Crashland – Chapter 16

The light dimmed the moment he stepped through the archway. A slender corridor, walls tiled in white. Some crates had been moved into this section, the crews clearly hoping to economize on space since the cave in. He looked ahead and spotted another archway, pitch black inside. A faint echo of breathing coming from within.

That had to be it. The room that held Kurzweil’s bunk.

The syringe felt warm in his hand, even slippery. He was sweating through his palms and it was making it harder to keep a tight grip on it. He could feel his heart beating heavily and his breath going short too. His tried to step into the hallway but his feet refused to move.

Why can’t he do this? he asked himself. Molya was far more skilled at these sort of things. At least he thought he was. Jacobs had certainly alleged as much. And the way he seemed armed every time he saw him. Shouldn’t he be the one slipping his superior a needle in the dark?

Several deep breaths were needed before he could take the first step. He could feel the sweat forming around his collar and collecting under his arms. The stifling air didn’t improve that much either. The cool breeze that seemed to move periodically through the tunnel didn’t extend to this section, it seemed.

And then there was the smell of the place, the rich musk and years worth of dust that rose to meet him. Once more, he had to wonder just how long these tunnels had been in disuse. When was the last time people had pored through them, used them to link back and forth across the megacity? Had it even been that back then, or was it still a mere collection of urban centers, linked by nothing more than the old highways?

Considerations for another time, he thought. As welcome as a distraction would be right now, he needed to focus. He was inching up on the doorway and could hear the sound of breathing much more clearly. Kurzweil was asleep, no doubt exhausted from days of panic and crisis. A lucky thing too, he hadn’t waited very long before heading in. Holden wanted to get it done as quickly as possible, before he had a chance to chicken out.

He reached the archway finally. The darkness within was beginning to resolve itself, growing slightly brighter to his eyes. He looked back the way he had come. It seemed so bright that way now, every body that wandered by looking like scarcely more than a mottled shadow. He hugged the wall. No telling how they might react if they saw him down this way. He doubted Molya had briefed them on the matter of this little coup. Yet another reason why Holden was doing this instead of him, he ventured.

Things resolved themselves a bit more when he stepped inside. Tiny little status lights glowed red, green and orange around him. Various non-networked electronic devices that there had been no room for elsewhere. He had never seen so many in one place, not outside an antiquities shop or museum. He paused for a moment and wondered if any of them might be a motion detector. Just how paranoid was this man, that he might think one of his own would try to sneak in in the night and kill him?

Nothing appeared to be reacting to his presence, no alarms, no change in the lights, nothing at all since he had stepped into the room. And by now, he could see the cot on the far wall. Underneath the shiny exterior of a thermal blanket, Kurzweil’s slender frame could be made out. And he was snoring now, loud and long. He was enjoying this little bout of shuteye. A good thing, since it was going to be extended by quite awhile.

He could feel a change come over him. He wasn’t terribly apprehensive anymore, afraid to move forward or back. Now it was just a matter of getting to the target undetected, the sensation of walking on broken glass as he slipped across the tile floor. The only he could think of, the only thing that mattered, was not getting caught. Everything else had moved to the back of his mind where it would stay until the job was done.

Just a few more steps… The sound of his snoring was practically deafening. This close to him, with the syringe shaking in his hand, he could think of nothing else. Just the sound of his breathing, and how he needed it to stay even. Last minute worries, he knew. Would the drug kill him accidentally? What if he administered too much? Had the dose been calculated for him? What if it wasn’t enough?

Focus, he told himself. He couldn’t stop now. Slowly, he knelt down to the floor. One knee flat, the one bent and placed smartly. He inched himself just a bit more in the direction of the cot. Arm’s reach of the blanket, enough room to extend the syringe and plunge it into the meaty part of his leg. That seemed like the safest bet

Okay, this is it. He was as ready as he was ever going to be. It was now or never. No turning back. He lifted the edge of the thermal blanket and pressed the syringe forward.

And paused. There was very little light to see by, but underneath the blanket, he saw the unmistakable sign of a sandbag. The crisscross contours of the bags fibers and the lettering on it giving it away. He removed the syringe, slowly raised the blanket an inch more. Another one like it below, and several above, simulating the shape of a man.

Something closes around his neck and squeezed hard. Holden instinctively reached back and lost a hold of the syringe. It clattered on the floor as he was pulled up, the grip tightening around his neck.

“I knew that son of a bitch was in Jacob’s pocket,” Kurzweil said into his right ear. “After I’m done with you, I’m gonna take care of him too.”

Holden tried to scream, but the only sound he could emit was a strained cough. He tried shifting to his left, towards where his hand connected to his bracing arm. Too quickly, Kurzweil pulled him around and refashioned the grip. He tried to draw breath but couldn’t, the grip had closed around his trachea and was cutting off all air.

Every second felt like an eternity, but it only took a few seconds before he could feel himself growing faint. His brain being denied blood flow and oxygen. Panic and the dull sensation of sleep began to fight for control. Quickly, the latter was winning out.

