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…

Crashland – Chapter 8

They stood there for a second, him and Kurzweil. Both men seemed to be waiting for the other to talk, or something else to break the silence. It was the kind of strained stillness where they were both thinking the same thing. They knew what needed to be said, but neither particularly wanted to.

In time, Kurzweil stood up. He gave one last look to Holden, then Jacobs. He snorted, then turned to leave. In those few gestures, the two of them had experienced an entire conversation.

Okay, been given a clock, Jacobs thought. By the time he returned, Kurzweil expected him to have an answer, one way or another. If their guest wasn’t going to keep, then the same rules applied as before. They would have to move on, just the four of them…

Jacobs checked the various pockets on his vest. He found what he was looking for over his right breast and pulled it free. He still had some from their trip to the East, the label said Zhong Nan Hai. He took the one that stood out between his lips and pulled it clear. A quick search of his other pockets located the torch. He popped it on and lit the Hai’s end.

He took several puffs to steady his nerves. He was reminded momentarily of the time they had all been in that commune outside of Lagos, chasing down the suspected members of the Krakh Nachala cell. That was the last time he had been given a clock, asked to get answers from an unwilling suspect. He remembered how well that one had gone as well. After hours of “questioning”, both chose to take the easy way out and had bit down on their dentants. Within seconds, their bodies became saturated with incendus and turned into piles of unidentifiable ash.

That outcome was one he would like not to repeat ever again. But the mistake there was clear. He had taken the pressure he was under and transferred it to his subject. Though he suspected Holden wasn’t carrying any dentums or other suicide implants, the basic outcome would be same. Push too hard, too fast, and the subject would break and be useless.

Walking over to Holden, he placed the smoldering Hais between his lips and sat down beside him. Prying it loose to take another puff, he held the pack in front of Holden face and offered him one. A sob was all Holden could manage for a reply.

“Don’t smoke huh? Yeah, not too long ago, it’d cost you an arm and a leg in fines just to light up one of these.” He looked up at the roof and waved his hand around vaguely. “Guessing enforcement isn’t much of a concern now though, is it? Hell, the only law left up there is ‘don’t get killed’. Everything else is… pretty pointless.”

Holden sputtered but didn’t reply. He couldn’t tell if he was getting through to him just yet. Their last interaction had buried him under several layers of distress. Finding his way through them was going to be tough. Perhaps a little moderation of his earlier, direct approach was in order.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he said. “It was my hope to be honest with you. To let you know what was really going on. I never meant to deprive you of hope. Whatever else you planned to do up there, finding your wife and family is a noble goal.”

Holden sniffled, but he was sure he detected some trace of movement from his yes. He looked closer…

“I’m also sorry if I put you on your guard. Truth is, we also know who you really are, William Holden.” That got a reaction, a slight cock of the head as Holden stiffened. “Don’t worry, we’re not planning on hurting you, sir. We wanted to know who you were  because… we need your help. And if you help us, maybe we can help you.”

A few more sniffles, then a muffled word. “How?”

Jacobs took another long haul of the cigarette and tossed it. The small flame disappeared, tiny embers breaking loose as it tumbled across the platform and into the dark.

“Well, even if we can’t expect any help from our old friends in the middle of town, there have still got to be emergency services operating in other districts. New York, Jersey, DC, Boston…  Where did you say she was last?”

Holden sniffled and answered promptly. “Albany.”

Jacobs nodded. Not quite on their route, but odds were good the chaos was more confined up that way. It would take several days travelling by foot. One look at the dead train down the length of the tunnel was all the confirmation he needed to know that the mag tubes were officially out of operation.

“That’s a bit of good luck there, sir. Once this is over, we can head up that way, reconnoiter and look for them. Given its size, it’ll be harder for people to get lost in that district. Hell, there might even be some kind of services going on up there.”

“You think so?” said Holden hopefully. Jacobs nodded ambivalently.

“No guarantees, but odds of emergency personnel getting mobbed drop substantially once you step outside of these here areas. I can remember back in the days of my defense training, everyone always said how volatile these places would be in the event of an attack, so many people crammed so close together.”

