by Theo Cage
Slowly the pain was ebbing away. Roger felt the space grow darker, fuzzier, the noise receding. Roar? What roar? Then he remembered the tractor pumping out the noxious smoke. He coughed. He realized he was dying and there was nothing he could do. Time was running out. Then he rolled slowly and his legs struck something hard. He pushed himself up into a crawl position and started to move away from the angry rumble above him. When his head struck the metal wall of the shed, he awoke enough to understand where he was and what he had to do.
Outside, he breathed in a ragged lungful of air that surprisingly didn’t stink and burn. He was dizzy and alarmingly weak. He had gagged once as soon as he got past the door and fell on the dirt walkway. Blood from the wound on his forehead was running into his left eye. He had rushed back in and retrieved the 330 shotgun from the locker by the door, but he was sure he lacked the strength to hold it up or even pull the trigger — if it even worked. Everything was happening in a frustrating kind of slow motion. He made his way haltingly to the generator shed across the field, the shotgun banging against his legs.
Roger had no plan. His brain was incapable of strategy. He just needed to get there before he collapsed. It was the only thing that occupied his narrowed focus. Maybe a final suicide attack would do the trick and he laughed under his breath. How many video games had he played where he came around a corner and surprised his enemy, guns blazing? It felt like that kind of world now. He was in a video game, his health sapped and an alarm bell flashing somewhere. Big problem. There were no magic health pills to gather now, no stores of ammo or huge rocket launchers to gather up. He was stuck with what he had, an uncooperative body and a useless weapon. He was desperate. Without Goodyear’s guidance, he had to shut down Buzzworm before the bastard launched his attack.
What had worked for him in the past, playing those first-person shooter video games, was just to rush in, guns blazing, moving as fast as possible to avoid getting hit. The power of surprise. It worked sometimes on the artificial intelligence of the enemies in the games. Would it work on these two guards? And how much surprise could he muster when his legs felt like they were trapped in wet cement and he was seeing double?
He brought the shotgun up to his face, trying to focus. He crept up to the generator shed. He had no idea what the time was. But his mission was simple. Make the generator unusable. How hard could that be?
Roger raised the shotgun and slammed through the door of the generator building. His anger growing, he screamed as he entered, charging into the darkness. He saw the youngest guard, sneaking a smoke, standing alone by a steel column. He rushed at him and pushed the barrel up into the eyes of the surprised soldier, screaming like a mad man, spittle spraying. The worker dropped the cigarette, his eyes wide, his head back. What he saw was a frightening mirage, a bleeding and crazed man yelling obscenities.
“Drop everything. One mistake and you’ll never have to worry about that acne problem again.” The soldier dropped his shotgun to the floor where it landed with a crack. Roger felt wired, a combination of adrenaline and lack of oxygen to the brain. He still had no idea of the time. “Where’s your buddy?” The soldier choked out, “Jake’s up to the house.” Roger, feeling relieved he only had to deal with one enemy, nodded towards a workbench. Acne-face, who had his hands above his head, stumbled backwards, doing his best to follow orders.
“Ever spent any time in nylon cuffs?” asked Roger, pushing the boy down onto the floor. “It’s a real good time. I recommend it highly.” There were a bundle of the straps on the bench. He took several in his left hand. “You take both hands like that, good, bring them around behind your back. Then I loop this around like that and zip. You are now hog-tied. Now move back, snug up against this workbench where I can tie up your legs.” Roger linked two of the straps together and bound the teenager’s ankles together. He stood up woozily and examined his work, an angry clock still ticking away somewhere in his brain.
Roger checked out the bench. There were no cutting tools and the kid couldn’t get up to reach a tool even if he wanted to. He was going to sit on the cold cement until someone untied him. Roger pointed the shotgun at the young man’s head.
“Where’s the power come in around here?” Acne face looked puzzled. “The hydro lines. Overhead wires.”
“I’ll tell ya. But you don’t need to be pushing that shotgun into my face. I know it’s broke. What kind of governmental agent are you anyway?”
