Before the Nothingness

by Kevin George

  “You need to get your stem cell treatment and rest,” Samuel said.

  Charles laughed, which turned into a cough. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. In the meantime, I need to make sure everything is in place for when I’m gone.” He reached out and took his son’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. Samuel felt his sinuses tingle as tears welled in his eyes; this was the first display of physical emotion from his father that he could ever remember. “It’s nice to know I have you on my side against those snakes on The Board. Be careful of them when I’m no longer around.”

  Charles hobbled onto the elevator and Samuel promised to check on him later. Once the elevator doors closed, Samuel took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. He suddenly felt filled with regret as he turned and walked back down the hallway.

  He found most of The Board loitering outside of the boardroom. When they looked up and saw him coming, several members glared in his direction before turning and stomping away. Samuel understood their anger—he’d anticipated this moment for a long time—but that didn’t mean he felt better about it. At the center of the group was Dr. Weller, who continued to whisper to Martin and Betty until Samuel came close enough to hear.

  “You’ll regret this,” Martin promised before storming off.

  Once Weller and Samuel were alone, the tension eased on the doctor’s face and he leaned in closer.

  “They were convinced,” Weller whispered.

  “So was he,” Samuel said.

  “Continue with the plan?”

  Samuel nodded. “Human testing is on hold for now and make sure you find a secure hiding place for the Hybrid Blast. You’re certain the altered version of Blast will have a better chance for success?”

  Weller nodded.

  “Okay,” Samuel said. “Proceed with that as planned, but keep it quiet and don’t rush the testing phases. My father. . . he won’t be around much longer.”

  Dr. Weller turned and walked away without another word.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Mountain’s massive hangar bay looked much different than the last time Horace had set foot in it. Most immediately noticeable was the lighting, far darker than Horace remembered. It wasn’t unlike the rest of The Mountain in its dimness, though the artificial lights hung way higher against the hangar’s tall ceiling. The massive doors were closed, but that didn’t stop a cold draft from permeating the entirety of the huge space. Horace shivered.

  Guess this won’t be half as bad as the cold outside, Horace thought. I’ll have to get used to it.

  He zipped his parka all the way up and lifted the hood over his head, not because of the cold but to cover himself and hide his identity. He’d mostly remained in The Mountain’s upper levels the last few years—and he looked different from the little kid who’d last stepped in the hangar bay—but he didn’t want to risk blowing his identity already. Even with his hood up and his view obstructed, he saw that the hangar bay was mostly devoid of life. No longer filled with construction workers and vehicles, the massive space held more objects covered with massive tarps, many of which were already covered with cobwebs and dust. Horace couldn’t help but wonder what this place would look like in a few more years when The Mountain became even more cut off from the outside world.

  Hopefully I’ll never be here to find out. . .

  The silence was eerie. Horace opened his mouth to call out ‘hello’ but stopped himself, afraid of who—or what—might answer. But a shrill drilling sound suddenly interrupted the quiet, lasting only a few seconds before the echo of a cursing man filled the large room. Horace hesitantly followed the voice, weaving between the large objects, wondering how easy it would be to steal a vehicle and get far away. Had his father not told him the unfortunate news about what happened to his mother a year earlier, Horace may have attempted to finally break out of here. . .

  No need to escape now that I’m allowed to leave. . .

  He finally found a lone man along the rear wall of the hangar. The man was massive, so large that his gray One Corp. jumpsuit—which appeared oversized and baggy on everyone else—was stretched so tightly that the man had peeled back the top part, standing in the cold hangar with his bare torso. The jackhammer appeared tiny in his hands, even as he tried to use it to break the rock wall in front of him.

  “Hello?” Horace asked nervously. The mountain of a man startled, dropping the jackhammer. “I’m sorry. I was sent down here to find someone named. . . Clang?”

  The large man nodded. “That’s me,” he said, pulling up the top half of his jumpsuit. “I’m not hiding back here, I swear.”

