Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

by Justin Kemppainen

  "Won't that disperse the poison?"

  Eugene and Tanya returned to their eye contact, and again the affirmation reached their minds without pause.

  "You: rouse everyone you possibly can and try to get in contact with Sergei and Isaac," Eugene said to one man. He swept a glance across the soldiers. "The rest of you: follow my and Tanya's lead. Grant no mercy!"

  The soldiers barely had a moment to contemplate before, with a quick exchanged nod, Eugene and Tanya burst into the smoke, shouting at the top of their lungs and firing their weapons.

  ******

  Injured arm limp at his side, Malcolm sped through the streets of upper Haven. Running back and forth, much of the time of him being "hunted" actually saw him observing Sergei and Isaac's party.

  Bored with the silly game, he had moved back towards the Institute, catching a glimpse of Kaylee's group sneaking out with their pilfered weapons. He followed them for a time, seeing their departure to down below. Considering their armaments, he wondered if they would perhaps be trying a similar feat to his own earlier efforts.

  The memory flashed forth: bodies pressing in, flashes of pain, weapons darting, cutting, smashing, and his blood flowing. His usable fist had swung about, crushing bones and killing without effort. Yet to no avail, as no matter how many he dropped, it seemed ten more took their places.

  "They need help," he said out loud. But who? Consideration crawled through his head. The man, Rick, was already down there. The bad men of the Institute seemed too hostile and stupid to help. Plus, they were hunting Malcolm and likely wouldn't honor any of his requests.

  A face flashed into his mind. Stern features, stiff posture, and recollection of association.

  He released an involuntary growl, not often enjoying the use of his past memories. They remained too incomplete, jumbled and confusing yet nagging and insistent. On occasion, he supposed the experiences of two past lives could be useful for varied circumstances, but for the most part he tended to ignore them.

  Malcolm recalled his clenched fist striking the man, knocking him unconscious, a memory from a day earlier. Ally, the thought came. Gottfried.

  Locations flitted through his mind next, travel routes to take him where he needed to get to in a general sense. The actual journey went near as quickly as choosing the path.

  His abilities to remain quiet and undiscovered in any circumstance had gotten practice to the point where he hardly acknowledged the people he slipped by. To him, they were nothing more than parts of the scenery. Tiny obstacles to be avoided and ignored, causing as little annoyance as a small amount of rubble in an alleyway. If the varied sentries had been blind and immobile, it would have been about the same to him.

  Not that he ever became careless. He knew the rough average distance the people could see in varied lighting conditions. Even through the facial wrappings, which at the moment remained discarded, left behind in Michaels' lab, he could easily detect a person by scent and sound from a long distance away. Of course, his vision in darkness also remained quite excellent.

  Malcolm had traveled most of the way to the region where he thought Gottfried would be located when he realized there was a small problem.

  He had no idea more precisely where he'd be able to find the man.

  After a moment of consideration, his first effort began back in the location where he had "rescued" Rick. The area served as little more than a path for people traveling to the one particular holding area, so Malcolm searched without attempting to conceal himself for a few minutes without issue.

  In his current state of inhumanity, Malcolm had only come across Gottfried a couple of times. No instance had ever impressed the man's natural scent with strong distinction upon Malcolm's mind. Wandering the street, crawling on the ground, seeking every object which might have been touched or jostled, Malcolm couldn't find anything which linked to scent memories.

  His thoughts turned to the fist which struck and rendered the man unconscious, wondering if it perhaps had picked up sweat or some microscopic residue/essence. Malcolm winced to notice his bare hand, normally covered by a glove. It, like most of his clothing, remained behind in the lab of former Citizen Michaels.

  Frustrated, Malcolm nearly didn't notice an individual walking towards him. It still would have taken the person several moments before he would have seen the shape of the hulking brute, but the fellow came closer than most ever could.

  Surprised by the individual's approach, Malcolm darted down a side-street, looped around, and attempted another tactic.

  The man was dressed in simple clothing which featured a common level of wear and tear associated with current times and lack of extensive supplies. There was no possibility for the fellow to know what was coming until he heard the tiniest scuff behind him.

