Swarmed

by Simone Pond

  33

  (1 hour remaining)

  It’s getting way too close to the end game, and Noah’s starting to slow down. I stop to inspect his blood-speckled bandage, which is drenched in sweat.

  “I should change this,” I say.

  “You should stop worrying. We have exactly one hour.”

  I don’t argue. Time is far too precious at this point. We keep walking, staying quiet to conserve our energy. I can’t remember the last time we ate, hydrated or had a full night of sleep. Everything’s blurring together, and I’m beyond delirious. We reach the top of an incline, and I think I see something through the trees, but I’m not sure if it’s a mirage. The building is so white it’s vibrating against the rich blue sky.

  “That’s it. I think you should stay here while I go deal with my brother.”

  “I’m not letting you go alone,” Noah argues.

  “You need to rest. I’ll deal with Achilles.”

  “Is that so?” The voice sounds like it belongs to Achilles.

  Once again, I question whether or not I’m hallucinating. Sure enough, when I turn around, Achilles is standing a few yards away, aiming a gun at me. I go for the gun tucked against the curve of my spine, but Achilles fires off a shot, which splinters the bark of a nearby tree. I jump in front of Noah to protect him. “What are you doing?” I yell.

  “I figured since you don’t give a shit about your life, I’d focus on your beau.”

  “He’s not my beau. But you probably know who he is by now. If you hurt him, Commissioner Brenson will end you in a heartbeat.”

  “Why would I kill my leverage?” His words cut through me like an icepick.

  “I’m turning myself in. Why do you need any leverage at all? Just fix his DOD and let him go.”

  “That’s awfully noble of you, Kal. But we both know I don’t have any use for you other than the safe house locations,” he pauses, “so I’ll keep your friend around to help encourage you to hand them over. The locations and the code.”

  “Code?” I play dumb, but my poker face is the worst.

  “The code to break the server. The reason why you’re here, dear sister.”

  “Please don’t call me that. I don’t know you any more.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase, since the clock is most definitely ticking. I’m hired to make sure the DOD program stays intact. And I need to rid the grid of those pesky Borders. So, you’ll hand over the safe house locations, or your boyfriend takes a shot to the left knee, and then another one to the right.”

  I’m trembling as hatred curls through my insides like vines of thorns.

  Noah steps forward. He’s pale, and his curls are damp with sweat. “She’s not giving you anything. So you’ll just have to shoot me.”

  “Shut up, Brenson,” Achilles shouts.

  “Why are you doing this?” I cry out.

  “The System of Balance is crucial to our society’s survival. Without it, everything crumbles. Chaos ensues.”

  “The system is broken. Maybe it needs to crumble. Aren’t you tired of being a slave to the Technocrats—a minion doing their dirty work? Don’t you want to help people instead of hurt them?”

  “You can’t save them,” Achilles says. “People don’t want to change. They’ll keep doing the same destructive shit over and over, regardless of who they hurt.”

  “That doesn’t give you—or anyone else—the right to lie and mislead them or kill them off once they’re no longer a resource. It doesn’t justify working Short-Timers to an early grave. Nobody gets to decide if someone is more important than another person. Not you. Not the Technocrats. Not a machine.”

  Achilles shakes his head, dismayed. “I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” He turns and whistles toward the trees.

  From behind the oaks, my father hobbles out and stands next to Achilles. Tears spring to my eyes, and I double over choking for air. No. Not our father. My father. I was supposed to keep him alive. I was supposed to get our family back together. I was a fool to think our bond would withstand the SOB. I was naive to think our love was enough make things right. Achilles types something into his watch. In the distance, a familiar buzz rises. A swarm is coming. This monster is going to kill my father if I don’t do something.

  “Make them stop!” I scream, but Achilles doesn’t budge. “Dad!” I run to my father, but he holds up his hands for me to stop.

  “Locations, Kal,” Achilles orders.

  It takes every ounce of restraint not to shove my gun into his mouth and fire until every last bullet is gone. “Fine!”

  Before the swarm reaches my father, Achilles types something into his watch and the black tornado zooms off to the tower from where it came.

  Achilles holds the gun up to our father’s head. “I’m waiting.”

  I glance at my father, tears rolling down my face. His weary violet-blue eyes harbor so much pain. Something tells me he’d be relieved to go—to rest in peace. Be free of pain. No more toiling away the days. But how can I let him go like this, by the hand of his son? As much as I want to save my father, I know there’s a larger purpose at play. It’s about saving the innocent victims of the system—not just the addicts, but all of the indentured servants of the SOB. It’s about breaking down this unjust system. Saving the southern grids from further doom. The only way to do that is to remove Achilles from the equation. My whole life I thought I needed him to protect me, or to stand up for me. But I was lying to myself—I never needed him. Period.

  “I love you, Dad,” I whisper, reaching for my gun and aiming at Achilles.

  “What are you doing, foolish girl?” Achilles shouts.

  “This is bigger than saving our family.”

  “You’ve already done so much for me, dear daughter. Save yourself and the others.”

