While the elevator ascended, Rick scooped up the submachine gun and ejected the magazine. He peered at what remained of the ammunition in it before frowning and casting the near-empty clip aside. He searched the pockets of the dead man again and found two spares. He stuck the clip in, checked the slide, switched the safety to ‘off,’ and set it down on the desk.
He also discovered a sidearm with one extra clip, which he also checked and placed on the desk, and smiled in satisfaction as, in spite of fumbling around with one and a half hands, Jonathon managed to do the same with the other body.
Unconcerned about the fresh blood splattered on the fabric, Rick sat down in the swivel chair and relaxed for just a moment as the elevator ascended. Jonathon moved over and set the briefcase in front of Rick and opened it. Inside was a small assault rifle. Rick gave a low whistle. Isn’t that a nice little thing, he thought.
With a forlorn look, Jonathon said, “I can’t use this. Take it.”
Rick cocked his head as he gingerly picked up the weapon. It was in pristine condition, and he recognized the integrated scope and bullpup design to be a variation on the AUG assault rifle. Unlike a lot of the other salvaged weapons, it looked clean and polished. Instinctively, he checked the slide and the magazine. He turned it over in his hands. “She’s beautiful…” He whispered.
Smiling, Rick said, “Thanks,” before slipping on a thick belt with compartments. He unscrewed the silencer from his .45 and holstered the sidearm. In the other slots he placed his spare clips and adjusted his suit coat to poorly conceal the bulky adornment. Finally, he stood up and slung the assault rifle, curling a slight smirk at the mournful look on Jonathon’s face.
The other man turned away and grasped a submachine gun. He aimed it around, stabilizing it in the crook of his arm; he was testing out the use of only one hand. After a moment of this, he shrugged and slung the weapon.
With a soft electronic ding, the wide elevator doors slid open. Out rushed a large number of men clad in dark colors wielding weapons of various sizes. They swiftly moved around the area, checking the exits and posting sentries. When enough “clear” statements were issued the remaining vigilant men guarding the inside of the elevator dispersed, leaving two men, Victor and Elijah, standing alone.
Rick stepped forward and gave the two men a nod.
Elijah put on a soft smile, “Well done, well done.”
“Thanks,” Rick said quickly, “now let’s get going.”
Elijah’s smile widened, deepening the lines on his face. “After you.”
******
Emerging once again on the surface with a small task force of soldiers, Rick felt much more comfortable, if still concerned about the liability of protecting Elijah from any danger. The fact that Victor came with was more relaxing, as the large man was Elijah’s bodyguard for years and very capable in his own right.
They had spilled out of one side of the bunker and had made a beeline for the door at the front entrance towards the main lobby of the Institution building. The idle guard at the civilian wing side entrance was quickly dispatched with barely a sound, not that noise was of any concern. In the distance, the city took on an orange glow and the smell of smoke wafted on the breeze. The occasional chatter of weapons fire echoed.
Rick grabbed the door handle and cursed that it was locked. “We gotta blow this one.” he hissed to his men, who passed the message back along the lines. He was reluctant to use their severely limited supply of explosives so soon, but they couldn’t just stand outside waiting.
Instead of a team to set the charge, Elijah emerged from the column of soldiers, “What is the problem?” he asked.
Rick gave him an incredulous look, “The doors are locked. We need to breach.”
Elijah glanced at his watch and gave a chuckle, “Nonsense.” As Rick opened his mouth in a biting retort, Elijah reached out and turned the handle. The door clicked open and Rick’s mouth remained silent but hanging open.
“You’re welcome,” Elijah said, eyes shining with a satisfied smile.
Rick stared at him, “How…?” he started. Then it clicked, and he cocked his head. “You’ve got someone inside.”
Elijah touched a finger the tip of his finger to his lips, “Best keep moving. A little exposed out here, don’t you think?”
Rick, simultaneously irritated and in awe of the old man’s behavior, had to agree. With a sharp gesture he signaled for everyone to prepare themselves to rush in. He wondered how Elijah managed to find an insider, and who the hell it could be.