  Malcolm swooped in. Snatching a handful of the man's collar, Malcolm yanked him off his feet and dragged him over to a wall, shoving him up against it. Though careful to be more gentle than his usual roughness, the man still slammed into the wall quite hard.

  Terror clouded the person's eyes as he beheld Malcolm's alien face and body. Malcolm clamped his hand over the man's mouth, which had been preparing to cut loose a hideous screech.

  "Scream and I kill you," Malcolm said in a harsh tone. He removed his hand but kept it close.

  The man whimpered and jabbered with complete incoherence, begging for his life in the moments where clear words could be heard. "Please, pleasedon't. Wifekids... d-don't want... I don't want to die!"

  Malcolm endured fifteen seconds of the babbling before he silenced it by baring his teeth. The man turned a very pale shade and swallowed hard, appearing very near to fainting.

  "Gottfried," Malcolm spoke. "Where."

  "Wh-wh-wh-what? Please don't hurt me! I never-"

  "Where is Gottfried?!" Malcolm hissed.

  Looking ready to cry, the man stammered. Malcolm moved his hand towards the man's throat.

  "No, wait, wait! You're talking about the Inquisitor, right? The Inquisitor?" A tiny measure of realization and desperation mingled with the terror in the man's eyes.

  Malcolm gave a nod.

  "Okay, okay, okay. So, I think, that is to say, I don't know necessarily, but I think he's..." The person, through a long series of halting and babbled explanation, highlighted the relative area where Gottfried's office and place of residence could be found.

  Fortunately, Malcolm's sense of direction and location memory was keen enough to be capable of interpreting the mess of description. After what seemed like an eternity, the man concluded his directions and fell silent.

  After laying out the intended path within his mind, Malcolm noticed the man remained pushed up against the wall. He further noticed his hand rested at his captive's throat.

  Releasing the man, Malcolm bored his eyes into him. "Run," he growled. The command and the rest of the experience must have been beyond terrifying, considering the haste with which the man departed.

  Malcolm instantly all but forgot about the fellow, focusing his mind again upon finding and speaking with the man he had known in a past life. He started moving through the streets, avoiding random travelers when necessary.

  His obsessive nature considered one important piece at a time. The memory of why he sought Gottfried existed in some capacity, but as with all of Malcolm's actions, it sat on the edges of his awareness.

  All that mattered was finding him.

  ******

  "I'm sorry to say, gentlemen, but you're not in much of a position to negotiate the point," Rick said, aiming the rifle downward into the brightly illuminated faces of Sergei and Isaac.

  For certain, negotiating wasn't quite what had been happening. In the short period of time since their appearance, not much aside from threats and posturing had occurred.

  The pair had arrived, invited to do so after many insistent calls to Kaylee's radio about finding them and retrieving the stolen weaponry. Isaac, at least, had seemed mostly calm and willing to at least entertain the
notion of helping the civilians at the school.

  "You will not live out the night if we should so choose!" Sergei shouted a response to Rick, thrusting a gesture toward the edge of the floodlight where dozens of his soldiers stood ready. "Either way, negotiation is something we are reluctant to do with traitorous dogs!"

  Upon arrival, learning of Rick's presence, and dealing with the defensive matters, any discussion took a sharp turn towards the negative.

  "Unwilling to give up on that grudge, eh?" Rick gave a bitter smirk, unseen by the men half-blinded by the floodlight. "You know, clinging to such anger isn't good for your health, Sergei."

  The Russian bared his teeth, and for a tiny moment Rick regretted taunting him. "I'll tear out your throat! You dare to mock me-"

  Isaac put a hand on Sergei's shoulder and whispered something into his ear. Fuming, the other man turned away, releasing a grumbling sigh.

  "Rick, you've gotta understand you're not our favorite person," Isaac said in a calm voice. "Given opportunity, I wouldn't mind seeing you a bit bloodied for all that happened. Shit, it's your fault we're in this mess, fighting and dying in the dark after we were promised something better."

