Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

by Justin Kemppainen

  Oh shit, Rick thought, rushing forward and heedless of whether or not all of the turrets were fully disabled. "Doc! Get over here!" He shouted as he leapt into the pile of mechanical wreckage.

  Ignoring the metal debris which stabbed and slashed into his skin, Rick found Malcolm's bloody and shredded form. A gasp sucked into his lungs, no conceivable way in Rick's mind that the creature could still be alive after so much punishment.

  On his hands and knees, sharp machinery biting into his flesh, Rick threw his arms around the creature and pulled, hauling Malcolm over toward the elevator opening. Michaels reached down and gripped Malcolm under his arms.

  "Ah!" the researcher cried out, falling to the lobby floor at the elevator edge but hanging on to Malcolm. Veins stood out on his forehead, and he said sharply, "I can't lift him alone. Get up here!"

  Leaving behind more bits of his skin and blood, Rick pulled away from the pile and hauled himself up into the lobby. Giving Michaels a hand, the two men pulled Malcolm out of the shaft and set him on the ground.

  "Dear God..." Michaels said, covering his mouth and turning pale.

  Malcolm appeared entirely wrecked. Every inch of his body was covered in blood, and countless bullet wounds peppered his body and extremities.

  "Jesus," Rick breathed, "what the hell was he thinking? Is he dead?"

  The creature coughed, releasing a jot of blood and causing both men to jump. "No, he's alive..." Michaels said in an awe-struck tone. "Though I... though I can't imagine how..."

  Yet even as mangled as Malcolm seemed to be, Rick realized any other individual would've been converted to a cloud by the amount of fire in the elevator shaft. "He's something else, isn't he? And you say..." Rick swallowed hard. "You say Nigel's people are like that?"

  Michaels didn't tear his gaze away from Malcolm. "Not even close, thank the heavens. Not yet, anyway."

  Small favors, Rick thought, wiping sweat from his forehead. I wonder-

  "Holy shitting... good... God almighty!" a female voice cried out. "What the hell happened?"

  Kaylee stood behind the Inquisition desk, eyes wide and gawking.

  Rick waved a hand in Malcolm's direction. "He..." he trailed off, unsure of how to actually describe it.

  "To his own personal detriment," Michaels spoke, his tone and expression distant. "Marcus decided to manually deactivate all defenses in the elevator shaft."

  She rushed over and knelt at Malcolm's side. "How could you guys let him do this to himself? Is he even going to be okay?!"

  "He just threw himself right in!" Rick held up his hands in defense. "He didn't even say anything. There's no way we could've stopped him."

  Kaylee ignored him, cradling the creature's head. "Malcolm! Malcolm, can you hear me?"

  Wet gurgling issued from Malcolm's throat, a sign of slight life. Kaylee checked him over, listening for breath and heartbeat while occasionally tossing Michaels and Rick dirty looks. Though no fault of the situation belonged to him, Rick still felt a bit of shame.

  Awkward tension mounted in the several minutes passing without communication. Malcolm regained consciousness but didn't speak and must've been in tremendous pain. Kaylee whispered to him, but Rick wondered from Malcolm's expression if her attempt at tenderness annoyed him. Maybe that's just how he looks when lightly inconvenienced by brutal injury, Rick thought with a chill.

  More time passed, and Rick gradually drew away from sympathy, moving toward the rising urgency his task represented. He also wondered why Kaylee had left her post, assuming she'd had some important news to tell.

  "Listen, Kaylee-"

  The doors banged open as numerous armed men flooded into the room. Rick's hand went to the revolver on his belt. An instant passed where he considered drawing it, but instead he sighed and put up his hands. The soldiers surrounded him, brandishing weaponry and shouting for him to get on his knees. Rolling his eyes, he obeyed.

  Kaylee appeared surprised. "Oh yeah, I was going to tell you-"

  "I didn't think you'd have the stupidity or nerve to invade OHU Central, Rick," Isaac's voice came from the hallway, tinged with irritation, "but I guess it gives me the chance to..."

