Dire Means

by Geoffrey Neil

  “What happened with Teddy?” Mark asked.

  Morana pointed to the corner of the office behind Mark. He gasped. Teddy’s body was curled into a grotesque ball leaning against the wall. He rested on the back of his neck, rolled like a wheel—as if stuck in an unfinished summersault. His shirt was blood-soaked. Mark saw four bullet holes haloed by splatter a few feet above the body.

  “Did he attack you?” Mark asked, trying to keep calm.

  “Teddy isn’t on our side, Mark. He never was,” she said calmly, and turned back to Pop.

  Mark ended his questioning and went to the cart to help Morana slam its door shut.

  She grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward her. “Did you unlock the garage?”

  Mark looked on Pop’s desk and saw the handgun.

  “No. We need one more password.”

  Morana pounded her hand on Pop’s cart. “Hurry,” she snapped and pointed to Pop’s computer.

  While Morana paced, Mark took the magnetic TellTale adapter from his pocket and hovered it over the pens in Pop’s pen holder. One pen levitated and snapped to it. Mark swallowed and sighed—relieved.

  When he touched a key on Pop’s computer, a login prompt appeared, waiting for a password. Mark booted up his laptop and rocked in his chair—as if willing the laptop to hurry. He removed the end of the TellTale pen and inserted the adapter into his laptop.

  He launched the TellTale software that his friend Carlos had written and waited for a connection to the device. An image flashed on the screen, but it was black. Mark mumbled, “Oh no,” under his breath.

  Morana rushed over to look over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked—her voice panicked.

  “One more minute,” Mark said. He bit his lip as he typed. The black image perplexed him for a moment, and then it happened. He saw the same password prompt that showed on Pop’s screen. The TellTale had, indeed, recorded. An on-screen keyboard appeared. Pop, in his paranoia over having his keystrokes discovered, used a clickable on-screen image of a keyboard to enter his password—a method perfect for TellTale to record. Mark watched Pop’s mouse click the letters U-t-0-p-I-a.

  Mark turned from his laptop to Pop’s computer and tried it. “That’s it, we’re in,” he said.

  “Open the garage now,” Morana said.

  Before Mark could answer, they heard a familiar beeping sound and both looked at Pop’s handheld on the floor. Mark picked it up and saw its screen for the first time. It showed a password box. Mark typed U-t-0-p-I-a and then the screen read, “Thank you,” and then showed an icon of an eyeball.

  Mark held the handheld up to his face. It beeped and a message read, “Authentication Failed.” A timer on the screen began counting down from 59: 59…58…57.

  “What’s that?” Morana said.

  “It’s an iris scan,” Mark replied. “He must use his eyes in addition to a password to reset this timer.”

  “That’s what keeps the Nest from exploding,” Morana said.

  They looked at the cart that held Pop. Morana unlatched it and swung the door open. Mark pulled Pop out by the collar, put him face up on the floor. Pop closed his eyes tightly as Mark mounted him and tried to position the handheld in front of Pop’s face.

  “Jump off him and get ready, Mark. I’ll open his eyes with a Taser,” Morana said.

  As Mark began to stand, Pop pulled his untied hands from underneath him and swung, hitting Mark’s hand. The handheld flew across the carpet. While they both scrambled for it, Morana readied her Taser gun. Pop reached the handheld before Mark and threw it hard at the wall. It shattered to pieces. Pop pulled off his gag and laughed before Morana’s Taser probes found him. He fell to his side—again—screaming in pain, yet his expression had the hint of a smile. When Morana released the trigger, Pop’s body went limp and he coughed, “We’ll all be dead in less than an hour.”

  “Now what?” Morana said to Mark.

  “With the password, I can open the garage from Bracks’s office, but we’re taking him out of here alive,” Mark said, pointing to Pop’s cart.

  Morana didn’t argue. “In the cart, Aldred,” she said.

  Pop didn’t refuse, obeying Morana with the same compliance she had secured from so many fodder. Mark bound and gagged Pop tightly before they closed him in. This time Morana locked the latch with a padlock. She swung her bag over her shoulder, took the gun from Pop’s desk and shoved it inside. They rolled Pop’s cart to the hallway.