“That’s it, go to sleep, boy. It’ll all be over soon.”

Holden reached for Kurzweil’s arm one last time. His fingers tapped against it feebly and then fell to his side. His legs began to give too, putting him even more at the mercy of Kurzweil’s grip. The last bit of light faded away as his eyes drew shut. His knees gave out, and everything went black…

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a thunderclap.

…

He felt a hand pushing at his shoulder. He felt the harsh stab of pain in his throat. He rolled over and tried to clear it. Several painful convulsions followed. The hand pushed him again, urging him to roll further. All he could feel was the terrible ache and the sensation of cold coming through his hands. He managed one final roll and landed on his back.

More pain, and a sputtering cough. Several deep breaths followed as his body fought to refill his lungs as many times over as possible, like they feared they’d be denied air in the future. He opened his eyes and waited for the blackness to peel away.

“Holden? Holden?” a voice said from over him. He could hear it now, the ringing noise in his ears. He was having a hard time making out the voice thanks to that interference. He blinked several times and saw the dark shape above him. He recoiled and drew his hands up to him.

“It’s okay,” the voice said, terribly distant. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He kept blinking, hoping it make the dark blob visible to him. He couldn’t see the features, but he recognized the profile well enough. Few other people he had met in the last few days were constantly in possession of a weapon.

“Molya?” he said, weakly. The image nodded. “What happened?” He put his hand to his ear again, could barely hear the sound of his own hand cupping against it. “Did the tunnel cave in?”

He heard a tinny noise, like laughter. Molya reached down to take a hold of him and hoisted him up. After a few painful movements, he set him down against a wall, his body landing in against a cot. Molya’s hands came near his face next, his fingers snapping in front of his eyes. He recoiled again.

“Good, you can see me,” he said. “Now I want to check your hearing, okay?”

Holden could only nod. He heard several ticks coming from his right ear. Molya’s hand moved in front of his face, then several dull ticks in his right. He wasn’t sure he was hearing anything at all, could have just been the sound of his heart, or something snapping inside him. At any moment, he felt like a million bones could break and he might crumple. His body exhausted from too many days of close shaves…

“Okay, looks like your left ear has suffered some damage. I’m sorry, he didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

“Wha… who?”

“And you’re also in shock. It’s okay, it’ll pass. Do you remember where you are?”

Holden looked around, thought he didn’t really have to. “Yes… Kurzweil’s room.”

The tinny sound again. “Right. Do you remember what happened?”

That one Holden had a bit of difficulty with. There was a terrible interrupt, something black and painful he couldn’t reach. Everything before that was clearer, depending on how far back he went.

“He was sleeping… He wanted me to… go to sleep.”

“That’s right,” Molya replied, nodding. “He tried to put you under with the ol’ Sleeper Hold. Luckily, I got to you before he could snap your neck. Sorry about your ear, but he tried to use you as a shield. I had barely a second before I could get a shot off.”

Holden was about to disagree. He hadn’t said anything about a hold, what was he talking about? He remembered the syringe, and how Kurzweil wanted to give it to him. Or was he supposed to give it to Kurzweil? Somehow, the two things seemed interchangeable.

Then he noticed the others in the room. Two armed people pulling something from the floor. He saw where Molya was looking, caught sight of the face with the terrible look of shock burned into the eyes.

He recoiled again. Kurzweil’s face, a frozen expression in rictus. Below his left eye, a small hole with burgundy coming from it. On the floor beneath him, more of the same, but blacker in the dim light. He breathing accelerated and he felt the need to ball up. Molya reached out and put a hand on him.

“It’s okay, Holden. I’m sorry you had to see that. But you have to know, he was trying to kill you. It was you or him, and I chose him.”

Holden drew several deep breaths. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons. Because my superior wouldn’t have wanted it. Because he ordered to kill you, in effect. Because he was being a total prick.” He grinned, then turned deadly serious. “And because he wouldn’t have stopped at you. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore, and that’s the only thing that’s going to keep us alive down here.”

Holden closed his eyes and shook his head. That’s not what he meant. He wanted to know why Kurzweil would want to kill him. What had he done? Why was it down to one of them? Molya didn’t seem to have that answer though. He quickly moved on with things.

“I’m giving you this,” he said, placing a new syringe to his arm. “It’ll stop the pain, help you gather your wits. You’ll need them, because as soon as you’re awake, we’re moving out.”

“No…” Holden breathed. Not another injection. Not another sleep. He was tired of sleeping. Tired of waking up. Tired of being forced to remember. He wanted it all to end, one way or the other.

Holden stood up from the cot and loomed over him. He straightened the blanket over him and smiled.

“It’s okay, William. When you wake up, this will all seem like a bad dream.”

Bad dream, he thought. He wasn’t afraid of bad dreams anymore. It was waking that he was afraid of. The bad dreams could have him…