Roger glared at the kid. “See that tank over there? What’s that? About five hundred gallons of gasoline that I’m about to bust open. And you’re getting smart with me?”
The kid looked over at the fuel tank, his eyes noticeably wider. “The power line comes in along the road. I drive past it every day I come to work. Shouldn’t you know that?”
Roger grabbed a dirty rag off the workbench and worked it into the kid’s mouth, enjoying the look of disgust on his face. He sat back and watched for a few seconds, thinking. Then he pulled it out again, smearing grease across the boy’s teeth.
“Last chance to not be a smart ass and get yourself killed. Where’s the girl? I know you know about her.”
“What girl?” he said, but he hesitated a second too long. Bad complexion and a bad actor.
“I don’t have time to fool around. I’m going to soak this rag in gas and shove it back in if you don’t tell me where your boss has her hidden.” The teenager just shook his head.
Roger stood up, irritated. Maybe the kid had no idea. Maybe he was just stupid. It was quite possible that Hyde’s daughter wasn’t even on the property. Time was wasting and he needed to shut down the generator and go after the main power before Hyde could breech the main farmhouse. He looked over at the north wall of the shed. Against the steel paneled wall sat a stainless steel enclosure, about eight feet long and four feet high. Several conduit lines fed into the structure, a steel exhaust pipe exited and ran up to the ceiling. The generator. A few feet away sat a large steel tank, rounded at the top and bottom. Roger guessed, based on size, that it held several hundred gallons of gas and could run the generator for at least a week.
Roger ran over to the enclosure and lifted the cover, revealing the generator inside, looking like a very modern high-tech gasoline engine surrounded by banks of electronic switches and modules. Only the very best for Buzzworm, he thought. Looking around he realized there were a number of ways to make the generator useless. Roger propped the cover up against the back wall and raised the shotgun like a baseball bat. He brought it down on a cluster of small switches and valves, watching them shatter and fracture. He attacked the engine as well, cracking the housing and snapping off the wiring harness. Then he turned his attention to the lines running from the fuel tank.
As he struck them with the wooden stock of the shotgun, the thin copper lines folding and cracking, fuel began spilling out onto the painted concrete floor. He then attacked an external control device, watching shattered bits of circuit board and control switching units scatter across the concrete. He was sweating now, beating his demons into submission. He imagined Buzzworm in front of him, his arrogant smile beginning to fade. He dropped the useless weapon into the spreading pool of fuel. He turned back to the kid who was watching the gasoline inching towards him.
“Your memory any better now? I’m leaving. This is your last chance.”
His eye still on the fuel that was making its way slowly across the floor, the teenager gasped. “Check out the door over there.” He nodded to the far corner of the shed. “Untie me. This whole place is going to go up.”
Roger picked up the other shogun off the floor near the steel support beam and then walked over to the south wall, to the furthest point away from the generator, into a relatively uncluttered open space. He was looking at the unadorned wall for a hidden door, but what caught his attention was a thick round cover on the cement floor near the corner. A drain! He walked up to it and poked the cover with his boot. It seemed heavy and solid. Like a bank vault door. He knelt and look
ed at the latch. He squeezed the steel handle and heard a hollow clunk inside, almost an echo that seemed to bounce back from a considerable distance below. He lifted the door cautiously.
The first thing Roger noticed was that the edge was gasketed, as if it were designed to be water or air tight. Roger guessed it might be a drain or cesspool cover, but when he peered down into the shadows he saw clean corrugated sides and an aluminum ladder. It certainly didn’t smell like a sewage or waste oil container. Could this be a hidden electronics room? A backup to the backup?
Roger turned his body and rested his foot on the first rung, about to head down, the door propped open to let some light in, when he glanced back at the kid he had tied up. The teenager’s eyes were wide, his feet pulled up to his chest, swearing to himself. The gasoline was spreading quickly and was now only a foot away from the workbench. Roger tried to estimate how long it would take before the gasoline reached the edge of the tunnel he was about to climb down into. Maybe a minute or two, he guessed. He turned back to the task at hand and quickly clambered down the ladder. After descending about eight to nine feet he stepped down onto what looked like gridded industrial flooring.