  Stepping into the room, Isaac trailed off upon viewing the scene of the open elevator shaft and the bloody, tattered Malcolm. Rick smiled as the man's mouth worked up and down, at a loss. What now, jackass?

  ******

  A recent and monumental surrender. Individuals of questionable enmity status invading his home. The deathtrap elevator yawning wide open, ready to prey on anyone with the slightest curiosity. Oh, and the freakish alien thing in a bloody heap on the ground.

  Yeah, Isaac thought, staring at the creature. Hell of a day.

  Uncomfortable silence ensued, the surrounding soldiers looking to him and the eerie Inquisitor guy, stepping in a moment later, for instructions. Rick glanced back and forth, hands raised and appearing impatient as opposed to fearful. The attitude annoyed Isaac.

  "Please lower your weapons," the Inquisitor said. Isaac chafed at the man, Gottfried, giving instructions, especially ones which favored that arrogant bastard, Rick. However, contradicting one of the individuals he surrendered to not long before seemed foolish, so he held his tongue.

  "Gottfried..." Rick relaxed, flashing a grin which Isaac desperately wished to strike. "Good to see you."

  "Rick." Gottfried greeted him in a noncommittal tone. Isaac couldn't tell if the High Inquisitor was happy to see the man or not. "Is he going to be all right?" Gottfried pointed to Malcolm.

  "Beats me-"

  The former Citizen cut in. "I believe so, but it may take some time for him to recover." Michaels waved a hand in the direction of the elevator shaft. "He decided to manually deactivate the defenses."

  Isaac's head swam. He'd been present for the initial attempt at exploring. What had remained of the poor soul's body would've barely filled a teapot. How the freakish alien thing survived without getting torn to pieces, Isaac didn't know.

  Gottfried dispensed quick instructions, and a couple of the soldiers left to find a gurney or rolling table.

  "So do you have any idea what else is up there?" Rick hooked his thumb upward before lowering his hands, speaking to Gottfried.

  The conversation carried on without Isaac's input. He listened and held a dour expression, unhappy of important events occurring without his say and doubly so with Rick's involvement. Unfortunately, he didn't know what was going on or why, and his authority while in the presence of varied Citizen soldiers was likely tenuous.

  "...never heard of any such defenses," Gottfried concluded speaking with a shake of his head. "Julian Wresh possessed several details and conjecture of Citizen One's potential control. However, he dismissed them in favor or pursuing his ambitions, and whatever data he possessed has not been recovered."

  Returning with a wheeled bed, the soldiers knelt by the wounded creature. At first, Kaylee appeared ready to fend them off, but instead she helped transfer him into the bed.

  Michaels stepped forward. "Considering I have no information detailing what may be waiting in the council chamber above and won't be able to provide more assistance than the High Inquisitor here, I feel I should tend to Malcolm."

  Rick gave a shrug. "Yeah, okay. We'll holler if we need you."

  The researcher gave a slight frown before motioning for the soldiers to follow him with the bed. Kaylee went along as well, her expression concerned.

  Gottfried, Rick, Isaac, and a handful of guards remained. No one spoke for a time.

  "Okay Isaac..." Rick sighed. "How do you want to do this?"

  Isaac turned back from the exit, scowling. "What do you mean?"

  "You've obviously got some issues here, some pent up anger you're desperate to express. So what do you want to do about it? A little insulting? A scuffle?"

  Is he making fun of me? Isaac wondered, gritting his teeth. In truth, he couldn't quite tell. Rick didn't have the characteristic smug attitude he brandished when trying to be funny. In
stead, the man seemed weary to the point of exhaustion.

  "We really do have important stuff going on." Rick pointed to the open elevator. "If you have anything in mind to cool your jets right now, we can give it a shot. Otherwise, if you've got any notion of what else might kill me up there, I'd love to hear it."

  The prospect of pummeling Rick was a little too appealing in that moment, but curiosity won over. "What is it you're doing?"

  "Long and short? We're trying to get to the spire to see if we can shut down the field."

  Isaac blinked. "Why?"

  Rick raised one hand in a shrugging gesture. "Life here sucks. Might be something better out there."

