by Jeff Olah
Ethan turned to the casually dressed man as his friend began to pull away. “Last time, keep quiet! You’re the reason we’re stuck in here. I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Oh yeah I forgot, you’re the big shot with the uniform and the badge. So tell me, what’s your plan—huh?”
Ethan began to answer, but was cut short as the man continued. “You do realize that I just followed you and the others in here. And with those—those things outside the door, you’re all real lucky I even thought to shut it behind us. If I hadn’t, you’d all be dead or worse,” Mr. Outspoken said, pointing at David. “You’d be just like him.”
Turning away, he again focused on his friend. Sliding the pistol to David’s forehead, he dropped to one knee, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him in tight. “You don’t deserve this. It should’ve been me.” Ethan leaned in and placed his mouth just outside his friend’s bloodstained ear. “I will get to Carly. I will get her somewhere safe. I promise you that.”
His friend’s body began to go rigid. Ethan felt David beginning to struggle. Leaning away and starting to stand, what little remained of his friend was now gone. The wounds along his right triceps oozed a yellowish-orange fluid that leaked out into the pool of coagulated blood surrounding their feet.
Peering into David’s eyes, they were nearly unrecognizable as human. His once sapphire-blue eyes had faded into something just shy of translucent and were now obscured by a milky white haze. What lay behind the thick film was no longer the man with whom Ethan had spent the better part of his life. The fragments of his friend that still remained were quickly losing the battle with what had taken hold.
Beginning to growl, the beast now inching toward Ethan wore his friend’s face, but most certainly was not him. Tugging at his makeshift restraints, the thing that David had become fought to free itself as the group collectively took a step back. Twisting against the weakened audio cable, his left arm, the less injured of the two, gave way.
The ensuing sound of bone on bone reverberated through the cramped vault. However, the realization that his friend had just broken his own arm in an attempt to free himself hung in the air with a bit more weight. What appeared to put an exclamation on the moment was the fact that David hadn’t even flinched. Not in the slightest. He didn’t look at the injury and only stared across the room at the five unbelieving individuals.
Turning from the others as he again raised the weapon, Ethan heard their gasps only just before he realized his friend was loose. With his hands now free, David shot forward as if out of a cannon. He slammed face-first into Ethan’s chest, sending both men to the blood-soaked concrete floor, and Ethan’s nine millimeter sliding into the corner.
Shielding himself from David’s snapping jaws, Ethan drew his legs back into his chest and kicked straight up. He drove what used to be his friend’s body back into the row of safety deposit boxes and twisted right in hopes of retrieving the weapon he’d just dropped. No luck—the only thing in his inverted field of view were the men and women now scrambling to either side.
As Ethan slid up and onto his knees, scanning the vault for his weapon, David shot forward yet again. Reflexively turning away, Ethan held out his right hand in hopes of deflecting the initial blow. He expected to be hit dead on and assumed that shortly following the collision he’d be flat on his back yet again. He envisioned his own demise, his friend tearing him apart without even the most remote chance of defending himself. This is where his life would end.
Clenching his jaw, he twisted to the right as David lunged forward yet again. The two bodies slammed into one another like wet bags of sand, sending Ethan back and into the bottom row of safety deposit boxes, the top of his head making contact first. Blinking through the pain, he attempted to draw in a deep breath and failed. This was it.
As his friend climbed on top and inched his way toward Ethan’s face, his vision began to fade. Next, the low buzz in his ears told him that unconsciousness was not far off and if he hoped to walk out of the bank alive, he had to take some sort of action, only his arms were pinned to the floor below.
With David clawing his way up onto his chest, Ethan was only able to get glimpses of the battle he was losing. In between the shouts and screams, his mind waded in the shadows until it finally gave up. The last image to flash through his narrowed field of vision was the nine millimeter he’d held to his friend’s head only moments before, and the glint of the barrel.
2
Eleven hours earlier…
After what Ethan had subjected himself to the prior night, no amount of sleep would have been sufficient to completely erase the damage. With his head placed ever so gently atop the costly memory-foam pillow, he could feel every individual hair on his head begging for mercy. He now regretted not downing the two glasses of water he was offered in between drinks.
Sliding his hand along the right side of the bed, and finally locating his phone, Ethan winced as he cracked his eyelids. Pulling the phone to his face, it cried out for the fourth time. Rolling onto his side, he silenced the phone and shoved it under the pillow. His alarm was always an unwelcome stranger, although this morning it came much too soon.
Out from under the warmth provided by his patchwork comforter, Ethan slowly dropped his legs over the side of the bed and placed his fingers against his eyes. Attempting to rub away the pain, he instinctively pulled back. The jackhammer working the inside of his skull had now decided it was time to turn up the intensity.
“Okay, that’s not gonna work.”