  Horace shook his head. “I didn’t think you were.”

  “This is where they told me to start chipping away. . . ain’t got much else to do down here now that hangar’s closed to the outside world. . . the Peters guy from the excavation company said this is where the tunnels are supposed to connect. . . if they ever reach this far,” Clang mumbled. “Sorry, I know that ain’t what you asked. You’re here for the ride to ISU-Ville?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Jonas—the younger one, that is—he called me special lettin’ me know you were coming,” Clang said. The large man raised a suspicious eyebrow. “They told me before that they was done movin’ people out to the village.”

  “They told me something else,” Horace said. “I only go where I’m told.”

  Clang nodded slowly. “Yup, know what that’s like. Well all right then. . . sorry, didn’t catch your name.”

  “Marshall,” Horace said, suddenly afraid that someone might recognize his middle name. Luckily, Clang wiped his hands on the sides of his jumpsuit and nodded for Horace to follow.

  Clang stopped in front of one of the smaller covered objects. “Guess we don’t need one of the big ones if it’s just the two of us,” he said, yanking away a heavy tarp.

  A cloud of dust kicked into the air around one of the smaller snowcats, a vehicle with twin rubber snow tracks and a cab completely enclosed by glass. Clang nodded to the bag slung over Horace’s shoulder.

  “That everything you bringin’?”

  Horace nodded. Clang shrugged and opened the door, gesturing for Horace to climb in. Once inside, Horace watched the large man circle the vehicle toward the driver’s seat. In that moment, Horace couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of panic. During the last few years, he’d imagined leaving The Mountain countless times. Now he wondered if he’d been wrong all along, if his father was correct about his warnings of danger in the world. Horace reached for his hood, wondering if he should pull it back and reveal his true identity, if he should stay behind where it would be safer. . .

  Don’t let Father’s paranoia infect your mind, Horace told himself.

  He inhaled deeply, holding in his breath for several seconds after Clang climbed in and turned the snowcat’s key. The vehicle’s engine sputtered to life and jolted forward, its tracks clicking against the rocky floor. As they approached the closed hangar door, Clang took out a remote control and pressed a button, causing the door to slowly grind open. White light crept into the hangar bay, eventually shining so brightly that Horace had to shield his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Clang said, though he also closed his eyes until they were slivers.

  Horace tried to look out into the world—which he’d been dreaming about for years—but was disappointed to find his view blocked by falling snow.

  “Are you sure we should drive in this weather?” Horace asked. As he spoke the words, he became annoyed with himself for trying to sabotage his escape. But Clang chuckled and shook his head, continuing to drive forward.

  “This is barely weather at all,” Clang said. “A light dusting.”

  Horace wanted to engage him in conversation—wanted to learn as much about the outside world as he could—but he couldn’t think of a single question to ask. Instead, they drove in silence, their view of the world never farther than a few dozen feet into the falling whiteness. Horace had trouble tracki
ng time and soon wondered if minutes had passed or nearly an hour. He wanted to ask how much longer it would take, but he didn’t trust himself to sound anything less than terrified. Clang’s broad face remained a mask of boredom. For all Horace could tell, Clang might’ve been driving toward oblivion and either not known or not cared.

  Before Horace made a fool of himself, a line of ISUs suddenly appeared through the snowy shroud ahead. Horace let out a deep breath and felt tension easing from his neck, but his relief was short-lived. The ISUs appeared so small within the surrounding nothingness of One Corp.’s lands, so insignificant in the middle of the storm. The scene appeared far different than the last time his father had shown him video footage shot by one of the drones. Still, the sight of countless villagers milling about showed him people were finding a way to survive.

  Clang laid on the snowcat’s horn on several occasions, waving curious villagers out of the way as they tried to peer into the vehicle’s glass cab. A few people could be heard yelling about supplies or medicines, but Clang shook his head, barely slowing down as villagers scurried aside.