He looked over at Holden, saw him starting at him now. The look in his eyes was reassuring, like some measure of hope was growing there. He was glad for that, and for the fact that he didn’t have to lie to give it to him. Like he said, no guarantees, but the odds were better. It was all anyone could count on at this point.

The expression quickly changed to one of confusion. “Who are you, anyway?”

Jacobs smiled. Yes, he hadn’t exactly been sparing on all the hints. First there was the medkit he’d used to patch him up, then he had managed to let that bit about his training slip. Since they already knew his identity and were asking for his help, perhaps it was time he divulge the small matter of who they were.

“Before we get into that, I need to know… can you help us, William? A man in your position was on intimate terms with the world as we knew it. Pretty soon, that technical expertise is going to come in pretty handy if we want to rebuild. You might say we were pretty fortunate to have found you. In the first place we were just planning on punishing the people who did this.” He waved upwards again, once more indicating the crashed lands that lay above. All the rubble, all the dead machinery and lost people…

“But when we found you, we realized the stakes had gotten that much higher. In a way, you helped us to see to tomorrow, what needed to be done once we’d settled up with those responsible.”

Holden looked to be processing all that, but eventually gave up and shook his head. Yes, he was still dealing with some rather heavy emotions, and all of Jacobs cryptic words were probably not helping.

“Who… what… what are you –”

Jacobs chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe I should just show you. You probably wouldn’t believe me otherwise. You feel up for a short walk?”

Jacobs was already on his feet and extending his hand. Holden looked down at his stomach and shook his head.

“I know, it’s against doc’s orders, but I promise it’ll be worth it. Plus we can’t really move him right now. He’d never forgive us.”

Holden frowned again. It would be a pain, for sure. But he had demanded answers. A little walk seemed like a small sacrifice to pay for a clear answer instead of all the mysterious hints this strange man was offering.

“Fine,” he said, taking Jacobs hand and pulling.

“Easy there,” Jacobs replied, moving in closer and using his other hand to pull him up. The entire process was agonizing and Holden didn’t feel too steady once he was up, but Jacobs was there to lend a stable shoulder. Step by step, they began making their way down the opposite end of the corridor, away from the exit and the only source lights, into the dark…

Crashland – Chapter 6, Voting closing soon!

Hey all. I wanna thank people who’ve been coming by in the last few weeks to read my story chapters and vote on what they wanted to see happen. Overall, I am very impressed with the response and have been enjoying the process immensely. However, Chapter 6 has been experiencing a bit of deadlock. Between the three options I typically offer, there has been no clear winner as of yet.

Since things ended on a cliffhanger note, I am very eager to get Chapter 7 going, but that can’t happen until an outcome is determined. And believe me when I say that the best is yet to come! Action, adventure, and some generally post-apocalyptic coolness that is just waiting to happen!

I’m calling on all Story Time fans to come on by and vote for their favorite outcome. Things are really coming together now but I need you to give them that added push. Voting shall remain open until the end of the weekend, so there’s still time! Come on by and help make this story unfold 🙂

Crashland – Chapter 5

The lights were growing dim, their edges flickering and blurring at the edge of vision. They grew closer with every step, lurching from side to side. He could feel himself falling forward, his feet kicking stones and chunks of fermacrete that had fallen from the walls nearby. At any other time, he might have been dismayed at all the destruction, how quickly things had devolved the closer he got to the city center. But at the moment, he had only one thought: reaching the nearest fire before he finally collapsed.

His body was overcome with aches. Every move hurt him. Every step sent shivers and stabs along his legs, up his sides, through his shoulders and chest. He felt like glass that could shatter at any moment, spilling his bones and every ounce of flesh onto the sidewalk for all to see. More than that, he felt the irresistible urge to lie down and let blissful sleep take him. Every time his foot landed, he wanted the rest of his body to follow. It was all he could do to keep his head up and focused on the flames. He was close now, only a bit further.

