Exodus (The Fall of Haven)

by Justin Kemppainen

  "It's just-" Kaylee started.

  "No." Michaels raised his head abruptly. "No, I refuse to continue working like this. You have to leave. Now. Go assist with defenses, go bother Rick, or whatever else. I don't care what you do as long as it isn't here."

  "But-"

  Michaels pointed to the door. "If I hear no hint of your mindless questioning for one hour, I will allow you to return. However, if you say one word, one single word, then I'll make it my personal mission to see you never set foot in this lab, ever again."

  Kaylee's eyes widened, surprised at the threat. Though the doc tended towards large ego and crankiness, something a little more than her hassling seemed wrong with him.

  Regardless, she decided to leave him in peace without testing his resolve. She felt his annoyed glare follow her while she exited, and after brief consideration, she chose not to look back.

  Halfway to the main Institute lobby, Kaylee wondered where she should go. Rick's probably tinkering in the elevator after letting Malcolm absorb the punishment, she thought, upset.

  She didn't actually blame Rick too much, but Malcolm held such power and good intentions in everything he did. Kaylee regretted the distance growing between them, and it didn't sit right with her to see him so badly hurt.

  Her feet carried her through the lobby and a gathering crowd she paid little attention to. Out into the open air, many more people wandered about, some shouting at the few nervous soldiers assigned to help them.

  What a mess, she thought. Nigel and his psychotics could sweep in here with no trouble right now.

  Kaylee found Quinton and Cass sitting on the steps some distance away from the commotion, having returned from their patrols. The old man appeared to have scrounged a deck of cards from somewhere and was teaching her a game.

  "Kaylee." Quinton grunted a greeting before turning back to the teenage girl. "You sure you never played cards as a kid?" His voice was blunt, disbelieving as he revealed his hand.

  She snorted. "I never did anything as a kid. It was all education and keeping my 'fertile, young mind' occupied. That's the way most of the parents I knew did it; rigid rules involving talking to your children as little as possible. Cards and other games? Not a chance. Ah!" Looking down at the cards she held, her face lit up. She set them down on top of Quinton's revealed set, grinning. "This means I win again, right?"

  The old man's eyes widened before descending into a scowl. "Luck," he grumbled, shuffling the cards.

  Kaylee watched them play a few more hands. In spite of his gruff nature, she suspected Quinton of taking it easy on the teenage girl. His gnarled hands snapped cards with blurring haste, and she had no doubts he could stack the deck and deal just about any cards he wanted. Heck, he might even be giving her good ones to make her feel better.

  Her suspicions increased when Cass won eight out of the next ten hands. Quinton, you sentimental geezer, she thought with a smile. The girl laughed and clapped her hands at each victory, less of the crippling fear and sorrow in her eyes.

  The streak would've continued had Isaac and the High Inquisitor not approached, brushing off questions from varied nearby individuals.

  "Your assistance is required," Gottfried said, motioning to Quinton and Kaylee.

  "For what?" the old man asked, passing the High Inquisitor a wary eye.

  Isaac stepped forward. "We need a few people we can trust to keep watch further out."

  Kaylee let out a groan. "What, you actually trust us now? What if I said I was the one who stabbed Sergei? Would that get us out of this run-around duty?"

  The remaining OHU leader stiffened his posture. "I... I understand my error in accusing you," Isaac said with excess formality, "and I apologize."

  "Oh really?" Kaylee smirked. "As long as you're sincere about it."

  "So you'll go scouting then?" Isaac looked at her, ignoring her sarcasm.

  She sighed. "Do we really have to? Maybe Nigel will give his people the night off."

  Gottfried's mouth tightened. "Do you suggest we risk everything on this foolish hope?"

  "Well, no, but-"

  "We require skilled individuals to watch and provide early warning if any of Nigel's followers draw near to the Institute," Gottfried said.

  "I'll handle it." Quinton set down the deck of cards and stood.

  Kaylee rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'll go too. Wouldn't want you to get stabbed again."