  Though the prospect was unnerving, Isaac didn't find himself in complete disagreement. Even more so, the thought of leaving Haven, leaving all of the strife, hatred, and violence behind...

  Isaac understood now that Rick and his people had nothing to do with the ambush of nights prior, including Sergei's untimely but potentially short-lived death. He realized that he still didn't like the man much, but...

  Prudence won out.

  "All right," Isaac said, letting his dislike slip toward grudging acceptance. "Fine. We don't have to fight. We don't have to do anything."

  Relief flooded across Rick's face. "Oh. Good." He drew the large revolver and set in on the desk. "You can have this back, and you don't have to apologize. I think it'd be too weird if you did."

  Isaac picked it up, turning the weapon over in his hand. Holstering the pistol, he gestured to the elevator and changed the subject. "I don't know much about the building, but I can probably get you set up with some equipment. Tell me what you have so far."

  ******

  After listening to numerous reports of the prey's movements, Nigel smiled. Collecting together, are they? I thought they'd attempt to make their inevitable end challenging.

  In truth, this held as one of the few options Nigel believed they'd pursue. Splitting off and burrowing into hiding would have meant a drawn out hunt to find each pocket of survivors, but consolidation meant one crushing, swift action, over all too soon.

  Nigel felt a bit of disappointment. Finishing off all of the unborn too quickly would leave many of his people idle while they continued preparations. The eventual goal, once every denizen of the city gathered under the power of the Light, was to sweep beyond Haven, to bring their message and blessing to whoever lived beyond the walls.

  He didn't relish the thought of long months without activity while his army built beneath him. At least when raising forces for the assault against the fools of the OHU and Citizenship, plenty of hunting, gathering, and other occupying actions could take place.

  Upon reflection, he supposed discovering the secrets to moving beyond the walls would consume effort in itself, but such an intellectual and potentially laborious exercise held little appeal compared to the thrill of the hunt, the sweet aroma of terror, and the glorious pain of rebirth.

  Some hope remained. Though he didn't expect excess difficulty, the cornered animals up in their pathetic pillar of science and technology might develop ferocity enough to survive, at least for a while.

  Who knows? he thought. Perhaps they'll drive us away a few times before being swept aside. Impatience was a human flaw, and he understood the need to move beyond it. Being granted immortality made the passage of time a trivial concern, and Nigel knew his ever-growing and unstoppable force would overcome any obstacle given long enough.

  All who fall rise again. This path and its power has been granted to us, instilled in our very essence. We will not forsake it, and we shall not be denied.

  Only one facet of recent events disturbed him. The man and woman's deception and coward's end to their lives... Nigel frowned at the remembrance of his inability to bring them into his fold. He knew their denial of his gift harmed only themselves, but it still bothered him as a small failure, a tiny marring in the body of his work. Perhaps their scattered leavings could be drawn together, restored, but... Pride is as foolish as impatience, he thought, focusing upon the more important work ahead.

  More reports, further details. All appeared well, in place, and ready.

  ******

  Rick dangled in precarious fashion underneath the stationary elevator at the top of the shaft. He had recently finished securing safety ropes when a shouting racket, coming from the Inquisition lobby, echoed from below.

  Aw, hell, what now? he thought with a scowl.

  He contemplated staying put and working his way toward the access hatch on top of the car, but God only knew what the shouting below meant. Maybe the Citizens are here with different ideas, and maybe I'll get chucked into a holding cell.

  Heavy benefit existed within even the slightest amounts of cooperation between Citizens and OHU, and Rick admitted he'd never imagined such a thing could occur in his lifetime. Isaac's grudging forgiveness and assistance came as a surprise, but the OHU leader wasn't calling the shots anymore. Should I bother going down? It's not like the Citizen pricks will listen to anything I have to say.

  Dangling for a bit, his eyes drew across the many points of twisted mechanical wreckage throughout the shaft. He winced as the image of Malcolm's tattered body returned to his mind. It'd be a shame for his effort to be nulled by some jackass, but...

  Desperate times, he thought, sliding down the rope. Gotta make sure everything is on the table.