  “Where’s Janne—I need to find Janne!” Mark said.

  “She’s in a holding room—it’s the second door on the end, but we can’t afford—”

  “We’re not leaving without her,” Mark said.

  “Fine, it’s on the way out,” Morana conceded.

  They stopped the cart by Janne’s room. Morana placed her bag on top of Pop’s cart and then pulled Bracks’s severed hand from it. She placed the hand on the console for entry. Mark said nothing as he watched it fail. He felt his pulse race as he realized he’d have to show Morana his access.

  Morana spread Bracks’s pale fingers out on the glass and tried again, but the console didn’t respond. “What’s going on?” she muttered. She then tried her own hand—nothing.

  Mark placed his hand on the glass console. Light flashed under it and the door clicked open. Janne sat in a chair, hugging her bag. She shrieked at the sight of Mark and ran to him in the doorway. Makeup streaked her face. They hugged.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Mark said. Janne could only nod as she wiped her face and held onto Mark.

  “Come on. We don’t have time for a reunion party,” Morana said.

  Then a loud bang startled them all. They heard it again—and then another. The sound vibrated the walls of the Nest and became rhythmic. Distant voices shouted between each impact.

  “It’s coming from the Mulching Room,” Morana said. She looked at the console suspiciously and tilted her head. “Mark, were you able to lock the Mulching Room from Bracks’s office? Did you already change the security permissions?”

  Before Morana could move, Mark grabbed her bag from the top of Pop’s cart and threw it into Janne’s holding room. Morana charged, but couldn’t reach him before he pulled the door shut. Mark grabbed Morana’s arms and slammed her against the wall.

  “We’re all leaving together,” Mark said. “And we’re taking the surviving fodder with us.”

  “Get your hands off me!” Morana said through gritted teeth.

  Mark released her arms and stepped back.

  “There is no time to rescue anyone else!” Morana yelled. “If those Bladers break out before this place explodes, we have no weapons and they’ll kill us—I’m sure Teddy prepped them on our execution!”

  Mark checked his watch. “If they don’t break out, then we have at least fifty minutes.”

  Morana’s face flashed new rage. “Don’t be an idiot! We will die.”

  Janne chimed in. “Mark, I think we should leave. Let’s go. I want out and I want out now—please.”

  Mark shook his head and turned to Morana. “I’ve tolerated his ‘mission’ crap on the chance that I could save lives.” He kicked the side of Pop’s cart. “And now I have 49 minutes to make my complicity in this nightmare worthwhile. I’m not leaving without the survivors. You can help me rescue them, or I can take up to an hour to figure out how to do it myself.”

  Morana’s face changed suddenly. It softened. She released a small laugh. “Why go to this extreme, Mark?” she said as she stepped closer to him. “So far we’ve worked together.” She raised her arms in front of her, wrists limp to hug him. Mark stepped back.

  “We’re wasting time; let’s get to work,” Janne said.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Morana continued. “Mark, Sweetie, listen, you wouldn’t be in control if it wasn’t for me,” Morana persisted. She pulled her hair behind her shoulders and leaned slightly to one side with the smile that had intoxicated so many men. “C’mon, Mark, I made myself completely vu
lnerable to you, yet you can’t return that trust? Instead you make me your prisoner? I told you that I wanted to end the killing. I’d like nothing more than to see the innocent go free.”

  Mark nodded and said, “Good. Then we have the same goal. What difference does it make how we get there?”

  “Touché,” Morana said, her smile vanished. She turned and began toward the garage. Mark motioned for Janne to follow. At the foyer door, Mark placed his hand on the rarely used exit console and the door obeyed, clicking open. Morana pushed Pop’s cart in, then went to wait beside the Sty’s red door.

  “Janne, you come with me,” Mark said. They locked Morana and Pop in the foyer and returned to Bracks’s office. Two steps in, Janne screamed and clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of Bracks’s body.

  “The woman that just accused me of not trusting her did that,” Mark said as he sat down at the computer. “That’s why you are here with me and not alone with her.”