  "Fine," the old man replied.

  Cass raised her hand. "What about me?"

  Isaac and the High Inquisitor looked at the girl, uncertainty on their faces. Before either could come up with any lame excuses or tasks, Kaylee said, "I got an idea." She motioned toward the Institute. "Malcolm got pretty torn up by some old defense turrets, and the doc seems to be in a huff about something or other. Could you go keep an eye on them for a bit?"

  Cass gave a shrug. "Yeah, I guess so." She uncrossed her legs and stood, dusting herself off before moving toward the Institute.

  With a slight bow, Gottfried said, "Thank you. See to your own task right away. If the evening's events are any indication, they may attempt an assault at any time." He turned and walked away without further comment, Isaac trailing behind.

  Kaylee released a slow breath. "I'm ready to go. How 'bout you old timer?"

  Grunting an affirmation, Quinton started walking. The prominent limp he displayed earlier had all-but vanished, and he no longer favored or held a hand to his side. The healing works, she thought, shuddering.

  She stretched upward quickly before jogging to catch up. As she threaded her way through the various individuals crowding the Institute area, a curious notion formed in her mind.

  Kaylee couldn't tell who was who between Citizen, OHU, and civilians from the school. Sure, the occasional face looked vaguely familiar, but most everyone wore dirty, rough, or tattered clothing. Further yet, most everyone held an expression between fear, discomfort, and confusion, and no particular indicators gave away affiliations.

  Oh isn't that lovely, she thought with a bitter frown. We're all the same now.

  ******

  Gottfried breezed back into the Inquisition lobby several minutes later, the rest of the tasks complete and his footsteps echoing in the silent room. Upon viewing Davidson at the desk, poring over documents and imparting instructions to subordinates, Gottfried wondered if the man even remembered being terror-stricken half an hour earlier.

  "High Inquisitor, good." Davidson waved him over. "How is everything progressing outside?"

  "Poorly," Gottfried replied. "Too many individuals are without concrete instructions, so many are wandering about the vicinity."

  Davidson developed a slight frown. "Disappointing but unsurprising. What of the rest of the Institute?"

  "Decent progress. All entrances save for the front have been barricaded. The first floor should have individuals armed and prepared for combat at each window. Currently, we're working on subsequent floors, and then more focus can be given to individuals outside."

  Davidson's frown remained, but he nodded. "As well as can be expected. Continue your..."

  The Citizen leader trailed off as a loud, metallic squeal issued from the elevator shaft behind him. Eyes widening, Davidson turned toward it.

  "Shit, shit, shit!" Rick's bellowing voice drifted from above. "LOOK OUT BELOW!"

  A clanging wham! resounded in the shaft, followed by hideous screeching and a rush of moving air.

  With no hesitation, Gottfried reached over the desk and grabbed Davidson. Wrenching backwards, he hauled the startled Citizen leader over the marble top and to the floor as a deafening crash shook the room.

  ******

  Sliding up the side of the elevator, avoiding anything which looked like it might have carried electricity, hadn't been too difficult for Rick to accomplish. Neither had squeezing into the narrow space between the car and the top of the shaft. The curse-laden efforts of opening the hatch and a few minutes of tossing random objects to check for traps provi
ded no serious trouble. Even contorting himself through small hatch space proved painful not but not lengthy.

  Good thing I haven't been eating much lately, he had thought, rolling his shoulders.

  Prying the elevator doors apart, however, took effort. Considerable and frustrating effort. Laboring for several minutes with a flashlight in his teeth, he finally discovered catches which secured the door closed. He had to employ a small prybar to wedge the gap slightly open enough to then use a pliers to bend or twist them free.

  Even with the latches loosened, the doors remained heavy and reluctant to move. Pushing, swearing, wrenching, and laboring, Rick managed to shove them all the way open. The instant this occurred, the elevator car shuddered and groaned. Eyes wide, he froze for instant. Uh oh.

  A metallic squeal tore into his eardrums, and the car lurched several inches downward. Cursing loudly, he leapt up to the hatch and bellowed a warning before diving toward the exit.