Chapter 36: Fall of the Mighty
Gregory Michaels snorted and woke, slumped in the heavy leather chair. His eyes slid open to the darkness, the collar of his shirt still slightly damp from the spill of tears down his cheeks.
He sat up and immediately winced from the sharp pain in his neck from remaining positioned at an awkward angle for too long. He rubbed his eyes and took a glance at his watch. He sighed, reached over and flicked the light on his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden bright light. After a moment, he peeked through to catch the time.
He winced again, this time from the realization that, instead of a brief nap, he had slept in the chair again for far too long and the hour was growing late. Then, the evening’s prior events rushed back and hit him. A wave of sorrow struck him once again as the image of Claudia’s vacant face passed through his thoughts.
With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into the chair to resume his brooding. After a few minutes of this, his eyelids started to droop once more. A stray thought skittered its way into his gloom, and it sparked a curiosity in him. As long as I’m here, I might as well check the entries. It’ll keep my mind off of… He didn’t let the thought finish.
He flipped up the lid of his computer terminal to see if there were any more video journal entries. There couldn’t possibly be very many, considering that the previous one had come only shortly before the man had been killed.
Instead of the cloudy blackness or skull imagery, the desktop looked as it had before. There was, however, one video file sitting in the bottom left. Michaels frowned as he moved the cursor towards it. The file, labeled, ‘mlc-worried’ opened and a sliver of ice tumbled down his back when he saw the timestamp. Dated the very day that Coleman died.
Hand trembling, he guided the cursor and clicked the play button. The image of Coleman looked even worse than last time as though he hadn’t slept since then. His voice lacked any enthusiasm or luster. He looked like a man resigned, at least subconsciously, to death.
“It has been a while since the last entry, but nothing of great consequence has occurred. It took me a great deal of time to get this blasted machine functioning properly again after the incident with the skull, and I still can’t quite remove the programming; it seems irrevocably linked to the previous record.” Coleman sighed on screen. “I almost believed at first that someone was playing a trick on me, but I saw the same message scrawled on the wall in my quarters.” He reached under his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose and both eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Destroy it…”
“How can they know?” He finally asked the camera. “I still haven’t told anyone about it.” He shook his head, “I am afraid that something might happen; these threats weigh heavily on my mind.” Coleman gave a bitter laugh. “I haven’t slept in days. I lie awake at night, listening for the sounds of an intruder.” He ran his fingers through his graying hair, obviously distracted and lost in thought.
Finally, he focused back upon the camera. “These entries were for myself, easier for me to conceal. Yet, as the time passes, I fear the worst. I don’t know who you are, but if you’re watching this, it means they must have killed me. I don’t know who it was, but I assume their reason must be the sample and the miraculous organisms found within. Whether they want it for themselves or destroyed, I cannot say.” He suddenly let out a laugh. “Listen to me… have I truly become so melodramatic?” His smile faded, weariness once again spreading across
his face. “After the threat and the tampering with my documents, I have taken extra steps to encrypt and code these certain files, including this one. After it finishes, it will be the last of the series, available only after you find the rest. To you, dear viewer, I applaud your tenacity and intelligence.” Michaels felt the slight beam of pride mixed with contempt. Of course I figured it out you old fool, he thought.
“The sample is safe now, and no one will be able to get to it…” Coleman trailed off at this point and his mouth hung open slightly and confusion filled his eyes. “Wha- what’s going on here? What is this?”
Michaels didn’t know what to make of the sudden stop, but before he could speculate too much more, a familiar voice played, in the recording, from the speakers on the desk.
“I’m sorry to contact you like this, old friend,” the voice was full of sadness, and it seemed to have a profound effect on Coleman, whose face to grew whiter with growing apprehension, “but you have not listened to reason.” Coleman’s eyes widened further.
Who is that, Michaels wondered, feeling that the voice was far too obvious to not be recognized. He was still not quite being able to put his finger on it, distracted by the message and unnerved by Coleman’s fearful and confused expression.