  Janne turned and faced the closed door, now both hands over her face. As Mark typed on the keyboard and tested the joystick, Janne finally said, “I’m so proud of you, but please do this quickly.”

  “I will. And if we live, I may need your help with the press again.”

  “Just work,” Janne urged. “Whatever you need, we’ll talk later.”

  Mark used Bracks’s computer to open the Sty entrance in the foyer. On screen he watched Morana step inside. He moved the tether over the first oubliette while Morana opened and leaned over it. She latched the ends of the tether together to make a sling and then hollered something down into the opening. Mark moved the joystick and the tether descended. Morana raised her hand and the straps went taut, lifting a woman out. The woman’s arms hung loosely around the straps that had lifted her and her head sagged. Morana guided her to the dirt floor beside the oubliette’s mouth where Mark lowered her to a gentle landing.

  They repeated the process for eight other oubliettes. Some newly freed fodder could barely walk, others crawled. Morana waved off the tethers for several of the oubliettes. Mark carefully checked their heat sensors and understood why.

  Finally, he saw Morana signal that they had retrieved all the living fodder. He checked the time. They had fourteen minutes to be clear of the Nest. He picked up the laundry bag that contained all of Pop’s video coverage of the Trail Bladers’ activities and logs with information on the fodder. He slung it over his shoulder and they left.

  On their way to the foyer entrance, Mark noticed that the pounding from the Mulching Room had ceased. He took Janne’s arm and they stopped—listening. The Nest was dead quiet. Then, slowly, they neared an intersection of hallways. Mark got a sick feeling that they might not make it to the foyer. He lowered the laundry bag containing the hard drives from his shoulder and prepared to swing it. Janne moved behind him and placed her hand on his back. He somehow expected to round the corner only to see an army of angry Trail Bladers lying in wait.

  A loud crash broke the silence—jolting them, and then the distant banging resumed—louder. They heard cheering as if some progress had given the trapped Trail Bladers new hope.

  Mark placed his hand on the exit console and they entered the foyer, joining nine weak men and women sitting or lying on the floor. In their midst sat a large metal cart. Unbeknownst to them, it contained the bound and gagged designer of their cruel fate. Morana stood just inside the sty—in the shadows.

  Mark motioned for her to follow him and he opened the door to the garage.

  “Come with me. Hurry!” he urged the survivors. “We’re going to take you out of here.”

  Several of them began to weep. One murmured, “Thank you, God,” and two reached out to him.

  In the garage, Mark unlocked the rear doors of a truck with its console and Morana pushed Pop’s cart to the truck’s lift. They raised and rolled the cart inside.

  Janne found a sink in the corner of the garage and filled a clean bucket with water for the parched survivors. Two of the stronger ones joined her at the sink and took turns gulping from the faucet.

  “Please hurry,” Mark shouted.

  “Everybody in the truck, let’s go!” Morana said.

  Janne brought the bucket into the back of the truck and poured water into the mouths of some of the people who already sat inside.

  The last to board was an elderly woman. Morana took one of her arms and Mark the other. Before she stepped from the lift onto the truck bed she stopped, squeezed Mark’s arm and whispered, “Thank you.”

  While Morana retracted the lift and slid it back under the truck, Mark gave Janne the laundry bag of hard drives and she climbed into the passenger seat of the cab.

  Mark was about to close the rear doors when he realized that Morana hadn’t entered the truck. He pointed inside and said, “Morana, get in.”

  “I’m driving,” she replied. She frowned as if that were the only logical option.

  “No you aren’t.”

  She motioned for Mark to follow her a few steps from the truck. He did.

  “I can’t ride back there—they’ll kill me.”

  “Yes, you can and no, they won’t. They’re too weak and besides, they know you just helped to rescue them.”

  “Please—I need to ride up front. I just—I can’t be back there with them.”

  A huge crash that shook the garage walls interrupted their conversation and they both spun toward the foyer. Shouts and screams came from inside—closer. A new rhythmic banging began.

  “They’ve broken out of the Mulching Room!” Morana said.

  “Get in now!” Mark pointed to the truck.