  Screeching resounded as the elevator car dropped away, but Rick had little time to contemplate it as he landed in a short hallway with a jet of flame launching towards him.

  With a cry of alarm, Rick rolled to the side and felt the wash of heat across his back, singeing his hair. Pressing against the wall face first on the ground, he prayed the thrower didn't have any sweeping action, or else he'd get cooked in short order. The blistering heat continued for a moment before the fire cut out and died away, leaving him in darkness.

  No sounds of the falling elevator continued, so he assumed it fell the entire way or stopped short somewhere. Indistinct shouting echoed up the shaft, and Rick released the breath he'd been holding. "I'm okay!" He called in a hoarse, winded voice. "Sorry!"

  He took a few breaths and blinked the sweat out of his eyes, feeling the chill and wash of adrenaline finish its course. Unknown perils all around, Rick did not wish to move. Temptations and cowardice begged him to inch back to the open elevator and make a rapid descent.

  Craning his neck, Rick caught a small playing of illumination from his still active flashlight, the lens pointing at the opposite wall. Chewing his lip, Rick made a snap decision and pushed away from the wall, rolling.

  The fire trap ignited again, flooding the hallway with heat. Rolling quickly, Rick banged his head into the opposite wall, dazed for a moment while the flame held and cut out.

  Stinging of minor burns throbbed on his back, and he coughed from the stink of singed carpet. Reaching down, he pulled the flashlight from underneath him and pointed it towards the end of the hallway.

  His eyesight flickered with shadow images from the sudden, repeated brightness of the flame, and the flashlight didn't have much power. Playing the beam into the adjacent room, Rick couldn't see much: a ramp, maybe some chairs and a table.

  A pilot light for the thrower? he thought, moving the beam away and squinting at a tiny bluish light some distance away near the ceiling.

  Clinging to the wall, Rick twisted himself around and rose to a standing position. No fiery death resulted, so he sidled forward.

  Rick reached the edge of the short hallway. Moving the light around, he saw the circular council chamber described by Michaels earlier. Aside from the flamethrower unit aimed at the entrance, no other traps were obvious.

  Noticing no swivel mechanisms to point it away from the entrance, and considering he didn't know how to disable it, Rick decided to leave the flamethrower alone for the time being. Maybe I'll try to take a look at it in a sec. I sure don't want them to send someone up to get crisped.

  Shining the light forward, Rick cringed and took a hesitant step forward.

  Nothing happened.

  With a slight trickle of relief, he kept his body tensed for an emergency leap and took another step.

  Still nothing.

  Beginning to wonder if the danger might have passed, Rick took a third step.

  Illumination burst forth from all sides, blinding floodlights activating from various places on the walls. Rick froze in place, hearing no gunfire, explosions, swinging blades, falling rocks, or any other kind of deadly trap.

  The middle floodlight winked out, revealing a man standing behind the podium. Wearing all black, the individual appeared youngish with a severe expression of arrogance and authority. He stared at Rick, or at least appeared to.

  "You have violated the sanctity of this resting place in spite of obvious warnings." From Michaels' description, he knew this to be a hologram, a young version of Citizen One, the deceased Franklin Lange. Rick marveled at the shocking quality of the image and its recorded message. If he hadn't known better, Rick might've thought the hologram was a real person.

  The message continued, the man speaking harshly. "No profit is to be found here, so know that your efforts and death have been in vain."

  Oh, this isn't good, Rick thought as mechanical whirring issued from the walls. The floodlights dimmed, revealing numerous pieces of automated weaponry sliding out of hidden panels. Rick's mouth went dry to see the heavy amount of death leveled at him. More flamethrowers and turrets, tear gas launchers - what, so people can't get away?! Rick wondered, gawking - coils for arcing electricity, and something which appeared to be a laser gun or death ray...

  "You have three seconds to contemplate your fate." The image spoke. "May the gods condemn you for this desecration."