  Sighing, Rick replied, "Don't forget I haven't shot you yet. Not much of a traitorous dog if I'm able to somehow restrain myself from blowing your moronic brains out. However-"

  Sergei spun around and shot a deadly glare up to the awning. "You do not possess the nerve or the ability, spineless coward. All you know how to do is scheme, plot-"

  "-and connive. Yes, I've heard your tired speech before," Rick interrupted, strongly considering the pros and cons of using the rifle he held, "and I'll tell you again: I had no hand in what Victor and Elijah did. They betrayed me just as much as-"

  "Of course you'd claim it when death is at your door and the wolves are howling for your blood!"

  Rick clenched his teeth. "How about now? This so-called monstrous traitor holds your life in the palm of his hand. Of your own choice, and perhaps by surprise, but even with this hunk of junk I'm holding, I could give release to some of the pathetic mush clogging your thick and moronic skull."

  Isaac held up his hands. "We're getting off-topic here..."

  "What topic?" Rick responded. "The only discussion thus far has been how evil, treacherous, and terrible I am. Why is it you two idiots are the only ones who think so? Or has my wicked tongue corrupted our poor civilians down here, who can't even get help unless it's bloody stolen from their former allies."

  "They are too kindhearted to dispense what you deserve!" Sergei shot back.

  Cass stood next to him, tense and absorbing the loud argument in silence. "Boy, you weren't kidding. These guys hate you."

  "Yeah, I know. I really wish I could do something about it," he said quietly. He turned to Kaylee, who also stood nearby, listening to the back and forth. "What do you think I should do?"

  Kaylee smiled. "You could go down there and let 'em flog you. They'd probably feel a little better, at least."

  He gave her a wry smirk. "Yeah, how about not."

  "Okay," Rick said, speaking to the people below, "let's try to figure this out a little better. If Citizen Davidson, a foe posing much more of a threat than me, came down here and proposed a truce, what would you do? And Sergei, don't claim you'd cut off his head, stick it on a banner, and bear that as your standard as you paraded through his territory, slaughtering his people."

  The Russian scowled. "Now see here, you-"

  "Enough. Your worst enemy comes to you under a flag of truce, or even better has a gun to your head and still suggests peace. Do you blindly follow your anger, or do you hear what he has to say?" Frustration pulsed in Rick's temples.

  Sergei opened his mouth, likely to continue the verbal abuse, but Isaac held up a hand. "We're all reasonable men. Go ahead; speak."

  Rick sucked in a deep breath, meeting eyes with both Kaylee and Cass before turning back. "All right. The killings here, on the surface, and I'm just going to assume in Citizen territory as well, were not the work of Malcolm. I've seen the people responsible." He pointed at the two of them, again forgetting they couldn't see him through the blinding floodlight. "You've seen them, as well."

  "Flickering shadows and random screaming, all gone upon our arrival." Sergei spat upon the ground. "Easily conducted by your own forces with the intent of fooling us."

  Restraining the rampant desire to leap from the awning and strangle Sergei, Rick replied, "True, but unlikely. In any case, I don't know their motives, but they appear to be mostly unconcerned about personal physical harm. In addition, we believe they may be led by an ex-Citizen man named Nigel, who was tortured by Isaac's former leader. You remember Nigel, right Isaac?"

  The man shifted on his feet. "Rings a bell. Why him?"

  "It fits too well," Kaylee responded, breaking the earlier agreement of her keeping silent. Dammit, we better not have to start the threats and insults again, he thought, shooting her a surprised and irritated look. She waved him off.

  "Kaylee?" Sergei's face twisted with anger. "Ah, so your idiocy has reached its pinnacle. You now dare to confront us after your disobedience and theft. You dare to stand next to this heathen man who betrayed us all. You truly are a fool."

  "Cram it, Sergei. Rick and I aren't the ones you need to worry about."

  Waving a hand, the Russian dismissed her claim. "Not a day earlier you had no light to shed. What has changed?"