  Rick recognized the tall and thin form of Citizen Davidson leaning on the desk, taking shaky sips from a bottle of water. Rick's first thought was one of disdain as he recalled his unpleasant encounter with the man days earlier.

  However, not an iota of the smug self-satisfaction or arrogance remained. Davidson's eyes stared into the distance, his hands trembling and face spattered with blood. Someone else's, from the look of it, he thought, stepping out of the elevator shaft.

  Isaac and Gottfried held grim expressions, and Rick sighed. "Let me guess," he offered. "We have a problem."

  "The traveling Citizens were ambushed," Gottfried said. "Many have already arrived and are being settled, but Citizen Davidson's group was hounded much of the distance here."

  Rick passed a glance over to the Citizen leader. In spite of the man's previous jackass attitude, he felt sorry for him. "Is he going to be okay?"

  "Of course I am, you idiot," Davidson spoke up, still shaking and appearing only half-aware of his surroundings. "I merely... I merely need a moment to... to collect myself."

  Well, my sympathy's dried up. Raising his eyebrows, Rick tilted his head at Gottfried, implying the obvious question of whether or not Davidson could handle anything at present. The High Inquisitor shifted his eyes to the Citizen leader for a moment before inclining his head.

  Great, Rick thought. Another bloody cook in the bloody kitchen. Isaac seemed no more happy than Rick to see Davidson, but he refrained from saying anything. Probably because he doesn't have much of a position after surrendering.

  "All right," Davidson said, standing up taller. Out of a pocket, he pulled a handkerchief and wiped the not-quite dried blood from his face. Sweeping a glance around the room, he took a deep breath.

  "All right," he repeated. "I am uncertain of whether or not I yet believe in Gregory Michaels' talk of impervious, immortal foes, but I fully understand what we face is quite troubling. As little as I trust the individuals in this room and as... much as I'd enjoy locking many of you away..." He eyed Rick.

  Davidson folded his hands behind his back, motes of confidence returning to him. "...you all have your uses."

  He looked beyond Rick to the open elevator shaft and the extra coil of unused rope on the lobby floor. "You are trying to access the areas in the spire. Why?"

  Rick hated bending to Davidson's so-called authority, but it was quicker and easier to explain the full situation.

  "Then..." Davidson narrowed his eyes in the most condescending fashion. Rick preferred it when the guy had been cowering in fear. "...what is it you intend? What purpose is served by shuttin
g down the field?"

  Folding his arms, Rick opened his mouth to reply, but Davidson waved him off. "No matter, I suppose it's obvious enough. Continue your work for the time being, but keep in mind you may be summoned to aid in our defense if necessary."

  Davidson straightened his clothing and moved around the desk, seating himself and leafing through the haphazard papers. Settling in, the Citizen leader called over his guards, Gottfried, and a few soldiers in turn, dispensing orders.

  "Halt resettlement efforts and see to it that any allied with us comes to garrison the Institute. This place must be defended for as long as is necessary, and we may not have long to prepare ourselves." Several individuals set about the task.

  Anger rising, Rick again opened his mouth to express some variety of insult. Gottfried caught his eye and gave a quick shake of his head. Rick gave him a questioning look, and the High Inquisitor merely tilted his head in the direction of the elevator shaft.

  Get back to work? Rick thought. That's the best he's got for me? Why the hell should I bow to this guy who was pissing himself in terror five seconds ago?

  Gottfried gave his head a firmer shake, further encouraging with a slight gesture. Grumbling under his breath, Rick turned back to the elevator. Picking up a small tool set, he passed one dirty look back into the lobby before ascending.

  ******

  "Are you sure he's going to be okay?" Kaylee asked again, concerned of Malcolm's lapse into unconsciousness once more.

  Leaning over some documents, Michaels sighed and set them down. "Yes. For the last time, yes. Malcolm will be fine. He will be perfectly fine. In fact, as I'll tell you once again, he'll probably be up and about within the hour."

  Kaylee had sensed around her fourth or so inquiry that Michaels began growing weary of her presence and questions. She still didn't care in particular or feel guilty about it, even as she neared the twelfth or more time.