  The next few instants crawled by, terrifying and slow. With no time to retreat, misery and regret filled his heart. Doomed and defeated, shoulders slumping, he thought, I'm sorry, Kaylee, before closing his eyes and waiting for the end.

  Nothing happened. Seconds passed.

  Rick opened one eye. All of the weaponry remained pointed at him, but nothing fired.

  The image of Franklin Lange remained in front of him, but it appeared frozen, halted in the middle of the recording.

  Unsure of what to do and worried that motion would resume the recording and its murderous conclusion, Rick held still.

  A speaker crackled, and a squeal of feedback echoed in the room. A voice, soft and mumbling, said something Rick didn't quite catch. Execute operation... what was that?

  The voice rattled off numbers and random words.

  After a few seconds of this, the speaker cut out. The mechanical whirring resounded again, all of the weaponry retracting into the walls. In bare moments, the circular room returned to a normal status, no indication of horrific death hiding within its walls.

  Rick released the lung-burning breath he'd been holding. A glitch? Some kind of counter-program Lange didn't know about? He still didn't dare move, but cautious optimism and a curiosity toward what could've saved his ass trickled into his thoughts.

  Before he could brave a first breath or step, the image blurred and disappeared. Twin cylinders on each side of the podium retracted into the floor, and the floodlights cut out entirely.

  "Okay..." Rick muttered in the darkness. "Now what?"

  Noticing his death grip on the little flashlight, Rick relaxed a fraction and resumed his hesitant steps forward. Torn by opposing desires to run as quickly possible and to avoid springing the "desecration" trap again, he moved around the crescent-shaped table. He kept a wary eye on the podium, half-expecting the image to spring back with a, "Gotcha!" and immediate death.

  Such an action didn't occur, and Rick found himself facing a simple set of double doors at the back of the room. He reached forward, expecting more traps, but the left door opened with ease, not even locked.

  A spiral staircase leading upward lay beyond the doors, and it creaked and shuddered as Rick climbed. At the top, a seamless hatch was present with no window, latches, or any discernable method of opening. Blinking, Rick put his hand on it. Am I going to have to haul a cutting torch up here?

  Just as he considered returning back the way he came and braving the possibility of the council room murder-trap again to procure equipment, the door released a loud hiss. Mechanical whirring resounded in the small area outside, and after a moment, the hatch creaked open.

  Braci
ng himself for the sight and stench of multiple rotting corpses, Rick pulled at the door. A hiss of stale air washed forward, but no sickening odor came with it.

  Slipping through, his eyes immediately went to first the large corpse, obviously Victor. The man's flesh had drawn close, but the body appeared well-preserved in the sealed room.

  Another body sat in a chair in the center of the room. All manner of tubes and wiring appeared to snake into the full-body suit he wore, and the seat was surrounded by monitors and other electrical equipment. Unlike Victor, the corpse didn't even appear slightly decayed. The man looked ancient in age with heavily wrinkled, mottled, and loose-hanging flesh, but if Rick hadn't known better, he might've thought the man was only unconscious.

  "You're here..." an awestruck voice sounded Rick's on left.

  Rick spun, shining his light into the shadows and tensing his body to fight. He drew in a sharp breath, shocked by who he saw, so much so that he didn't notice the hatch closing and sealing next to him.

  "You're here..." Elijah, very much alive, repeated.

  The former leader of the under-Haven enclave and the man responsible for the uprising, Elijah appeared thin and shabby. Several months of facial and head hair grew unkempt, and Elijah's eyes featured a distance, perhaps a light madness, which Rick found disconcerting.

  Elijah spoke again, seemingly half to Rick and half to himself. "Is this a new form of punishment, or have I simply forgotten? You cannot be here to release me, or is it you'll now share my torment? Didn't I open the door for you? Or no... perhaps you've always been here..." He stared at the ground, speaking rapidly. "New or old? Real or not? Have you, too, offended the Gods? Are you to stay here now, undying? But no, I saw you through the monitors." He pointed to the screens by the corpse in the chair.