The shadows began to stir. His footfalls had to be alerting them by now.

This was it. He had not the strength to resist them. If they tried to harm him, he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Nothing short of his complete trust could be offered now…

“Help…” he muttered heavily. The nearest shadow moved in his direction. The flames became an aura behind him. His arms were laden with something long and pointed.

“Help…” he repeated. “Help me…”

“Jorka!” the shadow yelled. “Get over here!” It gestured with the pointed object, a sharp end waving against the flames to summon another shadow from its rest.

He fell. His knee landed hard on the ground and sent a thousand stabs of pain up his leg. He yelped as rest of him fell forward, his hands landing on the crete and going cold with shattering pain. He had done it, he had made it as far as he needed to, but had succumbed all the same. He had fallen and shattered on the sidewalk, people converging to either help or pick up the pieces and haul them away.

He could feel hands groping him at him a moment later. They were moving past his shoulders, reaching to his underbelly. It was all he could do to simply curl up into a ball on the cold ground, hope they didn’t try to reach in and tear out his organs.

“Jorka!” the one yelled. “We got a lurker!”

“Lurker…” the hands rolled him over. “No, I’m… Holden.”

“He’s been stabbed.” It was a different voice this time. Softer and gentler. He obliged their hands as they found their way to his midsection, and slowly let them roll him on his back.

He heard the voice of the other one answer. “How bad is it?”

He opened his eyes to see their faces. It was a woman who tended to him, her hair pulled into a tight braid behind her head. Her face was dirtied, but something in her face was putting him at ease. The other one, the man, stood behind her and watched. He could see what he carried now, a grisly looking carbine, its end mounted with a sharp knife. He would have wailed were it not for the warm hands searching his body, easing him to relax and accept their touch.

“He’s hit bad.” She said. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Any hope for him?” the gunman asked.

“I don’t know…”

Holden felt a warm breath escaping his mouth. His eyes closed… the lull was setting in now and ferrying him away. His head turned to witness the light of the flickering fire once more, so many shadows dancing toward him. They became soft and gently flowing. He felt warm at last…

 

And then, things were getting cold again. Little by little, light began to enter his world. He could see grey, the colors of cold chrome and ash, the small twinkling of another fire. And there were bodies this time, not just the shadows. Colorful, vibrant bodies. They sat there, two by the fire, but one closer to him. This one looked darker than the rest, and it was reaching for him…

His hands flew up. His body seized with the anticipation of more pain.

“You’re awake,” the man said. “That’s good.”

He lowered his hands ever so slightly. He could see just the edge of the one who was talking to him, a smart-looking cap that covered short-cropped hair.

“I was beginning to think you’d be out for a month. Lucky for you, you seem to have a strong constitution.”

Holden brought his hands down another inch and tried to speak. His throat felt like it had been packed with sand. He tried to clear it but that produced nothing but a scratching pain.

“Water?” the man asked, noticing how he struggled. He produced a canteen and held it in his direction. Holden dropped his hands entirely. His mouth dropped open of its own accord. The fantasy of water touching his parched throat taking over his defenses. The spout met his lips a moment later, his mouth sucking it in like air, hoping to take as much as he could before it was withdrawn.

“Whoa there, partner. Not so fast. Don’t want to choke yourself, you’ll start spasms and ruin all the fine work I did.”

Holden leaned back and sighed heavily. He could feel the cool water spreading through him, every drop being absorbed by his grateful flesh. He could feel his mind sharpening too, his eyes opening and bringing him to a better state of wakefulness. He decided to take advantage of this and looked down at his chest. He saw bandages there with small flecks of blood dotting their surfaces.

“You – uhm!”

The canteen came back to his lips. He nearly choked on the first slew, but managed to suck in several mouthfulls successfully before it was withdrawn yet again. Little by little, he could feel the lump in his throat dissolving. When the last of it had trickled down his throat and he was sure he wouldn’t spit any up, he tried again.