  Morana ran and jumped into the back of the truck. Mark slammed the doors shut.

  As he climbed into the driver’s seat Janne’s face was pale and she begged Mark to hurry. He put his hand on the driver’s console, it beeped, and he turned the ignition. The engine glugged to life. He pressed the control for the lift and they began to rise.

  “Can they follow us?” Janne said. She looked out her window at the sinking floor of the garage.

  “No. The doors, trucks and lifts won’t work for them. If we can reach the surface, we’ll be free.”

  “Oh my God, they’ve broken in!”

  Mark looked out his window. Sinking below them he saw a mob of Trail Bladers wearing their red shirts teeming around the truck’s lift. Some cupped their mouths as they yelled up at the truck and others motioned for the truck to come back down.

  The truck reached the surface. The huge concrete slabs that sealed the underground garage slid together and the lift gently lowered the truck’s wheels to them. Mark drove out of the garage. Janne leaned over and hugged Mark’s neck.

  They wound down the driveway and exited the automatic gate, the final leg of their escape from the doomed, synthetic world of the Nest.

  “Where do we go? These people need medical attention. And we’ve got two fugitives with them,” Mark said.

  “We’ll have to find a hospital, but I still don’t know where we are,” Janne said.

  “Neither do I.”

  Mark knew that Pop’s predicted explosion could happen at any moment. Would they feel it? See or hear it?

  Within about three city blocks, Janne saw a familiar restaurant. “Mark I know where we are!” she announced. “Corbin Medical Center is ten minutes away—keep going straight. Give me your cell phone. I’ll call the police and tell them to meet us there.”

  Mark cringed at the thought of dealing with the police again. He knew there was no escaping a great deal of time with the police if he hoped to have any chance of exoneration. He checked for the laundry bag beside Janne’s feet. It was there. He gritted his teeth and handed over his phone.

  Janne shouted to the 911 operator, “We have the Santa Monica terrorists locked in a truck. We’re going to Corbin Medical Center and we’ll park at the main entrance…What? ...No, they are not armed—none of us are …I don’t know our location, we’re driving, just get the police to Corbin Medical Cen
ter immediately.” Janne hung up when they saw a line of fire trucks approaching from the opposite direction. Ambulances and police cars followed soon after—lights flashing and sirens blazing.

  “They couldn’t have been that fast,” Janne said.

  “I’m not stopping until we reach the hospital,” Mark said.

  “You don’t need to stop; that’s the driveway right there,” Janne said as she pointed to the next turn.

  The emergency vehicles passed by the hospital entrance and continued in the direction Janne and Mark had come. “They’re passing the hospital!” Janne said as she rolled down the window and leaned out waving her arm to them, but they faded in the distance.

  Mark turned the truck into Corbin Medical Center and stopped at the main hospital entrance on a circular driveway. As they jumped out Mark heard Janne say, “Oh my God!” When Mark met her at the back of the truck, he saw it too.

  To the west, an enormous plume of smoke rose, its edges curling back into itself as it grew and bulged. The sunset and dimming light of dusk framed the dark cloud in orange. Janne clutched her chest and took a few steps toward it.

  Word of a massive explosion was spreading fast, as some hospital workers had come out to see the sky. Janne went to a nearby woman who wore a stethoscope around her neck and carried a clipboard. After a brief conversation, the woman hurried back inside.

  “Mark, keep the door closed until they come out,” Janne said. She pointed to the truck. “I want that woman captured.”

  Mark nodded and then they heard pounding from inside the truck.

  A group of uniformed hospital workers escorted by several security guards approached the truck. They gathered in back and tried to open the door. Mark looked to Janne who nodded at him.

  He approached the security guard and said, “One is locked in a cart. The other is a tall female in a bloody white t-shirt and she has blood on her hands. Neither is armed. The rest are victims who need help desperately.”

  “Let’s get these people some help,” a doctor said. He yelled for an orderly to fetch some wheelchairs.

  Mark placed his hand on the console and the door clicked unlocked. Two security guards swung it open, exposing the horrific results of Pop’s cruelty. Mark and Janne stepped off to one side to give the hospital staff room to assist the survivors.