  “Sounds like they’re in need of important stuff,” Horace said, looking back at a few people aiming one-fingered gestures toward the vehicle. A few others tried to follow, but Clang drove too quickly for anyone to keep pace.

  “Everyone’s given a supply of medicines they’re supposed to ration,” Clang said. “As far as extra supplies, they’re supposed to go to—”

  “—their section supply bunkers,” Horace said. “I know, I’ve been properly trained in the ways of survival for ISU-Ville.”

  “Good,” Clang said. “Then I’m sure you been told whose ISU that one is.”

  Clang pointed to what appeared—at least at first—to be another ISU among the rows of them. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was slightly larger than the others, that it had several more solar panels attached to it and a larger greenhouse section on the top. Horace tried not to smile as he peered toward the ISU’s windows, not that he expected to see anyone inside.

  “Charles Jonas,” he whispered.

  “Correct,” Clang said. “Villagers say he’s friendly enough, but I don’t suggest trying to actively engage him. He’s the reason we all have this chance to live, but seems more comfortable staying to himself.”

  Horace knew his grandfather’s reputation—he’d heard his father complain about the ‘great Charles Jonas’ being as friendly as a brick wall—but that wasn’t the man Horace knew. His grandfather had always been kind and inquisitive, if not exactly affectionate. Still, it wouldn’t be easy to live so close to his grandfather without attempting to visit him all the time.

  “Actually, the old man hasn’t been around so much,” Clang continued. “Lots of people been talkin’ about it and figure he’s sick.”

  They drove past more villagers, many of whom reacted like the first group. ISU-Ville was vast and took several minutes to reach the end. Clang nodded toward the final section of small houses, noting that ‘Marshall’s’ was the one at the end.

  “The test model,” Clang said. “The first ISU ever built. Never expected them to put someone in it. Strangely enough, you’ll be the last person housed in the village, but your ISU will be among those from the first group ever brought out here. If you have any questions about how to survive—”

  “I won’t,” Horace said. “I’ve been studying for years.”

  Clang turned to him, his brow furrowing before slowly shaking his head. “You think that now, but they all thought the same thing, too,” he said with a chuckle.

  The snowcat slid to a stop and Clang immediately threw his door open. The freezing temperatures invaded the vehicle’s cab, the extreme cold a shock to Horace’s lungs when he tried to take a deep breath. He pulled the hood of his parka tighter and wondered how Clang could survive—let alone seem unperturbed—without wearing anything more than his jumpsuit. Grabbing his small bag of belongings, Horace climbed out and hurried after the large man.

  He nearly stumbled during his first few steps, his feet sinking deep into the heavy snow. His face felt like it froze within seconds and he suddenly longed for the warm shelter of The Mountain. For a moment, Horace considered telling Clang to bring him back; had he not thought of how much his father would enjoy his failure, he may have left ISU-Ville and never returned. As it was, he followed Clang to the front door of the final ISU. Clang pushed a few buttons on a panel beside the front door and ordered Horace to place his palm against it. When a small green light flashed, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened.

  “Welcome home,” Clang said. “Good luck.”

  Clang turned and unceremoniously headed back toward his vehicle.

  “That’s it?” Horace asked, taking a step after him.

  “You want me to hold your hand and show you inside?” Clang asked, shaking his head without looking back. “I can’t hang around too long or else. . . ugh.”

  A group of ten parka-covered villagers cut off Clang’s route to his vehicle. They began firing questions at him, questions that quickly turned to complaints, mostly about the accessibility of supplies.

  “You were told where to get your supplies,” Clang said.

  “We’re not told anything,” one of the villagers snapped, leading to cries of agreement from the others. “We were supposed to have more communication with The Mountain, but all of our messages have gone unanswered.”

  “Sorry,” Clang said. “Ain’t a part of the communication team.”