“You… fixed my…”

“Yes I did.” The man said, nodding happily and placing the canteen down. Holden’s eyes followed the man’s hands and noticed the backpack that was next to them. It was made from a matte black material, big straps of olive drab crisscrossing it in strategic places. On its sides, he could make out the shapes of various implements, attached in holsters or bulging from mesh pouches. His wakeful mind began to produce questions, not all of them worth sharing. He tried asking the most obvious one first.

“Who are you?”

The man smiled again. “Names Jacobs, friend. And you should be thankful that it was us who found you and not someone else. Word around the campfires is that some people out there are getting mighty desperate, and aiming to take advantage of the fact that there aren’t exactly officers of the law around to stop em from doing… things.”

Holden looked back to his wounds. Yes, he seemed to know something of that. The memory was a dark flash that he was forced to push to the back of his mind, otherwise he might lose focus and succumb to it. He wasn’t strong enough yet for that, and there were still questions to be asked.

The next most obvious one came to him and he put it to Jacobs right away.

“How did you – ?”

“Fix you up? Nothing special there, just a little field work. Lucky for you I had all the supplies I needed. Given all the blood you lost, you wouldn’t have lasted more than a day or two, tops.”

Holden went back to the bandages. He ran his fingers along the surface of the soft, threaded seals on his stomach. White adhesives held them in place, the old kind that stayed on with glue rather than a molecular bonding agent. It all looked so primitive, and yet, he was very happy to have it in place. Which brought him to the very next question:

“Where did you get – ”

“From my kit, of course.”

Holden sighed. If this man was going to interrupt him every time, things would quickly become frustrating. He imagined the kindly fellow was just trying to help him save his breath, but right now, that was a courtesy he could do without.

Not bothering to ask of its whereabouts, he began searching around for signs of this alleged “kit”. He spotted it on his other side, opposite the backpack. Its top was still open, revealing compartments with various items. The bandages, rolls of tape and a small set of tools were visible in one corner. Beyond those was the more impressive compartments where the more advanced stores lived. Synthetic plasma, a hyposyringe, small vials of clear liquids, a cauterizer, a recharge tube, and pads of artiflesh.

He made sure his next words were as emphatic and uninterruptable as possible. This question needed to be asked and answered:

“Where did you get all that?”

“From the car, of course. They make sure every unit is stocked with a proper kit, just in case of an emergency.”

Holden narrowed his eyes at the man. He just smiled in return. What he was describing sounded like an EMT vehicle, but last he checked, medics didn’t carry carbines or act so mysteriously. He drew in a few breaths, tried again from the beginning.

“Who are you?”

Jacobs removed his cap and scratched at the small layer of black hair he kept next to his scalp. Holden was aware of some scarring which he hadn’t seen before. With his head dipped, the light from the fire caught the indentations in his flesh just right, casting small shadows across his face. He also began to notice his surroundings more clearly.

They were underground. He could feel the cold, damp air all around him. Such a thing was unmistakable. He was lying on the floor, back seated to a wall with several blankets between him and the cold fermacrete. Several meters away, the floor dropped off into blackness, but he could just make the wall beyond.

A tube station. They must have brought him here after he had found his way to their campfire. The memory was both aching and fuzzy, like a broken shard of glass with just its outer edges worn down. But still, he remembered some key bits…

The woman who had rolled him over.

The gunman who had stood over him.

He spotted the one standing by the edge of the platform, the gun still in his hands. It was an old model, the kind that predated caseless, powered ones. Automatic, Russian-built, very popular in the previous century. He could find no trace of the woman, and that worried him. Between all those he had seen so far, she was the only one who he knew had shown him some mercy, Jacobs claims notwithstanding. And then there was the other man who was sitting on a tripod chair, watching over the small fire with grim eyes. Between the three of them, the fact that one was armed and the other well supplied, something felt very wrong.

Jacobs wasn’t answering. He asked again, more insistent this time.

“Who are you people?”

“All in good time, sir. But right now, I need to know who you are.”

Holden narrowed his eyes again. The thought that he might have stumbled from the frying pan into the fire loomed heavily on his mind still…

“What difference does it make who I am?”