  "Location. The birthplace of Nigel's insanity, that freaky bondage club in the red-light district..." Kaylee drew in a deep breath. "It's where they are now. Quinton scouted it, Malcolm went there and was attacked, and Rick didn't get half-way before they came out to find him."

  Isaac folded his arms. "So what is it you're suggesting?"

  Rick held up a hand, cutting off Kaylee's response. "We go in and clean them out. No more random corpses turning up, and then you can get back to that war you're so fond of."

  With a sharp gesture, Sergei replied, "So you can draw us into an ambush. You think we are so stupid?"

  "Yeah, I do," Rick rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, "but consider the amount of time we've been standing here in which I could have killed both of you. Is it so hard to believe I'd not want to trudge all the way across the city just to lure you into the ambush I technically already have you in?"

  Sergei frowned, on the verge of objecting but seeming unable to refute the point. Holy crap, will wonders never cease? Rick thought.

  Isaac folded his arms. "All right, fine. What if we do go up there? Are we to subdue, kill all of these people we know nothing about? Is that right?"

  "They don't have guns; they've only been wielding knives, hammers, wrenches, and whatever else. If we're careful and don't let them get the drop on us, we should be able to handle it with ease." He shrugged. "Unless we run out of ammo before the last one falls."

  "We?" Sergei asked. "You intend to come with?"

  Rick sighed. "I'll tell you what; we'll make a deal on this. As a show of good faith, I'll come with as point-man and your prisoner. If I'm wrong, if there's nothing to this mess, you can take me with you. You can publicly torture me, hang me, abuse me in any way you see fit. I'll not struggle, and you'll get the opportunity to take your petty, incorrect vengeance."

  Both Kaylee and Cass favored him with expressions suggesting he'd lost his mind, but Rick held up a hand. "Heck, if we even manage to clean things out and you still want to string me up by my thumbs, there's not a whole lot I'll be able to do to stop you."

  Sergei remained frowning, and Isaac rubbed his chin. The pair whispered back and forth, holding a short discussion or argument. Sergei threw up his hands with a disgusted noise, and after a moment of glaring into the floodlight, he sighed and nodded.

  Isaac gave a slow shake of his head. "I guess we're going to trust you and give this a shot. You're a hard man to figure out, Rick."

  He tilted the floodlight upward and carefully hopped down from the awning. Flashing them a
grin, Rick stuck out his hand. "So I've been told. Maybe if we get through this unscathed, I can try again to convince you I had no part in Elijah's actions."

  Both of the other men carried uncomfortable expressions, and neither took the offer to shake Rick's hand. After a moment, Rick withdrew it and gave a shrug. "Whatever then. How quickly can you get enough people down here? If it'll take time, a day or two, there should be plenty space for you and the troops to stay here and prepare. I'm sure-"

  Sergei raised his chin. "No, there will be no hesitation. What forces we have shall be enough."

  "Uh... are you sure about that?" Rick asked, wincing. "We don't know what we'll be walking into. It'd be better if-"

  "Steel your pitiful courage, my former comrade," Sergei interrupted. "I'll not spend more time with you than is necessary, nor will I waste hours in traveling within contact range of my people and pulling too many away from our defense. Gather whatever you need. We depart in ten minutes."

  Finishing with firm certainty, Sergei turned away from Rick and strolled over to his people. He didn't spare a glance backward.

  A cold shiver rolled down Rick's back. Leaving now? No big army, no plan? Jeez... this can't be good.

  ******

  Cursing, High Inquisitor Gottfried swept the reports, items, and various scraps of paper off his desk. "Bloody damnation!" he said through clenched teeth, rising from his chair.

  Instead of sleeping, instead of undertaking any number of his usual evening activities, Gottfried spent his time researching and discussing with his trustworthy Inquisitor underlings. Spies, sentries, and other individuals hid in towering buildings and places elsewhere, peering through rifle-scopes and high-powered binoculars. All of them were watching for movements and seeking information for Gottfried's use.

  Dozens of individuals, Inquisitors, completely loyal to him before anyone else, and not a single individual came up with anything useful.