  I keep my gun pointed at Achilles. He shifts back and forth between me and our father, not sure if I’m bluffing. Finally he pulls the trigger, the fire rings through the trees, deafening me. My father hits the dirt, blood oozes from the bullet hole lodged in his temple. In the booming aftershock, I fire my gun and hit Achilles in the chest, where his heart once resided. He drops to the ground next to my father. I fall to my knees, sobbing. Kneeling between them, I howl to the trees for the injustice of it all, begging for things to be different. My brother reaches out, grasping for my hand. But I won’t let him touch me.

  “I’m sorry, Kal. I’m so sorry.” His words come out slow as tears brim in his pale eyes. “I don’t know what happened to me … Forgive me …” His cries are so desperate and full of regret, I have to look away to shut him out. When I was little, I thought he’d always be there for me. But he let me down. He let all of us down. As much as I want to cling to my anger, the bitterness lifts from my heart, leaving me with sympathy for this pitiful man crumpled on the ground dying before me.

  “I was … so mad at her …” he chokes out.

  “Mad at who?”

  “Our mother … I had nowhere else to turn.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She spearheaded the resistance … I begged her to stop, but she kept putting our lives at risk … I was so worried about you, Kal. I couldn’t bear the possibility of losing you … so I turned her in.”

  Images of my mother pour into my thoughts; memories I’ve been repressing for years. I remember sitting on the steps, watching her preaching before a small group in our living room. I didn’t understand what their heated discussions were about, but I remember hearing the term SOB used a lot and I inherently knew it wasn’t good. This explains why she had a computer. Why she was swarmed. My mother was the head of the resistance. She wanted to take down the System of Balance.

  “I didn’t know they’d swarm her … I thought they’d … I don’t know. I just wanted to protect you,” Achilles gurgles as blood seeps from the corners of his mouth. I hold his hand as he murmurs his dying words. “But you never needed me to protect you, Kal … I was the one who needed you.
”

  I want to hate him. I want to pound on his chest and make him take back every wrong thing he’s ever done. I want to tell him that even though he’s a monster I still have love for him. But my lips are too heavy.

  “It’s on the top floor … the server—” he whispers with his last breath.

  My brother dies in my arms next to our father. And just like that, every single thing I’ve been clutching with my interminable grip is torn away. My family is no more. As I pound my balled up fists against the dirt, realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning from the heavens. It’s time to let go.

  Noah gently touches my shoulder and helps me to my feet. He holds me while I sob out oceans of tears. But this isn’t over. I’m going to finish what my mother started years ago. What she died for. What Johnson and so many Borders have died for. I’m going to destroy the SOB. And I’m going to live.

  34

  (30 minutes remaining)

  I stand over my brother’s dead body, holding the rusty machete, knowing this is the only way to finish what I’ve started. I stretch his arm across the dirt, then lift the blade above my head and slice through the air, cutting off my brother’s hand. Now I have fingerprints to access the server room. I wrap the gruesome appendage in some bandages and tuck it into the side pocket of my trousers. Noah sits with his back against the tree, watching me with shock and horror in his eyes. I’d like to be a little more grossed out, but there simply isn’t enough time.

  “You sure you don’t need me?” he asks.

  “We have precisely thirty minutes. I don’t need you slowing me down.” I glance over, smiling.

  “You know what I don’t understand?”

  “What’s that?” I secure a gun behind my back, making sure I have easy access.

  “After all we’ve been through, you still won’t call me your beau.” He feigns wiping away a tear.

  “While you are most definitely charming—when you choose to be—and you’d be quite a catch for any fine young lady, you’ve forgotten something vitally important.”

  “What’s that?”

  I spread out my arms and curtsy. “I’m no lady.”

  He grabs my ankle and pulls me over. I kneel next to him and brush my lips against his salty cheek. He reaches around my waist, clasping me, then kisses me long and hard, making it nearly impossible to focus on the matter at hand.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he says in my ear, sending tingles down my neck.

  “If you ever want to hear me call you my beau, then I better go.”

  I pull away and salute him like a soldier going off to war, then head down the path, praying to the heavens above this isn’t the last time I lay eyes on Noah Brenson.

  I make it to the clearing and scope out the building. One guard stands near the exit door, while another is making rounds along the perimeter. I measure out the time it takes for him to circle the building, and once he’s around the corner I make my way across the grass. The man guarding the exit door spots me and raises his rifle. I hold up the orange flag I snagged from the boat and wave it back and forth. He motions for me to move in. I approach with caution and start crying, which isn’t too difficult after what just happened back in the woods.

  The guard comes in closer, studying me. Confusion feathers across his suntanned face. “You’re not supposed to leave the dock.”

  I sob and stammer incoherently. “There was an accident … it was brutal … gunshots … so much blood.”

  “Slow down, miss. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

  I throw down the flag and grab his arms. “You have to stop them!”

  He shoves me, and I topple onto the ground, crying even harder now.

  “I’m sorry, miss. But you can’t touch me like that. Here, let me help you.” He reaches out his hand.

  As he pulls me up, I grab for my gun and press it into his ribs, yanking the rifle from his shoulder and sliding it over mine. “You’re getting me into the building. You’re going to pretend like you’ve captured me and you’re bringing me in for questioning.”