“You were warned.” There was a sad chuckle, and suddenly Michaels knew. Dunlevy! Citizen Arthur Dunlevy’s voice, completely devoid of its joviality and exuberance sounded low and flat, listless. He continued, “You should have destroyed it. Technology of that caliber does not belong in a world like ours,” he said, with tension mounting. “Just think of what Lange would do if he ever found out! Or Julian! It is inconceivable that you, dear Marcus, could be so short-sighted in this matter.”
Coleman downcast his eyes, and Michaels felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. There is nothing wrong with what he did, Michaels thought. The discovery alone far outweighs any risk.
Yet Coleman said nothing, looking ashamed. Michaels guessed that it was a recording and not a live feed, as it didn’t sound like a direct conversation. Dunlevy plowed onward with his speaking, unheeding of Coleman’s obvious discomfort.
“…for this reason that I decided action needed to be taken.” Coleman’s head snapped up and confusion sparked in his eyes. “I have placed,” Dunlevy cleared his throat and Michaels could hear the sound of his girth shifting around in whatever chair he sat upon, “an incendiary device in your office.” Coleman’s eyes widened in fear and his body tensed, as if to spring.
“Don’t move!” Dunlevy shouted, and Coleman froze in his seat. “The device has been activated and will detonate if you rise!” Another sad chuckle. “I suppose it’s possible you already did and can’t hear the rest of this message.”
Fear and something terrible seeped into Coleman’s face and body. Hopelessness, Michaels thought. Finally, he felt pity for the man, confined just before his moment of death to listen to the voice of his executor explaining why his death was just and necessary.
“I tried; I truly did. You have to understand me. I did not want to do this, but you left me no choice. Our world is not ready for immortality, especially when evil men are in control.” Dunlevy said. “…I am sorry, old friend, but this is the only way. Goodbye.”
Citizen Marcus Coleman’s eyes widened once more and he took in a sharp breath before the screen filled with an orange fiery blossom. The fire blazed for a few seconds and Michaels could hear the sounds of high-pitched, agonized screaming as Coleman died, wreathed in flames. Michaels shivered, wincing at the horrific sights and sounds, which abruptly cut out as the screen went black and the file ended.
It took Michaels several minutes to reconcile what he just saw. It had seemed obvious before, with the explosion and the sketchy circumstances, that Coleman had been murdered. Everyone had just assumed that Lange or Wresh had something to do with it. Coleman had been a thorn in the side of both men for a while, so his death must not have bothered either of them enough to warrant any investigation; they each likely assumed the other was responsible.
But Dunlevy? Michaels thought. It almost seems impossible that that bumbling fool could be capable of anything like that. Michaels turned his thoughts back to days prior, when Dunlevy had hauled him from the very chair he sat in and slammed him against the wall. He absentmindedly touched his collar where he was grabbed.
In spite of the late hour, he felt a surge of energy. He jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the office, thinking about how best to deal with the situation. He knew that Dunlevy could no longer be trusted, but how could he be dealt with? Tell Lange or Wresh? Would they do anything about it? Gottfried, perhaps. He seems to retain a sense of duty and honor.
Michaels paced for a moment longer before relaxing into his chair once again. The revelation of Coleman’s death awoke his mind and set his paranoia into overdrive. Will he try for me next? Michaels wondered. There isn’t a reason for it, but now I, too, know about the project. If Arthur finds out that I know, what will he do?
The question remained present in his mind, but one realization struck Michaels as being the most reasonable answer: if he wanted to be truly safe and secure, he would have to eliminate the impending threat that Dunlevy represented. But how? he wondered. Sitting in the chair, with only the lamplight of the desk, he stared at shadows in the far corners of the room and nothing came to mind.
******
Kaylee had been uncertain to the means by which they would get to the Institute, but Malcolm’s determination seemed to grow by the minute. He held his silence and moved swiftly, heedless of Kaylee’s occasional statement or question.