Pushing to stand, Ethan closed his eyes and waited as the room slowed its spin to a level that allowed him to start making forward progress. Driving his middle fingers into his temples somewhat made the trek to the kitchen a bit more bearable; however, in crossing the room and slamming his big toe into the forward bedpost, he stumbled into the door frame.
Speaking only to the gods of karma, he said, “Seriously? If this is what you’re giving me, I’m goin’ back to bed.”
Taking a breath and peering out into the living room, he knew something was off. Daylight savings time had ended over a month ago, but that wasn’t it. The absence of light seemed odd as he’d awoken at the same time every weekday for the last six months. He wasn’t dreaming, or so he thought, although in his current condition there were no absolutes.
Accustomed to his new morning ritual, Ethan started for the light switch, and before noticing the time on the backlit desk clock, his attention was pulled back into his bedroom. The woman’s scream from outside his bedroom window now fought for attention as his phone begged to be heard. Did the scream truly exist or was the unsettling sound just a memory? Again, he was at the mercy of too many tequilas from the night before.
Glancing into the kitchen before turning and walking back to his room, Ethan was satisfied that at least his humble apartment hadn’t suffered the usual carnage. Following the kind of night he and his co-worker usually had, he wasn’t ever sure exactly what, or for that matter who, he’d find.
The smile on his face for not having destroyed anything within reach was short lived as his phone fired off its second call for attention. Shuffling the last three feet to the bed and falling face-first toward the ringing, Ethan inadvertently pushed his phone off the left side of the bed, silencing his nemesis. “Thank you.”
Rolling onto his back, he reached toward the headboard, pulled his pillow back under his head, and closed his eyes.
Another scream, this time followed by a cry for help.
Ethan leaned onto his right side and craned his neck, attempting to get a glimpse of the commotion without actually leaving his bed. No such luck. All he was able to see were the distant street lamps and the glow they filtered into the night air. The city below would have to remain a mystery, at least for now.
“Do not get involved,” he said to himself. “Do. Not. Get involved Ethan, you’ll get out of bed and go to that window and if you see something, it’ll be too late. You'll be in it. So, just lay here
and don't move. In your condition, even if you did try to help these people, you’d probably just screw things up. Just stay here.”
Back to his pillow for another sixty seconds, he lay motionless with his eyes closed, praying that whatever turmoil had begun outside his usually tranquil apartment building had concluded. “Probably the Burkhart’s having another one of their late night discussions. If I had a nickel for every time those two lost their minds this past year, I’d be rich—and finally able to get the hell out of this town.”
With little doubt that his defeated body could do with another few hours of sleep, and still unsure of the exact time, his head was spinning. Remembering his phone still lay on the floor, Ethan rolled over and picked it up. Hitting the home button, he stared into the lighted display and shook his head at the three missed calls from his sister. “Emma.”
His attention moving to the top and then right corner of the screen, he made a note of the time and the fact that he was left with only a one percent charge. Quickly pulling up the clock app and confirming that his alarm was still set, Ethan said. “What in the hell is so important at four a.m.?”
Placing his phone on the nightstand and plugging it in, he raked his hand through his dense, black mop of hair and gave into his curiosity. Again sliding out of bed, he moved to the window and pulled back the partially opened shade.
The first silhouetted figure moved quickly toward the area between the two apartment buildings and out of sight as Ethan caught a glimpse of the second. It moved much slower and if his sleep-deprived vision could be trusted, owned a considerable limp. “This is new.”
As the second individual also disappeared into the blank space, Ethan turned from the window and drew the shades. Pulling off his tee-shirt, he tossed it to the ground, pulled back the comforter, and climbed back into bed. “Don’t those idiots realize some people have to work in the morning?”
Lying flat on his back, eyes closed and counting backward from one hundred as he drew in each new breath, Ethan focused only on welcoming the warm embrace of sleep. The mild pounding at the back of his head had an altogether different plan, and a slight advantage for keeping his attention.
“Seventy-five…” Also attempting to keep his mind from running through the possible scenarios playing out between the two obvious drunks outside his window, he continued his countdown.
“Forty-eight…” He’d usually never make it to sixty and as cloudy as his brain was rolling into bed a few hours ago, it amazed him that he’d awoken at all.
Out in the alley, the woman’s voice returned. Only this time there were no cries for help, no frantic screaming. The only thing that remained were the bitter sobs usually indicating the conclusion of a night she’d surely regret.
As Ethan began to drift off, he doubted the next morning would be any kinder to him than it would be to the woman less than a hundred yards from his bedroom window.
3
The ground was still wet with what remained from the previous evening’s snow when she and the others made their way through the gates and down to the loading area. It was cooler than she anticipated and although they were each allowed to wear a coat, the one she brought was dreadfully insufficient.
