Apocalypse For Realz

by Bella Street

Seffy gasped when she recognized herself.

  She spun back to Trent, who stared at the woman in pink, bleak disappointment marring his face. He stepped backward over the threshold.

  Seffy lurched into motion, determined to stop him, but the strange crunch of glass under her feet arrested her attention. Looking down, she saw the remnants of the disco ball shattered on the floor, glittering wickedly from shafts of sunlight coming in the holes in the ceiling. The music was gone. The rainbow lights, gone. She looked toward the doorway.

  Trent was gone, too.

  Seffy was crying when she awoke. She didn't know if it was the sobbing or the terror of the dream that had brought her out of a fitful sleep.

  She sat up and pushed her hair from her eyes. Automatically her hand went to the other side of the bed, and as usual, there was no one there to touch.

  She gave into her tears until she was too weak to continue. Her empty arms ached, her heart was hollow, and she knew on some level she had let Trent down.

  But no matter how hard she tried to puzzle out her dreams, she couldn't make sense of anything except that Trent couldn't wait for her to catch up.

  At what point would he abandon her dreams all together?

  Wiping away her tears with shaking hands, Seffy clambered from the bed and went into the bathroom. Her wrecked reflection didn't help any. What am I supposed to do? How can I make things right? Or do I just hang around hoping for something to change?

  She thought of the secret lab. All this time Olga had been one of the Haz-Mat specters, all this time she'd been working in the shadows, following her own agenda. What had Trent said? To be careful who she trusted because ultimately Olga worked for Fugere. When the nurse wasn't stirring petri dishes filled with blood and the Bubonic plague, had she been really dosing her with pharmaceutical cocktails, despite her assertions to the contrary?

  If only she could turn back the clock, Seffy would've done so many things differently. She would've torn the masks away from the Haz-Mat freaks—revealing their identities instead of living in fear.

  She would've fought back instead of yielding to their invasive inquiries.

  She wouldn't sit around waiting for the compound to get their act together and send them home. If she could go back even further, she would've denied those sleazy directors what they thought they had a right to; she would've fought the mayor's abuse and found some other way to survive.

  But most of all she wouldn't have resisted Trent for so long.

  Seffy's bravado crumpled. She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water to hide her tears. Images from her dream returned. Where had Trent been going? How could she get there? Why did he seem to be waiting on her?

  What should I do? What can I really change? If only I could really turn back the clock.

  What other secrets was the compound hiding? What other hidden rooms? What did they contain? Maybe real time-travel equipment wasn't in the computer lab, but somewhere else.

  Maybe it was time to stop asking and start finding.

  Seffy went into her room and yanked Trent's hoodie over her head. She opened the dresser and pulled out the gun he'd given her a while back. Tucking it into the front hoodie pocket, she headed out the door, determined to make something—anything—happen.

  ***

  How could someone look so innocent in sleep when they were a hell bitch when awake?

  Seffy stood over Fiona where she lay stretched out in Fenn's bed. Long dark lashes swept down over high cheekbones in a delicate, oval face. It would be a shame to see such a beauty drowning in her own blood.

  Almost.

  Seffy glanced at the doorway to the bedroom. Fenn's residence was otherwise empty, although she knew he could return at any moment. The stupid guards had been more afraid of her than she was of them. But it was a symbiosis that worked.

  Adrenaline washed through her arteries as she pulled the gun from her pocket. Seffy held it out, gripping it with the proper form Malone had taught her. She'd blown a man's brains out before. She could do it again.

  Unless she got real answers.

  Time to stop asking and to start finding. No more excuses.

  Seffy moved closer to the bed and lightly placed the barrel of the gun against Fiona's temple. Her hands only shook a little.

  Fiona's eyes snapped opened. But instead of belligerence, abject fear flickered in their dark depths as her hands moved to cover her stomach. Seffy glanced down at the hands on Fiona's belly. A sick feeling filled her and her grip on the gun faltered.

  Oh, you have got to be kidding.

  She tightened her grip on the gun. “Tell me how I can leave this place.”

  Fiona licked her lips. “You know where the front door is.”

  “I want to go back to my own time.”

  “You already know the answer to that.” Sweat dotted the woman's brow.

  Seffy pressed the gun harder into Fiona's head. “Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now.”

  “You know the answer to that, too.”

  “Um, no. So far you've only given me more reasons to kill you, not less.”

  “So...you're turning murderer now?”

  Seffy grimaced. “I have to ask myself; was Jared—an actual murderer by the way—subjected to this 'murderer' label? Because I'm just not feeling it for myself.” She cocked her head. “Then again, in your case, I could make an exception.”

  “What's going on?”

  Fenn. And panicked if his tone was any indication. She ignored him and wondered if she had the guts to pull the trigger.

  The last time she'd wanted to kill Fiona, the woman had been absent. But this time she was most definitely present. There was nothing to stop her.

  It might not answer any actual questions, but at the very least it would be therapeutic.

  “Seffy, put down the gun. Your argument isn't with her. It's with me.”

  And Fenn would be next.

  “Please.”

