Crashland – Chapter 12

“What’s going on?”

Jacobs moved away from the door. Molya poured through it with that same fluid motion that Jacobs himself had shown so many times before. They took positions over Simon, one at his head and one at his feet.

“What’s going on?!” Holden repeated.

“William,” Jacobs said, reaching down to grab a hold of Simon’s stretcher handles. “We need to move, and we need to move now.” He hoisted up with a grunt. “You might want to make yourself scarce too.”

Holden grabbed his side. The aching had been coming back thanks to all the exertion and all this talk was making him nervous. He anticipated that whatever was going on would involve something… uncomfortable.

“Why?” he asked. “What’s happening?”

Simon was now hoisted between them. Jacobs looked in Holden’s direction and motioned with his head. Holden cleared away from the door obligingly. Simon’s head bounced as they moved him, the black boxes they had thrown in around him bashing against his limbs.

“Just trust me when I tell you to follow us. I’ll explain as soon as we’re topside.”

“Topside?” Holden’s face went cold. He hadn’t been up there since… He wasn’t sure his body would oblige him. “Why… why do we need to go up there? What’s wrong?”

They had already cleared the room. Molya and Jacobs both grunted from the effort of keeping Simon’s body and equipment secure on the stretcher. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected he heard Simon making noise as well.

“Follow us, William, don’t fall behind!”

The words echoed from the hall. Holden looked back into the room, the vastly empty room, and wondered if he shouldn’t just stay behind. What could be threatening them that they had to get out? A flood? A bomb? He didn’t see how that was possible. But then again, he still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure where they were. Old tunnels, abandoned tunnels. Who knew how these networks were laid out? And in the time he was contemplating all this, they were rapidly getting ahead of him. In the darkness of the tunnel, how hard would it be to get lost behind them?

“Holden!” he heard echoing from down the tunnel. They sounded pretty far now. He took a deep breath and pushed himself through.

The green light was the only thing to see by, but he still couldn’t see Jacobs or Molya anymore. All he heard was the sound, the grunting and groaning of men trying to be careful as they moved fast. Putting one hand to the wall, he pushed ahead and tried to keep up. They weren’t moving that fast, but he doubted if he could really keep up. His side was giving him all kinds of resistance.

And still he pushed. The cold tiled wall was making a chill run through him. He could feel precious body heat being sucked away through the contact of his palm to the unforgiving ceramic. He could see a small pile of green lights up ahead, what he hoped was a marker of some kind. The tunnel was barely visible anymore, but at least he had these things and the wall to go by, knowing that he would not stray over the edge and fall on the old tracks. Any accidents like that would be sure to split his insides open and send him back into a world of pain.

And speaking of pain, his side had reached a crescendo now. The mere effort of moving his right leg forward in tune with his left was becoming an agonizing burden. His own grunts seemed to be drowning out those of Jacobs and the other two. He couldn’t remember the last one he could hear over his own.

And then it hit him. He couldn’t hear them anymore! He paused as the knowledge flooded him with a new and terrible chill. He waited and held his breath, hoping that his own silence might bring them back.

Nothing. Nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears. He moaned weakly, wishing he could still that too long enough to hear better. But it didn’t matter. If he couldn’t hear them now, he was too far behind to hear them at all. They had lost him!

“Jacobs!” he yelled. “Molya! Simon!” He could hear the helplessness in his own voice. The pathetic feebleness. He had lost his way, and whatever was coming was sure to get him now. And all because he was too weak, too wounded and too cowardly to keep up. He felt his knees beginning to buckle and the cold floor beckoning him. The pain was working away at his midsection too, making crumbling up into a ball seem very appealing.

But the green lights, what looked like the end of the tunnel. Those had to mean something. They weren’t just to provide illumination, they were absolutely useless in that. The ones he had spied down the other way, they had been placed to mark doors, hadn’t they? It seemed rational right now, but that could be nothing more than a farfetched hope. He desperately wanted to lie down, to rest, to fall into a deep sleep. But he could die here too. What could be done against all that?

Crashland – Chapter 6

Holden cleared his throat. The dry, scratchy feeling was still troubling him, made worse by the painful lump that was now forming there. He tried not to make a show of it, too much hesitation would seem disingenuous.

“My… my name is Marcus Reid. I work for Singularity Enterprises.”

Jacobs eyebrow arched. “You’re in high tech?”

Holden nodded.

“An engineer then, or is marketing more your department?”

“Engineering,” Holden said decisively. He did his best to work out the details between questions, anticipate what would come next.