Tilting her head skyward and pushing her breath out into the morning air, she smiled as it momentarily crystallized and then drifted off into nothing. Being out of the building, while only for a few hours, changed her perspective. Having given up more times than she cared to count, today she wanted to be happy, to be like everyone else. Even if she wasn’t. Something was happening and although no one was talking, she knew it was bad.
As the forty-five-foot bus rolled to a stop, Cora Adams looked up and down the line. The count hadn’t changed since she’d checked it six times before. Having only heard rumors about where they were headed, the change in location was less exciting than it was unnerving. After what she’d seen before walking out into the cold morning air, she was almost looking forward to the trip.
Twenty-five passengers on a bus that was built to hold over four times that amount seemed like a waste. She wasn’t about to question the directive handed down, although she had no idea why she was here or exactly what had taken place behind those gates she’d just walked through.
And as the line began to move forward, the images from the last few hours again played in her mind.
. . .
There were no specific instructions as they called out for her this morning. None that gave Cora any clue as to what was happening anyway. No one spoke, at least not to her or any of her friends. They only came, told them they were being transferred, and then gave them less than five minutes to get ready. Enough time to get ready, not enough to actually be ready.
Ms. Former Bodybuilder appeared out of the darkened hall. She asked that Cora and the others grab what they wanted. They were told to move as quickly as possible and be ready to board the bus in twenty minutes. No showers, no brushing your teeth, and if the bathroom was an absolute requirement, they’d better go now.
They were told to head toward the eastern end of the facility and not to stop for any reason. If the person in front of you or the person behind you moved out of line, you were simply supposed to keep moving forward. “We wait for no one.” According to Former Bodybuilder, their mass exit wouldn’t be pretty, but it sure as hell was going to get the job done.
Tossing the only three items she still cared about into the plastic bag, Cora moved out into the hall and called for Trish. “Hey, let’s go, I’m not sure what this is, but I don’t think we want to stay around to find out.”
The only friend she’d made since arriving here less than three months before sat frozen on her bed. She didn’t respond. She didn’t look up. She didn’t move. She only clutched her left arm to her chest and cried. Trish never cried.
. . .
They met in the kitchen on Cora’s second day. They worked side by side for three hours before Trish tossed a plate to the tiled floor and smiled. “Oops.”
Cora raised an eyebrow and grinned.
“There are a set number of mistakes allowed from this kitchen before we have to answer for them. I haven’t made one since last Monday and you seem to have your area under control, so I think we were due.”
Back to the sink in front of her, Cora pulled out a short stack of three identical serving plates, raised them overhead, and slammed them to the ground. She turned back to her new friend and said, “I guess we may have something to answer for.”
“I’m Trish, and I have a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine.”
Cora leaned back, brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, and checked both doors. “I’m just wondering what they’ll do if we go beyond that number? What if we break ten plates, what about twenty? Who’s gonna come ‘talk’ to us if we break every damn thing in this kitchen?”
“Well,” her new friend said, “looks like someone’s trying to get rid of their rookie card.”
“Rookie card?”
“Yeah, happens to everyone when they first get here. Trying to prove you’re something more than you were out there. Attempting to keep the others away. Hoping they’ll see you as the little girl who isn’t really a threat, or on the opposite end, someone who shouldn’t be screwed with. Either way, they leave you alone.”
Shaking her head, Cora said, “Just when I was starting to like you.”
“Only trying to help.” The woman roughly ten years her senior continued to smile. “I figure you’re what, about five-foot-two and no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet? You’ve gotta admit the tough girl role is a bit of a stretch. Maybe you should just go with the innocent little girl thing. It’s a bit more believable.”
Cora began to respond, but was cut short as Trish added her final thought. “I like you, but you need to know where the line is.”
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
Back to the work staring her in the face, Trish nodded. “Yep, that’s for sure, but just in case, I want yo
u to know you can come to me if you need help.”
. . .
The last few hours went by in the blink of an eye. The voices. The groans. The growls. The pleading. The crying. The distant sound of gunfire and finally the silence. Since arriving, she hadn’t strung together more than three hours of sleep at any one time, although last night’s foray into insomnia was much different.
Forced out into the hall and hurried along the dimly lit corridor, Cora was only able to catch quick glimpses of the sixteen silhouetted bodies lining the east wall. Laid head to toe and then again head to toe, they covered the length of the entire block wall. She turned away, moved closer to the women three feet ahead and didn’t ask, mainly because she couldn’t think of a single appropriate question.
Continuing through the set of double doors near the Control Center, Cora was overwhelmed by the distinct aroma of antiseptic spray and gauze bandages. Just on the other side of the inch-thick shatterproof glass stood four large men dressed in brightly colored hazmat suits and blacked-out masks. They paused as Cora and her group entered, but only for a brief moment.