“Because…” Jacobs leaned in closer. “Depending on your answer, you might be safe and sound. But see, that man over there,” he gestured to the one seated by the fire. “He thinks you might be a problem. Don’t trust you just yet. What’s more, we’re not exactly in a position to be taking in runaways. So really, what I’m asking is what are you and… are you any use to us?”

Jacobs leaned back, closed the door on the medkit. Crossing his legs, he sat back down in front of Holden and began to stare at him expectantly.

“The question remains… who are you?”

Crashland – Chapter Two

Holden reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the weapon’s comforting handle. The trigger touched his index finger, frightening and alluring in the same instant. He drew his eyes back to the walking shadows and called out as gently as he could.

“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing them formally. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

They shadows continued to move forward, fanning out and taking up positions across the street. He was still subliminally aware of the other presence that was moving to his right, where the dead vehicles sat passively. With their drive systems offline and their chassis lowered to the ground, they must have seemed like prime cover. Something in him made him aware of this, just as it made him aware of every move the approaching shadows were making.

“You see those bright lights over there, gentlemen?” he persisted. “I need to get there. There’s sure to be help waiting there… for all of us.”

They didn’t stop, but they were slowing. This close to him, they were surely settling in to get a good look. The raptors, studying their prey, watching its every move intently. Saving the last few moments before they decided to descend, if that was indeed their intent. They couldn’t fail to notice his clothes, his demeanor, how afraid he looked to be walking by himself right now. A prime target, surely…

A thought struck him suddenly and without warning. His one hand was so firmly fixed on the automag in his right pocket, he had forgotten about what he carried in the left. He reached in there and grabbed hold of the familiar folds of textured paper. The other contents that lay in his escritoire drawer and had emptied before heading into the night. The other great persuader…

“I have money,” he said decisively. His breath was beginning to go short and shallow. He had to take a few breaths to get out the rest. “If you let me go, you’re welcome to it.”

They finally stopped moving. Not a sudden halt, which would indicate that they were listening, but a sort of settling in. The one off to his right was crouching, the other three like the thongs of a pitch fork. He grabbed hold of the bills and waved them around.

“What’ll it be? Euros? Yuan? Pesos? Adjusted Dollars? I’ve got them all.”

He heard chuckling coming from the dark constellation. He couldn’t be sure who was doing it. It sounded like it was coming from all around him. He lowered the fistful to his side, clutched the automag in his pocket tighter.

“Just name your price gentlemen. I can accommodate whatever you need… What’ll it be?”

They were so close now, he could almost make out their faces. They looked dirty, surely. Forlorn, perhaps. Their eyes began to glitter in the limited night light. Burning with a certain intensity. He felt his breath go quicker and he closed his hand around the trigger mechanism one last time.

“C’mon gentlemen… I really need to get to the other side the town. I have family over there…” A slight exaggeration, he knew. But did anyone amongst them care? At the moment, they seemed completely unmoved by anything he said.

“Please…” he pleaded. “I have to get OUT OF HERE!”

His words echoed in the hollows the street, made louder by the silence that followed. He looked left and right, saw each of them standing there impassively. He could hear small bits of gravel crunch beneath their feet as they shifted. Only the beating of his heart inside his ears otherwise. He could feel the space between them and it seemed to be growing smaller.

“You’re family’s gone, man,” the one to his right said. Holden almost jumped. It took a second for the words to sink in. Then he could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

“What did you say?”

“You’re family’s gone.”

Something new hit him. A sudden jolt of anger. He flared in the man’s direction.

“How do you know that?” he demanded. The man simply shrugged.

“It’s all gone, man. Everything. You’re family, your business… you.”

He said this last word with special emphasis. Holden had the automag in his fingers. He cast one last look at them. One final glance before it all went down…

And then it did.