“Which department?”

“Nanotech.” He said this quite quickly too. No hesitation, no pauses. Leave less room for doubt that way.

“Where were you when… this… happened?”

He waved his hands above him, no doubt to encompass the city they now lay beneath. Answering that proved a little more difficult.

“I – I was in the lab. I was looking over some schematics for the new line of medichines. Our systems started going down, the power went out next…” he dredged his memory for anything that would help. Some facts were still useable, after all.

“I can imagine that was frightening for you.”

“Oh yes,” he replied emphatically. “All our implants and interfaces stopped working. We were sealed in the lab. The other techs began to panic…”

“How did you get out?”

Damn, Holden thought. He hadn’t anticipated that question. He had no idea how a tech would be get free of the labs in a situation like this. No one had ever predicted a total failure of the buildings systems. He hadn’t even stayed around long enough to see if anyone had been in the labs when it had happened.

“The doors… disengaged.”

“Disengaged?” Jacobs repeated.

“Yes.” He kept going with the fabricated tale. It sounded plausible enough, who was this man to say he was lying? “Once all the systems failed, even the backups went down. The magnetic locks ceased working and we were able to walk out. Unfortunately… we all ran off in different directions.”

Jacobs nodded. “Where did you get the gun?”

Holden bristled. “Gun?” He hadn’t mentioned the automag or the altercation with the street thugs. How did he know about that?

“Yes, you had a gun.”

Holden sat there dumbfounded. How could he know about that? The only people who knew were himself and the men he’d used it against. Presumably, they had taken it with them after leaving him for dead. His skin went cold as possible explanations occurred to him.

“I… I…”

“What did you do with the weapon with you took?”

Holden couldn’t take it anymore. “Who told you I had a gun?”

Jacobs shrugged. “You did.”

Holden just shook his head.

“You talk in your sleep,” he explained. “You’ve been reenacting the same scenario for days now. You keep telling someone to get away or you’ll shoot. You scream out. You keep calling a woman’s name. Mara… Martha…”

“Marta,” he said angrily, then wished he hadn’t.

“That’d be your wife, then?”

Holden looked away, nodded shamefully. Oh, how this man knew too much.

“So… we’ve determined that you armed yourself before going into the street. Wise move, can’t imagine why you’d want to hide that about yourself. And you were looking for this Marta, yes?”

Holden nodded again.

“Where were you going?”

Holden hesitated. He could feel it again, and was growing very sick of it. That feeling of being at a disadvantage, or knowing nothing and being able to do nothing. Not only was it unfamiliar, it was the worst spot to be in. What could he have done to deserve all this, he wondered? Aside from leaving that man behind, what had he done that was so wrong?

“I asked you a question,” said Jacobs, his tone cutting Holden’s moment of self-pitying reflection short. At least now he could be honest.

“I… I was trying to make it to the lights.”

“Lights?”

“Yes. When I left my – the company building – I saw some lights on the horizon. They looked to be coming from Newark. I thought if I could get there…”

“You might find help? Maybe find a way to get a hold of your wife.”

Holden nodded. “All the communications terminals are down. No hardlines, no bahn, no nothing. I couldn’t think of another way.”

An odd silence followed. Holden anticipated more questions, but Jacobs just seemed to be sitting there, staring off to the side somewhere. Eventually, he nodded emphatically and stood up.

“Excuse me for a second. I need to go talk to my mate, over there.”

He turned around and staggered away. Holden noted the way he favored his left leg, his right seeming to have a limp in it. When he approached the other man at the fire, he barely looked up. Jacobs just leaned over and whispered something briefly in his ear. The man with the carbine stirred a little as well, sending his heart rate up just a touch. Once more, he wondered if they were planning on causing him harm. It seemed every time people stirred in the distance now, he found himself contemplating whether or not he would survive. Yet another aspect of his current state that he could do without.

Evenutally, Jacobs turned around and staggered back. Holden sat up and awaited his return, eager to know what conclusion they had reached. Whether or not he had declared himself of use to them. On the one hand, they might assume he was innocent and therefore not a threat to them, thus allowing him to stay. On the other, they might determine he was not of use, and shoot him. Yet another possibility was that they would send him on his way, feeling that they had performed whatever civic duty they were required to and let him find his fate on his own. Anything other than being shot appealed to him now.

“Listen, friend…” he started gravely. Holden’s heart shriveled in anticipation of what he was about to hear. “I got news for you about those lights…”

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?”