  He obviously didn't realize how stupid he sounded—like some long-suffering parent to an over-indulged child. Besides, it was diverting to watch Fiona squirm.

  “Seffy, do you think Trent would want you acting this way?”

  Seffy swung around and pointed the gun at Fenn's heart. “Don't you dare talk about Trent to me.”

  But just hearing her husband's name drained the fight from her. Steeling herself against an urge to give in once more to her sorrow, she stalked from the room, slamming into Fenn's shoulder on the way out.

  As usual, she was leaving with even less information than before.

  When she got to the anteroom doors, she heard her name. Seffy paused only because she was curious what kind of excuse Fenn would come up with this time. She turned to him, contempt contorting her face. “So when's the blessed event?”

  His eyes widened as if surprised by her words.

  “Unless Fiona covered her stomach to protect a gallstone or...?”

  “About seven months away. She only just found out.” He hesitated, his gaze averted. “That puts conception around the time the earthquakes started.”

  Seffy stared at the man, imagining him calculating and charting such a thing when it mattered the least in all that had happened in the last weeks. “Well, I guess now I know what you do in a crisis besides nothing.”

  Fenn met her eyes. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  “What do you think? I want to go home.” She put up her hand, cutting off his rehearsed response. She had only herself to blame for expecting a different outcome from the same actions. “Maybe there is something you can do for me. I need a roll of Scotch tape.”

  He looked confused. “Tape?”

  “Or is that 'impossible', too?”

  Fenn turned away and went to a drawer in the kitchen. He returned with a roll of cellophane tape and handed it to her. The action pulled at the sleeve on his arm, revealing lurid bruising above his wrist.

  Seffy flinched at the sight, then snatched the tape from his hand.<
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  Without another word, she left his residence, sneered at the guards, and trudged back to her room.

  Climbing onto her bed, she opened the packet of photographs. Her anger fled before a wave of sadness as she pulled the photos out, memorizing each image one by one. Seffy taped the photos along the side of the nightstand, so when she woke up, she could at least see Trent's face.

  As she taped up the last one, she thought of Fenn's words. Would Trent want her waving her gun around, threatening pregnant women? Maybe. Maybe not. Okay, probably not.

  God, Fiona was knocked up. How bizarre was that? She didn't exactly seem the motherly type. Fenn probably had to talk her out of having an abortion. Seffy already felt sorry for the kid.

  Her thoughts returned to Trent. What would he want her to do? What would his plan of action be? Nothing obvious came to mind about her predicament, but one thing she knew for sure.

  Trent wouldn't take no for an answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Knock knock.”

  Gareth poked his head in Lani's room. He found the brunette and Addison sitting on the couch conversing in low tones. They looked up at his entrance. He smiled slightly. “Is this a bad time?”

  Lani shook her head but Addy remained stoic.

  Gareth suppressed a stab of frustration at the redhead's recalcitrant behavior. He could make no sense of it. “Just wondered if you were ready to head to the cafeteria.”

  Lani bit her lip. “It's getting weird there. Every time we go, there's less and less people.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I noticed that, too. I think some of the residents are leaving.”

  “What if the lunch ladies who are left finish us off with more poison?”

  Gareth raised a brow at Addison's response. “I think they would have by now, if that was their intention.”

  Addison jumped up from the couch. “That's the point, Gareth! They already have!”

  “They didn't know it was poison last time—and it wasn't exactly harmful. It was a behavior modifica—”

  “And months later we're still here,” Addison interrupted. “Still rotting away in this godforsaken dump in the middle of the desert!”

  His banked frustration boiled to the surface. “I don't see what you've done to get us out of here, Addy. Maybe I haven't done enough, but you've done exactly zip.”

  Her face paled even as her eyes flared.

  “I think we're all just a little stressed,” Lani said, pressing her hands together as if in supplication. “And hungry. If we eat something, we'll all feel better.”

  “If it's not poisoned,” Gareth groused.

  “Trent would know what to do,” the redhead said, her tone bitter.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Gareth snapped.

  “At least he tried. He even got us away from here once.”

  “And we all know how well that went,” he said, striding up to her. “You want to leave so bad, you know where the main entrance is.”

  Her green eyes clouded as she stepped back. “He didn't leave us behind. They could've left without us, but they didn't.”

  “Well, unfortunately your savior is dead.”

  Lani let out a small gasp.

  “I'm not looking for a savior here,” Addison said in a flat voice. “I'm looking for my friends to do the right thing.”

  “Which is?” Fatigue pulled at him. He was tired of going in circles with the woman.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to change her mind at the last minute. “To get us home,” she finally said.

  Gareth sighed and glanced at Lani.

  She shook her head. “I'm not hungry anymore.”

  “Fine.”

  Ignoring Addison, he left their room, intent on taking his chances in the nearly deserted cafeteria.

  These days the lunch ladies were better company.

  ***

  Gazing at Trent's pictures didn't solidify her resolve as she'd hoped. Instead Seffy found herself going to pieces every few minutes. But looking away from the photos meant looking at the empty bed, then the empty room, which echoed her empty life.