  “You won’t make it past security,” he snorts.

  “What about that door you’re guarding?”

  He doesn’t reply, so I press the gun deeper into his ribs and cock the lever to let him know I’m serious. He half nods and starts walking to the door. We’re a few yards away when the other guard comes around the corner, spotting us. He fires off his rifle in warning. The bullet whizzes inches from my head. I fire back to slow him down.

  “Hurry and open that door, unless you want to be used as a shield!” I yell.

  The guard angrily fumbles with the keypad. Another shot fires and plugs him in the leg. He falls to the ground, but not before the door unlocks. I run inside, slamming the heavy door behind me. The corridor is pitch black except for a square of light at the end. I run to the door and peek through the glass window. Sunlight fills the lobby. Tiers of balconies and tons of indoor trees surround the glass atrium. The only way up to the top floor seems to be the elevator, which happens to be right next to security. I glance around for a stairwell, but I don’t see anything.

  The exit door behind me opens, and the guard shouts for me to freeze. Ignoring him, I open the door and dash into the lobby, quickly ducking behind a tree. He bursts into the lobby, yelling to the security about a breach. I grab one of the tree branches and hoist myself up and start climbing. My rustling causes some of the drier leaves to fall and sprinkle onto the floor below. I’m about a foot away from the balcony when the first gunshot fires, zipping into the trees. Leaves scatter and rain down. There’s no time to fire back, so I keep climbing until I can grasp the ledge of the balcony. I pull myself over the side and drop to the floor. Office employees are pressed against the wall, staring in fright.

  I grab a woman in a white lab coat. “Get me to the server room,” I grunt, pressing the gun into her back.

  The elevator doors slide open, and a slew of guards fan out, aiming their guns as they move onto the floor. I quickly yank the woman into the closest office. “Is there another way?” I yell.

  She starts crying, causing her black-framed glasses to fog up. “A stairwell … down the hall.”

  “Is there another way down the hall?”

  She shakes her head, cowering behind her hands. The distance to the elevator is shorter and less risky.

  “Take off your lab coat. And give me those glasses.”

  “You’ll never get in,” she says.

  I pull the coat over my filthy clothes and put on her glasses. Everything goes blurry. I lower the frames down my nose so I can see where I’m going. “Put this backpack over your shoulder and when I open the door, run toward the stairwell. Got it?”

  “What if they shoot me?”

  “Keep moving. A moving target is harder to hit.”

  “But I won’t be able to see where I’m going.”

  This poor lady doesn’t deserve this. I give back her glasses. “Just dive to the ground and keep your hands raised in surrender.”

  I peak out the door, scanning the path to the elevator. It’s clear. The guards are on the other side, busting into offices. I push her into the hallway, and she starts running toward the stairwell. “There she is!” I yell, crouching low and inching my way to the elevator.

  The guards rush to the woman, giving me time to dash to the elevator without being noticed. I use the badge on her lab coat to open the doors, but the button to the top floor won’t light up. I reach into my side pocket and pull out my brother’s severed hand and press the stiff index finger onto the button. It lights up. The doors start to close, and one of the men fires at me, but he’s too late.

  On the top floor, I pull the emergency stop and step out of the elevator. At the end of the long hallway, two guards are blockading the door to the server room.

  One of the men approaches and calls out, “What are you doing on this floor?”

  “There’s been a security breach. Mr. Reines has been captured, a
nd I’m the only person with permission to the server room.”

  The guard scans my badge, then scrutinizes me. I don’t look anything like the blond-haired woman wearing glasses in the photo. I’m busted. Before he has time to pull his gun on me, I shoot him in the gut. He howls and collapses into me, and we fall. His head smacks against the marble floor, instantly knocking him out. The other guard rushes toward us, pointing his gun. “Don’t move!” he yells as he gets closer.

  I’m pinned under the guard, so I have to pry my arm out from under him to fire at the approaching guard. The chamber is empty. I reach under the man and grab the gun from his holster and start shooting. The guard ducks behind a potted plant even though every single bullet misses him. Then a thunderbolt of pain blazes into my thigh and my muscle catches on fire. I wedge myself under the guard, using his heavy body as a shield of armor.

  “It’ll be easier if you surrender,” he yells.

  “Fine! You got me.” I toss my empty gun into the hallway and drag myself out from under the guard.

  He comes out from behind the planter, and when he gets close enough I pull out the other gun and shoot, hitting him in the shoulder. He falls back against the wall, and I force him to hand over his gun, then run to the server room. Once again, I use my brother’s severed hand and open the door. Inside the enormous server room, an orchestra of machines hums. I need to find the SOB.

  35

  (10 minutes remaining)

  Only ten minutes before my DOD triggers the flies and I get swarmed. My pant leg is drenched in blood, but the blistering pain has eased a bit. I yank a cord from a stack of servers and tie it around my upper thigh, then limp around in search of the main server. The gargantuan SOB is situated in front of a vast span of windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean; the last rays of sun ripple over the glossy sea. I unfold the piece of paper containing the code, but the numbers are blurred and smeary. I guess that’s what happens when you jump into a large body of water.