The journey through the streets below Haven went easily enough; most everyone had been moved to one location or another for extraction to the surface, they encountered no one through their trek.
They reached the location which Kaylee identified as one of the entry spots for the soldiers to reach the surface within striking distance. Glancing at her watch as she and Malcolm ascended the stairway; she hoped that it wouldn’t be too late for them to be in and around the city streets. From what she knew, hell was breaking loose up above, and it wouldn’t do any good to get caught in the middle of it.
When she explained it repeatedly to Malcolm, he either didn’t say anything or gave no more than an affirmation grunt. She was starting to get more and more irritated at his aloof behavior but didn’t call him on it. He said he remembered something, and she admitted to herself that she was more than a little curious to find out about his origins.
“Good thing I followed Rick here,” she muttered to no one in particular.
“Goood thhing.” Malcolm hissed in agreement, surprising her with his response to her, especially in such a pointless, throwaway statement.
She was referring to the day he had snubbed and ordered her to accompany the civilian population. In her defiance, she decided to tail him and see where the other exit was, just in case. Neither he nor anyone else had seen her. She later decided to behave and not use it, but Malcolm’s situation prompted her to action. She didn’t want to look after the civilians anyway.
Kaylee didn’t articulate any other random thoughts, and soon after they arrived in the exit, sliding through the side panel and crawling through a low ceiling. They ended up in a small storage room with a few garment racks. Clothes of various shapes and sizes hung on clothes hangers.
Ignoring the scattered items in the room, the pair passed up a staircase then through another hidden break. Sliding the wooden panel closed once more, they found themselves in a hallway. Not long after, they were in the doorway, looking out into the street.
“Oh God.” Kaylee said, the smell of black smoke wafting about and the orange glow of flames not-too distant. She heard sounds of random gunfire and shouting closer than she would have preferred. She turned to Malcolm. “Okay, so. I have no idea where we are. Maybe we should go back.” She grabbed the fabric of his overcoat
He looked at her. “No.” He rasped. “Follow.”
&nbs
p; Kaylee bit her lip, looking back into the building behind her, and reluctantly followed behind Malcolm. He seemed to know where he was going; he led her along in silence, and her nervousness was only tempered by the comfort the night sky presented.
After a while, she could see the white building of the Institute, something she recognized from her childhood, before the sky was covered, looming ahead of them. With the sounds of combat behind and the uncertain ahead, she now wondered if disobeying and leaving her assignment had been the best idea after all.
******
Rick marveled at the efficiency of the weapon given to him by his soldier. I’ve got to get something like this, he thought. It had already proven itself perfectly scoped in and accurate. When the unlocked lobby doors were flung open, his people streamed in and split. They moved along the walls behind the columns surrounding the immediate area, which was empty save for a receptionist and a guard on duty at the doors on either side, with two at the back. At first, the receptionist at the desk froze, terrified.
When Rick had seen the man look to his bottom right, shifting his shoulder and reaching. The thought, he’s going for an alarm, passed through his mind in the exact same moment as he shouldered the weapon and fired. The high-velocity round tore through the man’s throat, pausing very briefly to punch through the vertebrae and spinal column before tearing out the back of his neck, still maintaining enough velocity to imbed in the wall behind him as the man died instantly and collapsed in his chair.
Satisfied that the weapon worked, the area was secure within moments. The guards were neutralized, without a fuss, by the twenty-five or so soldiers Rick had remaining of his expert forces; the rest having been killed or wounded in the other recent activity. As he moved towards the desk, Rick took a moment to marvel at the vaulted ceiling with the huge, crystal clear skylight allowing the shimmering, starry night sky to be seen along with a healthy supply of the waning half-moon’s light. Turning back to his task, Rick shoved the dead receptionist, in his swivel chair, rolling out of the way before turning over with a thud and clatter on the floor. He examined the console in front of him, discovering the unlocking controls for each wing. He reached out to trigger the doors behind the desk to gain access to the Inquisition building when, off to his left, a different set sprang open.
Haven Page 38
