Uprising

by Justin Kemppainen

  ******

  A slight wave of apprehension flared through Rick as, about ten minutes past when the raiding was supposed to start, dozens of armed men wearing Inquisitor black had spilled out of the front entrance of the Institute. Have we already drummed up that much activity? he wondered.

  His companion threw him a worried glance, but Rick gave a nonchalant shrug as if to say, 'oh well.' The other man frowned at this and watched as the group ran towards the square, moving out of sight.

  A couple of minutes later, making sure that they were a good distance away, they moved. Rick stood up, stretched, put his hands into his pockets and strolled again towards the barracks. As soon as he was close, he took a sharp left, away from the Institute. If his information from Elijah was correct, there was a staircase cut into the ground. Or, he mused, was it the ground that sprang up around the staircase?

  Rick dropped down and frantically waved for his partner, only a few feet behind, to do the same. A guard stood at the doorway at the bottom of the staircase, and Rick had caught a glimpse of the top of his head before he slid out of sight. He didn't think the man had noticed him, but he drew his pistol anyway.

  A few seconds passed with no activity, and Rick breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Crawling on the ground, he moved forward through the grass, circling around to position himself just over the lip with the bottom of the staircase and the guard several feet below.

  Rick was glad it was dark outside. He felt exposed enough during the night crawling through the grass in a suit. In daylight, he would have been a great deal more edgy and uncomfortable. Perhaps, he thought, it's because I haven't seen daylight in years.

  Without waiting to see if any hostiles noticed him, Rick gripped the edge of the lip and pulled himself over, flipping down and bringing his feet down directly on top of the man below. His kick connected with the back of the man's head, who stumbled and rebounded off the wall next to him. The man barely had time to give a startled cry or even turn around before Rick pushed the barrel into his back and fired. With a short crack from the pistol, the man's body convulsed once before he sank to his knees and collapsed. There was a slight ting as the brass casing tumbled on the ground.

  A second later, as Jonathon came down the stairs, Rick was already dragging the body into the open doors. A short hallway, looking like an underground utility tunnel, stretched in front of them. Probably some kind of maintenance passage built when the traveling bridges first went up, he thought.

  Leaving the body behind and closing the doors, the two men cautiously passed down the hallway, which cut towards the left. Ahead of them was a well-lit opening. His sense of direction told him that he had to be between the lobbies of the Escape and the Institute.

  Edging closer to the opening, he could see a wall on his right with a closed set of double doors. Across from him, he could see another long hallway. He heard indistinct male voices speaking, two of them. He judged them to be a good distance away.

  Rick made a snap decision. Rather than risk being spotted, he decided to use the element of surprise to get a quick attack in. He pantomimed kneeling to Jonathon, pointing at him and patting himself on the shoulder. The other soldier looked confused for a moment, but realization dawned in his eyes, and he nodded.

  In a fluid motion, he took a long step, down to one knee, into the room. He brought up his pistol and took aim. In the room, he spotted two men at opposite corners, sitting at rounded desks. Rick's companion stepped in behind him and aimed over his shoulder.

  Rick shouted. "Left!" as he aimed at the left man and pulled his trigger several times. At the range, it wasn't the most accurate, but he noted wounds blossoming on the man, who twitched and jerked as the bullets ripped into his body.

  The man at the right desk remained unscathed, and it was at this point that he realized his cohort had taken his shout to mean to attack the left. The man was pulling up a weapon. Rick swiveled his pistol in what felt like slow motion and fired.

  The two shots Rick managed to squeeze off, without careful aiming, missed. They whizzed on either side of the man's head and buried into the wall behind him. The guard at the desk, now brandishing a submachine gun, pulled the trigger. He also failed to aim carefully, but his spread and rate of fire was significantly higher.

  Rick launched himself towards the ground, feeling the sharp hiss of rounds whistling by his body. Behind him, as he collided with the hard tile flooring, he heard the sounds of the bullets pounding into solid walls. He barely had time to hope that his companion had ducked behind the corner when he heard the sound of splintering wood as a bullet chipped into the doorframe, followed by a yell of pain.

  Lying prone on the ground, unable to take the time to assess his companion's injury, Rick rolled further towards the middle of the room as the spray of submachine gun fire continued to cut the air above and slice divots into the tile flooring next to him. He passed out of direct line of sight of his assailant. Lying on his stomach, he snapped his pistol up and, with the same hiss of the silencer, sent several rounds into the desk, about where he thought the man's body would be.

  Wood splintering, the rounds tore into the solid material. He kept firing until the slide on the weapon slammed open, out of ammunition. As this occurred, Rick felt considerable dismay to see his opponent rising over the desk, uninjured and bringing his weapon to bear.

  As the man drew a bead on him, dark red holes appeared on his chest, and a small amount of blood spattered on Rick's face. The Citizen gave a cry of pain and twisted around, clenching his fist and squeezing the trigger. An arc of collateral fire scattered throughout the room. Bullets shattered a light fixture and rebounded off the walls and ceiling. Rick tucked his head behind his arms, feeling the light shower dust and fragments raining on his back.

  When no misplaced or haphazard round struck him, Rick slowly uncovered his head and rolled over. His companion had still one arm extended, brandishing his pistol. The other arm was clenched at his midsection. Rick clambered to his feet, a flare of concern noting dripping blood from Jonathon's stomach.