When Roger turned away from the built-in ladder he was surprised to see bunks, four rows on each side, two high. A sleeping and living area for at least sixteen people. Living quarters underground? He walked along the passageway, checking out the bunks. Everything looked new, untouched. Under the grated poly flooring he could see tins of food stacked — thousands of them. He stopped part way down the tunnel-like room, the light growing dimmer. He couldn’t see a light switch anywhere. Maybe the overhead LEDs came on automatically at some point. Ahead, at the end of the section of beds and storage, was a door that was marked galley. A kitchen. Roger didn’t think this looked like any storm shelter he had ever seen before. Med had said earlier that the property looked like it had been designed by a survivalist. Buzzworm seemed to be preparing for the end of the world.
When Roger came to the galley door he was surprised to see a heavy sliding latch, something that had been added after the fact. The lock was rusty and looked oddly out of place. Roger slid the latch free, wondering if this door might lead to a tunnel or even Buzzworm’s hidden computer center. He tensed then, not sure what to expect on the other side. He checked the shotgun and flicked the safety. He had never fired a gun in his life; wasn’t sure if he could. He slowly edged the galley door open with his left hand. The kitchen, or what he could see of it, was in complete darkness. He froze when he saw the dim light from over his shoulder reflect momentarily from a pair of eyes. They were close, only inches away. Before he could react, the person inside the room burst out at him, knocking him back, his head bouncing off the rough flooring, the shotgun firing into the darkness. The noise was deafening in the small space and Roger was momentarily stunned by the noise and the impact of the fall.
As Roger tried to roll, so that he could get his footing back, he was shocked to feel the sting of small blades raking across his face and neck. He yelled, reaching up to protect his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his hands up now to ward of the blows, he came to the realization that he was being attacked by a woman. The only reason he knew that was he could smell her; an unexpected mix in the air of gasoline, cordite, fear and vanilla. She scrambled over him then and he heard her head for the ladder at the end of the tunnel. He managed to get to his feet, reluctantly leaving the gun behind and leapt up after her. She hesitated at the ladder, getting ready to lift herself up when Roger grabbed her from behind and peeled her hands away from the rungs. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his only thought to disarm those flashing nails.
“Hyde sent me. You’re Kyla, right?” Roger grunted, hanging on with everything he had while she fought like a wild animal. She kicked back at him, landing a painful blow to his knee. Roger squeezed tighter, his weight on one foot, rasping at her through clenched teeth. “I work for your Dad.” It wasn’t completely true, but it was quicker than going through the details. She seemed to hesitate.
“Let me go,” she growled. Roger gladly released her. She jumped away and twisted, her back now to the ladder. In the light from the opening above, Roger got his first good look at her. She was only a teenager, long brown hair, jeans and a hoody. Roger touched his face and winced.
“Your Dad teach you that trick?”
“Who are you?” she asked, wary.
“Call me Roger. Am I going to bleed to death?”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I thought I was rescuing you.”
“Where’s my Dad?” was all she said, her body tense under the light filtering down through the open door above her. The smell of gasoline was growing stronger.
“He’s close. He’s near the farmhouse. He’s waiting for me to shut down the power.”
She cocked her head, curious. “They’ve got guns.”
“So do we,” said Roger, wondering where his had disappeared to.
“This isn’t a game of Halo, mister. These guys are freaks. Does he know that? “
“You want to help your father? Help me find the power lines.”
She ran her hand through her disheveled hair. “Just as long as I don’t have to stay here. It’s creepy and the toilet’s backed up. What is this thing anyway?”
“Looks like a bomb shelter.”
“Well, when my Dad gets his hands on that guy, a bomb shelter won’t help him.”