  “You are now,” the villager said, sliding in Clang’s way, refusing to step aside. “You’re the first person we’ve seen from The Mountain in weeks and we aren’t about to let you leave without answering our—”

  Clang used his massive arm to push the villager aside. “I’m just the driver,” he said. “Your questions will be answered soon enough.”

  Though Horace wanted to get out of the cold and into his ISU—excited, yet nervous to begin his new life—he hurried to the downed villager, helping the man stand. A few other villagers continued to yell questions at Clang to no avail. The snowcat purred to life, circled around the final row of ISUs and sped back in the direction of The Mountain, disappearing into the falling snow moments later.

  Two more villagers hurried toward Horace, taking an arm on either side of the villager he’d helped stand. When Horace looked closer at the man within the hood, the face looking back out at him was angry, yet familiar. At first, Horace didn’t know how he knew the man, or the woman who grabbed onto his left arm and snapped at him for challenging the guard from The Mountain.

  “Somebody has to stand up to them,” the man snapped. “They’re making life much harder than they promised.”

  The woman—clearly the man’s wife—turned to Horace and looked at him suspiciously.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Marshall,” Horace said, noticing a few other villagers suddenly arriving, encircling him.

  “We were told ISU-Ville wouldn’t get any new villagers,” said someone from the crowd. “Why should we have to share our supplies with one more person?”

  A few others grumbled agreement and Horace regretted not heading straight for his ISU. He’d expected questions and practiced his story countless times, but his mind drew a blank and he looked from one angry face to the next.

  “I was kicked out of The Mountain,” he finally mumbled.

  “They sent us a criminal?” somebody shouted.

  “What did you do? Kill someone?”

  “No, I’m not a criminal,” Horace said. “My father. . . he. . . died. . . in a lab accident. I had no other family in The Mountain so they sent me out here.”

  “Banished?” asked the man Horace had helped. The man shook his head in disgust. “God bless the Jonas family for giving us this opportunity, but this is another way those in The Mountain haven’t lived up to their word.”

  “Charles Jonas will never let anything bad happen to us,” someone in the crowd called out. “Why el
se would he live out here, too?”

  “And when was the last time we saw him? For all we know, he died and nobody from The Mountain told us,” someone else said.

  “No, he’s not dead,” Horace said, his voice cracking at the thought of his grandfather. “Yes, he’s sick, but he’s been receiving treatments in The Mountain. . . at least that’s what I heard.”

  “Treatments none of us would be offered if we became ill,” someone said.

  Before the crowd riled itself up again, Horace stepped into the center of the group and held up his hands to get their attention.

  “I’m glad to be out here,” Horace told them all. “I’ve wanted to live out here for a long time. The Mountain doesn’t allow the same freedoms as village living.”

  Laughter erupted from the crowd, many of whom began to disperse, some of them patting Horace on the shoulder as they passed, offering words of encouragement that sounded suspiciously like sarcasm.

  “Good luck with that freedom.”

  “This look like freedom to you?”

  “Careful what you wish for, kid.”

  The man and woman were two of the last to leave and it wasn’t until they started toward their ISU that Horace noticed the third person with them.

  “Marshall?” the third person asked, her voice familiar from his past and dreams alike.

  She pulled back her hood and smiled. In an instant, all of Horace’s worries and fears faded away, as did his growing shivers.

  “Carla?”

  She smiled, staring into his eyes. Horace couldn’t stop a goofy grin from crossing his lips and he quickly turned away when he felt his face reddening.

  “You remember my name,” Carla said, clearly pleased.

  Horace tried to think of something cool or suave to say, but he barely managed a goofy grin and a nod.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

  Horace felt another rush of warmth to his face until remembering the lie he’d just told. He suddenly realized how much practice he’d need keeping his story straight. He was about to thank Carla for her sympathy but found he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her. He nodded slowly, silence lingering between them, finally interrupted by a gust of wind and her parents calling her name.