A glint of chrome, the sudden onrush of shadowy bodies, the crack of the gun, the explosion in the night. Again and again, the explosions of new stars in the firmament, a loud thunderclap accompanying each. His eyes went blind from the flashes, his ears deaf from the noise. But he could feel everything. The kick of the gun, his foot slipping backwards. And then the sharp, sheer pressure in his abdomen; a burning, stinging, sensation…

And then, darkness. He felt totally still, utterly inert. He felt like he was lying back and not moving at all. Even breathing seemed to break the quiet that was enveloping him now. And then it was all gone. The city, the world, the darkness. It all faded away, replaced by bright lights and open fields. Green, bright, and so far away…

*                     *                    *

He looked at his hands, saw how small and young they looked. A strange fragment of the past, he remembered it well. What was he doing here now?

“Are you ready son?”

He looked to his left and saw his father standing next to him, the curious overalls he chose to wear as they made their way around the sodden grounds. How comical he looked in them, those ill-fitting denims. So unlike what he was used to. Holden wore some too, he saw. The brand name was stitched to the front between half a dozen pockets he couldn’t comprehend the need for. But this was how they dressed, William Holden Sr. had said. This is what you wore when your livelihood depended on getting your hands dirty.

And that was why they were here, he had reasoned. Daddy wanted him to see how the others lived, those who didn’t interface and network in order to get things done.

He looked to the bright field, saw buildings that lay clustered together. Their walls were red and their roofs covered with solar panels and sheets of corrugated metal. Gunmetal grey, the way the light glinted off them made him shiver for some reason. Something about them made him think of things unpleasant…

And just like that, he was standing in the doorway, warm sun giving way to cool shade. He looked outside and saw that he was now in the middle of the clustered buildings. His father was by his side still, and urging him to take in his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, but he detecting a strong presence in the air. The smell of hay and something else permeated the place, something sweet and sticky, salty and sick.

A large, pink creature sat on a table nearby and stared on blankly, its mouth masticated at something that didn’t appear to be there. The table itself looked the worse for wear, the edges dyed a splotchy brown color that was motley and uneven. It was also covered with large, powerful nicks that looked real visceral and sharp. Underneath was the yellow, grainy textures of fine wood, but that was few and far between now.

Another man, one who looked comfortable in his apparel, stood behind it next to the fat beast. Out of a set of chrome-colored sinks, he washed his hands and put on some khaki-colored gloves. They had the same splotches of brown around the fingers, and he turned to table, taking hold of something large and heavy.

“What’s he doing, daddy?”

William Holden Sr. crouched down next to his son. “Why, you see that animal son? You see how fat it is?”

He certainly hadn’t failed to notice how rotund the beast was, and nodded.

“Well, animals like that are raised for food here. They eat and live out in the sun, growing fat and healthy, and then they come in here where people like that nice man deal with them. From that, you and I are able to eat the meat we sometimes enjoy.”

Holden frowned. There was a step missing in that logical progression, far as he was concerned. His adolescent mind hadn’t failed to notice that his father was holding something back.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Well, son. We’re about to see. Remember how I told you that you needed to know how the world works before you could become a man. Do you remember that?”

Holden nodded. He did indeed remember that conversation.

“Well, this is it, boy. This is life. Don’t turn away.”

The man raised the large, cleaving implement he had taken hold of not a moment before. Holden felt his world constrict around the image of that very suddenly. His heart began to pump furiously as the realization of what was about to happen struck him. Had his young mind put it all together in that instant, or was he just remembering what happened next?  The fatted animal began to squeal nervously. The dark, shady room began to seem confining and forceful. He tried to turn away, to run back into the sun.

“Don’t look away, son. You need to see.”

The tool fell. An explosion of gore and the loudest noise he had ever heard spewed out. High-pitched and terrible, shrieking and mournful. He covered his ears and ducked his head. He felt his father tugging on his collar, forcing him back to the killing floor.

The carcass lay there, its body broken and its eyes barely open. Thick, syrupy layers of gore covered it now, the mouth still moving, but only a tremor. He turned the other way and threw himself into the arms of his father. His father held him, but kept his head free. There was something he intended to say.

“This is how it is, son. This is how it all ends. It’s all going…”