CHAPTER 48
Roger had his hands full. He had acne kid in front of him, his hands still cinched behind his back, making their way along the tree line towards the farmhouse. Kyla was behind them, keeping an eye out for the other farm worker. It was full-on night now, the only illumination a partial moon and a very distant yard light.
Roger saw a threat in every shadow. As a city kid, the looming forest seemed full of dangers to him. He had a hard time controlling the urge to just run up the road and away from whatever Buzzworm had in store for them. Goodyear had explained to him how to take out the power lines in case something happened to him. Roger hadn’t paid much attention, absorbed as he was by the view from a thousand feet up in the fragile Ultralight. Now he was adlibbing. The power line followed the cut road into the property. Goodyear’s plan had been to shoot out the transformer box once Roger had disarmed the backup system and then go in guns blazing, Roger staying behind and out of trouble. The problem with tackling the transformer box was it sat on a power pole only a few hundred yards from the farmhouse so Buzzworm would know immediately what caused the power outage and his guards would be out in force. Roger decided to make their way further down the winding road and try and shoot out the line itself, from a safer distance.
After walking into his third tree, his forehead bleeding from the numerous branches that whipped across his face, they broke out onto the road. The power line was right above them, a dark wavy line in the dim moonlight. Roger had his shotgun at the ready.
“As soon as I fire, they’ll know we’re here.” He turned to Kyla. “If I hit it, the power should go out. That will be the signal for your dad to move in on Buzzworm.”
Kyla had her back to a tree; her arms crossed. “Who’s Buzzworm? The jerk who kidnapped me is named Warren. These idiots call him Mr. W.” She sneered in the direction of the kid with the cuffs behind his back
“Warren? That’s his name?” Roger pointed his question at the kid. The teen shrugged, saying nothing. “You’re pretty relaxed for a guy who’s going to go to jail for twenty years as an accomplice to kidnapping. They don’t allow Nintendo DS in maximum security, just in case you were wondering.” Roger could see the kid’s eyes go wide, visible even in the claustrophobic darkness. He raised his gun and pressed the stock firmly into his shoulder like Goodyear had shown him, so the kickback wouldn’t leave him black and blue, aiming the barrel up at the slender power line above.
“I’m just an employee. I’m no accomplice,” whined acne kid.
“I t
hink that’s what the Nazi’s used to say,” Roger replied. And then he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 49
The incessant thrum of the Avion was beginning to take its toll on the two women trapped on sub floor six, something they had never been bothered by before. Med began to think of the constant vibration as a form of low-level torture. She knew now why no one ever volunteered to work in this area.
Vienna had tried to leave by elevator at one point, and was hardly surprised to find that the system was inactive. She yelled obscenities into the security cameras; her nerves obviously frayed. Then she stomped off to a washroom in the far corner of the work area.
Med wanted to yell at the camera too. Her deal with Hyde was that he would let her know the minute he could be sure of his daughter’s safety. The problem was now he had no way to reach her. Cell phones couldn’t pick up a signal this far underground. The CIA had repeater networks set up so that workers on the lower floors could access cell phone networks. Courtesy of Buzzworm, they had been switched off. So even if Hyde were able to free his daughter, there was no way to let Med know.
They both talked about ways to potentially stop the attack from the Avion without completely shutting down the power, but neither were engineers. Neither wanted to carry out an action this early that could lead to the death of an innocent girl. But they both also kept an eye on the clock. Vienna’s two-hour limit was quickly coming to an end.
“Do you think he’ll keep his word?” asked Vienna. “About letting her go?”
“Hyde was in a hurry, so I didn’t get a chance to ask. I don’t know what the odds are.”
“Did he have a plan? Hyde was a top recommendation from the police. But he also seemed to be a bit of a… rogue.” Med froze when Vienna said plan. She remembered the graph she ran. She realized that by showing Hyde the report, Buzzworm might have seen the results. Was he listening in on their conversation as well? Med rolled her chair over to Vienna’s impromptu work desk.