  Rick leaned sideways over the desk, checking the body. He relaxed when he saw the glassy stare of the dead man clutching his submachine gun. "How bad?" he called, moving towards Jonathon.

  The injured man held up his right hand, the one holding the weapon, waving him off. "It's nothing: just my hand." As Rick neared, he was relieved to see it actually was only the hand bleeding. "Damn thing skipped right off the door jamb," Jonathon continued, gesturing with his gun. Looking past, Rick saw a small divot cut into the door and splinters of wood jutting out.

  Rick breathed a sigh of relief. "First aid?"

  Jonathon nodded, wiping his forehead with the arm connected to his bloody hand. Rick winced, seeing the mash of ragged flesh on the outside of his hand between the pinky and wrist. "Small kit in the briefcase."

  "Wrap that up, I'll take a look over here."

  He kicked open the double doors leading into the next room, and, after a quick sweep, he declared it empty. Scattered radio equipment lay on a table, but it appeared as though no one had been inside in a while. Probably, Rick thought, since the attack.

  Satisfied that the area was at least moderately secured, Rick strolled over to the desk once more, running his fingers along the deep impacts that his weapon had made. He glanced along the back, shaking his head as he noticed no exit marks. His rounds hadn't penetrated the thick wood.

  "Damn," he called out, "thought it would be thinner than that."

  Jonathon, wrapping his hand in a roll of gauze, gave a laugh and shook his head, "You're lucky I was here to save your ass."

  Peering down into the impact marks, imagining he could see the flattened slugs imbedded in the desk, he called without looking, "I'm lucky you had the common sense to duck behind cover."

  Jonathon finished wrapping his hand and stood up, sliding his weapon back into his pocket and snapping the briefcase shut. He appraised the wounded hand. "Not quite sense enough..." he muttered.


  "Get over here," Rick ordered, ending the conversation, "and let's figure out how to get this rig moving."

  Jonathon walked over to the opposite desk and slid over the top. Rick was already seated at the chair looking through the desk drawers for some kind of switch or release that would control the elevator.

  "Boss," Jonathon called out, pointing at something on the wall. Rick looked, viewing a slit set in a small panel. There was another on his side as well; this one had two buttons, one up and one down. "Card readers?" he asked.

  Rick nodded. "Search them." He gestured to the bodies.

  Crouching down, he rifled through the dead man's pockets. After a few moments, he produced a blank plastic card with a magnetic strip. He stood up, seeing Jonathon holding a similar object.

  "At the same time?" Jonathon inquired, holding his card up.

  "I would assume so," Rick responded. He checked his watch. "They should be ready by now."

  At Rick's signal, both men slid the cards into their slots, noting with satisfaction the small green lights that appeared on the panel as well as one at the top of the elevator. Rick pressed the up arrow button. He smiled as he heard the soft sliding whir of the elevator cable passing through the pulley inside the shaft.

  While the elevator ascended, Rick scooped up the submachine gun and ejected the magazine. He peered at what remained of the ammunition in it before frowning and casting the near-empty clip aside. He searched the pockets of the dead man again and found two spares. He stuck the clip in, checked the slide, switched the safety to 'on,' and set it down on the desk.

  He also discovered a sidearm with one extra clip, which he also checked and placed on the desk. He smiled in satisfaction as, in spite of fumbling around with one and a half hands, Jonathon managed to do the same with the other body.

  Unconcerned about the fresh blood splattered on the fabric, Rick sat down in the swivel chair and relaxed for a moment as the elevator ascended. Jonathon moved over and set the briefcase in front of Rick and opened it. Inside was a small assault rifle. Rick gave a low whistle. Isn't that a nice little thing? he thought.

  With a forlorn look, Jonathon said, "I can't use this. Take it."

  Rick cocked his head as he gingerly picked up the weapon. It was in pristine condition, and he recognized the integrated scope and bullpup design. Unlike a lot of the other salvaged weapons, it looked clean and polished. Instinctively, he checked the slide and the magazine. Turning it over in his hands, he whispered, "She's beautiful…"

  Smiling, Rick said, "Thanks," before slipping on a thick belt with compartments. He stuck a new clip into his sidearm and holstered it. In the other slots, he placed his spare clips and adjusted the suit coat to poorly conceal the bulky adornment. Finally, he stood up and slung the assault rifle, curling a slight smirk at the mournful look on Jonathon's face.

  The other man turned away and grasped a submachine gun. He aimed it around, stabilizing it in the crook of his arm; he was testing out the use of only one hand. After a moment of this, he shrugged and slung the weapon.

  With a soft electronic ding, the wide elevator doors slid open. Out rushed a large number of men clad in dark colors wielding weapons of various sizes. They swiftly moved around the area, checking the exits and posting sentries. When enough, "Clear!" statements were issued, the remaining vigilant men guarding the inside of the elevator dispersed, leaving two men, Victor and Elijah, standing alone.

  Rick stepped forward and gave the two men a nod.

  Elijah put on a soft smile. "Well done, well done."

  "Thanks," Rick said quickly, "now let's get going."

  Elijah's smile widened, deepening the lines on his face. "After you."