  A hectic, strung-up feeling made her jittery. She needed something to do. Something to accomplish beyond regretting what couldn't be changed. And she doubted Trent would want her moping around anyway.

  He'd be pushing against every barrier, exploiting every weakness.

  But he was gone; abandoning her to her fate. Maybe that was the rub. People kept leaving her—her parents, her friends, her husband. It was hard not to get a little wound up at the notion.

  Then again, she had nothing to lose now. What was the worst that could happen?

  A slight tremor ran through her body. If the worst was death, the compound would find some way to make it doubly creative and painful.

  I don't want to die here. I don't want to be a rat in a cage. But that meant pushing at those barriers, harder than ever. If Olga had a secret lab, surely there were other secrets tucked away in the nooks and crannies of Fugere. Secrets to exploit in order to gain her freedom. Even if that freedom were just a sham.

  Seffy went to the door and out to the hallway. She looked toward her friends' rooms and knew she didn't want to head in that direction. Same with Fenn's residence. That way just meant more lies. Which left one avenue.

  The psychonautics hallway.

  If there was ever a place for secrets, it would be there—despite being at the end of the line, of having an exit with no way out.

  Would the double doors be bolted closed today? Maybe she should check it out. After all, what was there left to fear? The worst had already happened to her. She twisted her wedding band on her finger, anxiety beginning to thrum in her veins.

  Remembering the lack of lighting, Seffy went back into her room and retrieved a flashlight. Taking a deep breath, she marched around the corner, past Trent's door, and stopped in front of the double doors threaded with a heavy chain and deadbolt. The deadbolt was locked.

  Tight.

  Why? Why now? Trent had said he checked it regularly, yet every time she'd come to the doors, the padlock was disengaged. What the hell did it all mean?

  Feeling disconnected from reality, she pulled the key from her chain. Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key in the lock—just for kicks.

  The popping sound did little to reassure her. Did the compound buy padlocks in bulk with the same locks? Or were the keys more like skeleton keys of old?

  Skeletons. Now there was another reassuring symbol of Fugere.

  But that also meant Jared must've figured it out. The little weasel had to have been the one opening and closing this padlock at will—he had the best access and obviously some form of motivation.

  But why did he want her dead? What'd she ever do to him? Except breathe?

  Seffy opened one side of the doors and propped it open with the pile of chains—just in case she needed a quick getaway. Of course there was nothing down here—nothing except horrific memories. But even that faded before the horror of loss.

  Once again she looked for light switches, but was unable to locate them. Neither the greenish glow of the exit light or the weak beam of the flashlight helped much. Still, she swept every room with light, almost daring something to jump out at her.

  But only eerie silence met her half-hearted search. No little girls in polka dot dresses. No haunting voices beckoning her somewhere she didn't want to go.

  She opened closets and pushed at panels. She went through every drawer and cupboard, looking for what, she didn't know.

  As she neared the last room, the hairs on the back of her neck got excited.

  She reminded herself it was just another room. Sure, extra crazy bad things happened here, but it was still just four walls. With cupboards. A closet. She swallowed. And a shiny, stainless steel exam table with leather straps.

  Her hands gripped the flashlight all the more tightly.

  Seffy directed her beam into the room, holding her breath until she re
minded herself she wasn't afraid. One last area remained unsearched. The narrow hall off the closet where she'd hidden herself.

  Seffy lifted her chin. She'd already survived down there for three days. Surely a peek down that passageway would put these strange fears to rest for once and for all.

  Making herself move was another matter.

  As she marshaled her nerves, Seffy swept every crevice of the room with the flashlight beam. An anomaly in the ceiling caught her attention.

  Training the beam on a spot of discoloration, she slowly realized she was looking at a water stain.

  Her vision tunneled on the brownish rings for a long time. A part of her wondered if any moisture remained. Was it an old stain from a leaky pipe? Or was it from a recent rainstorm?

  Her respiration crept up. This room wasn't close to the Light Room.

  Was it? Although the access from Trent's room was nearby, the path to the Light Room was in the opposite direction—in a building filled with concentric routes.

  Seffy remembered sealing the stains in the lower rooms beneath the Light Room. Even then, something had seemed off. All the stains had been on the periphery of the room—not in the centers. Which begged the question.

  What was directly under the Light Room?

  Did that have any bearing on the stain she was now seeing? She told herself it was probably just some vacant storage area. Heck, it was probably the place Trent had found the Christmas lights. Seffy slowly lowered the beam, deciding to shelve her questions for the moment.

  A girl stared back at her in the light. Seffy jumped and swore when she recognized Angelique.

  The flashlight in her hand wobbled alarmingly and she steadied it with the other hand, holding it out like a weapon.

  Breathing hard, she stared at the vision—and it was a vision—because the flashlight beam went straight through the girl to the closet door behind her.

  When Seffy's mouth came unstuck, she stiffened her spine. “Are you a ghost?”

  The girl continued to stare at her in that now-familiar unnerving way.

  “What do you want with me?”

  As soon as she asked the question, Seffy realized how stupid it was to talk to visions and ask questions that didn't have an answer anyway.