired of being holed up in that room in general, the last couple of days notwithstanding. However, since Victor’s most recent update, Elijah decided it was time to emerge. The power to the room was also being finicky, and with most people out and about coordinating, no one was around for outside repairs. He could have fixed it had the source been inside, but he had already been contemplating leaving, so losing the surveillance and information sources gave him one more reason to do so.

  He wasn’t sure he needed it anymore. Things would have to be accelerated due to the fear of Citizen response, and hiding in a hole wouldn’t change that. He wasn’t sure how exactly they would react to their crushing defeat, but he assumed the response would be desperate, frantic, and probably brutal.

  People are going to die, he thought to himself.

  ******

  Jeffrey knew it was a bad idea. His head screamed this fact over and over again as he, with a white-knuckled grip, slowly descended his make-shift rope, with several stories yet to go before he was safely on the ground again.

  The only place where he could freely access the down below area was in one of the many trash dump sites. Most garbage disposal had switched to incinerator units, but there were still a few things that required simple dumping. Inside assorted medium-sized shack buildings, a small depression was set into the ground. Garbage was placed into it, and the bottom would open up, casting the refuse into the huge, wide open landfill of down below.

  By the time he had been confident enough in his plan to risk his life accomplishing it, the first edges of sunlight began to peek through the buildings. It cast a beautiful shimmer of soft orange light into the sky, but he, sadly, was unable to appreciate it this particular morning as he passed into the disposal structure.

  The building was empty, but his servant codes allowed him easy access, Jeffrey had tied his makeshift rope to a heavy pipe. He tested it, the knot he tied, the strength of the pipe, and his own upper body endurance by swinging back and forth suspended beneath for several seconds. Nothing broke, shifted, or slipped free. He almost wished it had; it would have given him a good excuse not to try it.

  Steeling himself with a deep breath, he pulled the release lever. With loud, hollow thud, the wide hinges snapped free and dropped the little bits of collected trash. He kicked free of the ledge and dangled out into yawning, open space.

  The first couple of dozen feet weren’t terrible. He wasn’t an athlete, but, even with his poor condition, he had a decent level of fitness. Still, after what felt like an hour of descent, his arms burned from the exertion, and his insides felt like they were disintegrating.

  Sweat poured down his body and dripped off into the seemingly endless chasm. Grimy brick surrounded him on either side, and after several minutes of climbing he made the mistake of looking down.

  A terrified gasp caught in his throat and his limbs locked momentarily around the tied together bed sheets, which somehow seemed more thin and frail than before. A wave of terror coursed through his mind as his hands slipped free of the rope.

  His awareness froze. He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the rush of air that would signify his gaining speed before plowing into the ground, skin and soft tissue bursting, bones grinding into powder-

  When no impact occured, he slowly peeked out of squinting eyes. He felt a flood of relief when he saw that his hands were white-knuckled with an unflinching death grip on the rope, the ‘fall’ merely a terrified expression of his fear-stricken mind. He took several deep breaths and forced his panicked wits to relax.

  He descended once more, slowly and methodical. Soon enough, a glow from the dingy street lamps below caressed the sides of the wall, but he still didn’t look down. Nice and easy, he thought, hand over hand. That’s it. His muscles groaned from the exertion, his eyes stung from the dripping sweat, but he continued out of sheer will.

  I have to be close, he thought. He felt a muscle twinge in the small of his back. He barely had time to think, uh oh, before a wrenching pain ripped through his torso as his muscles violently cramped. His hands grasped frantically at the rope, but they slipped free. He tilted backwards, and this time it was real. He was falling. He opened his mouth and screamed.

  ******

  A faint smell of pine and a lightly dizzying aroma of cleaning product was evident in the air of Purgatory. Over the course of the previous day, and some of the night, it had gotten cleaned, scrubbed, and purified. Blood and human tissue scrubbed away and disinfected with salvaged cleaning supplies; still easy enough to find as they weren’t often used or sought except for a dangerous inhalation high.

  Much of the debris scattered about had been removed as well. A few additional flood lights had been set up, as those brought by the Citizen soldiers were all broken by the various explosions, to illuminate the room, which, in spite of all the care, still looked dingy and shabby like the lobby area of a seedy hotel. It didn’t help that burn marks and shrapnel divots scored the floor and walls along with a few reddish-brown stains.

  Victor had suggested using it as the place of meeting, as a symbol to everyone that Old Haven now belonged to those left behind, and the Citizens couldn’t use their only entrance point. It made for a convincing statement of confidence and security, and, even though the other group and faction leaders remained reluctant to enter, they did so anyway without too much complaint.

  They scrounged a few worn but comfortable office chairs and managed to find a couple of small folding tables in the Citizen’s Escape compound, and placed them into the lobby area where dozens of men had been brutally killed just over a day earlier. The setup was by no means extravagant, but it became a convincing conference room.

  The meeting gathered together in the early morning, not that there was any indication of it via sunlight. At the head of the table sat Victor, still calling himself Elijah. On either side of him sat Isaac and Sergei. Next to Sergei was placed Desmond; his wife, Olivia, was busy caring for the children. Next to Desmond was a man named Quinton. He was an elderly man, very evident by his gnarled hands and wrinkled skin. He was one of the community leaders that was paid little heed, as a large chunk of his people were over the age of fifty.

  When the separation began, there was very little use for the elderly as a low class Citizen or even mindless servant. Sadly, many of the older individuals did not last long without food, care, and assistance when they needed it. Those that maintained enough self-sufficiency banded together, with Quinton as their duly elected leader.

  Despite the hideous symbolism behind it, they took up residence in a small disused retirement community. They took on most anyone who wanted shelter, but, unless they were willing to pitch in and assist others who needed the help, they weren’t allowed to stay long. In many cases, people who went th
ere looking for a brief respite ended up joining the community. They did the best they could for their older and less capable comrades, but still many more died in the years. By and large, the community held the largest amount of non-combatant civilians, numbering in the hundreds.

  Rick leaned against the wall several feet behind Victor, eyeing the elderly man. They were non-violent by their nature, but he knew they tried very hard to defend their home. Quinton looked thin and frail, but Rick had heard that the ex-military man was in excellent physical condition and could still manage hand-to-hand combat. After numerous incidents, a reputation formed that clearly stated that they were not by any means easy targets for individuals to steal from. Unfortunately, Miguel was not so easily turned aside. He demanded tribute in the form of food, supplies, and women. They did what they had to, and often Miguel still vandalized and killed for sport. When informed of the Silver Fox’s demise, cold happiness gleamed in Quinton’s hardened eyes.

  The man across the table, sitting a chair away from Isaac, had a reputation quite opposite. Matthias was a small, bookish man with large glasses and a receding hairline, and his reputation of timidity was well-deserved. He was quite intelligent and distrusted for it; he seemed like he could have easily been a Citizen.

  However, his major failing was that he felt intensely paranoid about a great number of things. He did not trust the Franklin Lange regime and wanted nothing to do with it. He was the reluctant leader of a random group of individuals who shared his conspiracy theory delusions. Their disposition, as well as a lack of combat abilities or weapons, meant that they preferred to stay hidden.

  A task that they, surprisingly, had actually stayed very successful at. Rick still hardly believed how well that the dozens of individuals and a few families managed to remain undiscovered for such a long time, not that anyone cared enough to try finding them. Rick theorized that they had a couple of locations that changed via leapfrog every couple of months. That way there were never too many people moving all at once, and their hiding places shifted.