by Drew Avera
"Yeah, you take the one with the dress," Halem replied. It took me a moment to realize he was joking, but by the time it came to me, he was already heading up the stairs.
I let the bathroom door go and followed. "If we're lucky, we'll come out near the World Council building," I said, hastily ascending the stairs to catch up with him. At least as fast as my tired legs would let me. I held onto the rail as my vision swam, but I kept going.
"Perhaps, but if we're that close, then disappearing will be harder than we thought. Especially once the deed is done." He paused a moment and retrieved the flashlight from his pocket, turning it on before continuing into the dark where the platform lights failed to illuminate.
Disappearing after the fact wasn't on my radar, but it didn't seem unreasonable to conclude no one thought about these tunnels. They were abandoned years ago. They had the social equivalence of statues of dead people without a story to tell. You could see them, but mostly you saw through them. "I didn't think you planned on making it out," I replied, mostly under my breath, but it didn't keep him from hearing me.
"I'll admit, I'm torn on whatever the future holds for me. I can't have the life I wanted, so it feels like dying might not be a bad outlook. Though a part of me is curious what happens after we kill Cherum, and whoever else might be involved. Do you think we could take out the Agency too while we're at it?"
I didn't know if he was joking again or not, but his question hit me as absurd. "I have no idea how many are in the Agency," I said. We could probably take out a few of the higher-ups but killing them all is an unknown variable. Besides, I won't be much use to you in the process." I pointed to my slumped shoulder, still searing with pain from the wound. I felt the heat radiating up my neck as well as down my torso. It steadily got worse, which wasn't a good thing. I decided not to bring it up. Better not to waste time on lost causes.
"We have the weapons, might as well use them," he said coldly as he continued his ascent. I had no response to his statement. I hardly thought he was serious. It came across as bravado coming from a man who walked in fear yet spoke in defiance. Seldom did both sides of a man like that meet on the same road. I hoped Halem could at least make right what happened to Marada, but if he was this broken, then the mission would be in vain. I kept that thought to myself as we continued our trek upstairs in silence.
Our path ended at a set of closed double-doors with a chain interlocking the handles.
"Another lock," Halem said. "It's my lucky day." He repeated the process used to break into the door downstairs, this time the effort was greater due to the chain allowing more flexibility with the lock. Still, Halem was successful as the lock broke away. He pulled the chain from the handles and shoved the door, but it didn't budge.
"Maybe it's locked using the door's mechanism too," I said. The bar handles on the door protruded outward, but when I pressed against them, they moved with ease. I had no idea if that meant they were locked or not.
Halem looked at it for a moment. "I don't see a way to unlock it, maybe we can pry it open."
"With what?" I asked.
He waved the piece of rebar in the air but seemed to come to the same conclusion I did, that it was too big to fit in the slots between the door and frame. He lowered his arm, letting the rebar dangle from his hand as he looked at the barrier between us and the outside world. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"Not really. I've never had to breach something like this without having ordnance at my disposal. If you needed to pry it open, then you would need something thin and sturdy. I can't think of anything like that which would fit in here." I ran my finger along the seam where the doors met the frame.
Halem exhaled with a huff and dropped the rebar to the floor. "It would be nice to know exactly where we are. Maybe with that information, we could come back and open the doors from the outside."
"Maybe that sign has some useful information," I said, pointing towards a painted sign on the wall near the door.
He shined his light on the sign and revealed peeling paint faded over the years. It reminded me of the ceiling downstairs, but it was still somewhat legible. "23E, does that mean anything to you?"
I stared at it, hoping to have whatever the alphanumeric marker stood for to jump out at me. "Not offhand."
"It reminds me of the parking garages in Outer Downtown. Each level and aisle had a corresponding number. I've never seen one as high as twenty-three, but you have to admit it's similar—"
"It correlates with map coordinates," I blurted out, not meaning to interrupt, but the thought just came to me. "I remember seeing those numbers on the map. The ‘E' stands for the rail segment, not the direction. The number represents the platform. I remember noting that not every number was represented on the "E" rail because some platforms were assigned to different rail segments. This rail is near the old library."
"Are you sure?" Halem asked skeptically. I could understand that, but I was certain. I could see the map I was referencing in vivid detail from my memory as if I was looking at it now.
"I'm sure," I said confidently.
"That place is in shambles. I know they're restoring it, but it would be hard to gain access."
"You won't have to. These access doors shouldn't be part of the main library building. If you look for a small enclosure with double doors set apart from the main structure, then that might be the way in, right on the other side of these doors," I said as I leaned against them.
"What makes you so sure?" Halem asked. "I don't think it's a good idea to go searching for something that might not exist with the Guard and Agency on our tails."
I sighed and knelt down, feeling my knees pop in the process. "Do you remember when we went through training and had to go through the obstacle course, firing at threats, but each time you hit a civilian you failed?"
"Yeah," Halem replied. "I remember you had the best score that day."
"There's a reason for that. I have an identic memory. It's not exactly a photographic memory, but it's close enough. I rummaged through those maps for years, plotting adventures and what I might discover if I ever gained access. Those dreams faded as an adult, but those memories are burned into my mind. All we have to do is go and find the access point leading down and we have the perfect hideaway, without having to traipse through the funk in the sewers to get here."
He stood there gawking at me for a moment, probably trying to find a flaw in my story or determine if I was setting him up. I wasn't, but I knew it would be hard for him to trust me after I killed his wife. I would be the same way if the roles were reversed. "Fine," Halem finally muttered, picking up the rebar. "You stay here and answer when you hear me knock so I know I'm at the right place."
"You don't want me to tag along?" I asked as I rose to my feet, expecting this to be a team effort.
"There's no sense in both of us getting caught. If I don't make it, be sure and settle the score for me. Marada deserves it."
"Understood," I replied, curious as to why he would be willing to go alone when he didn't have to. His time outside the tunnels would be minimal, thereby reducing his chances of being caught. At least they should be.
"Good," Halem said before descending the stairs back into the tunnels, leaving me alone in the dark with nothing but my flashlight and my thoughts.
I hated that kind of company.
24
Halem
Making it out of the tunnels and back topside felt like a victory. I hadn't expected the smell to overtake me the second time, but it hit me wave after wave, weakening my knees as I clumsily stepped through puddles of dank water, desperately seeking the exit. Part of me wondered if there were toxins infused with the air I breathed to cause that kind of reaction, but the other part of me merely chanted a personal mantra to keep going and get out as soon as possible.
To my astonishment, the manhole cover I exited was not the original one. The tunnels looked the same, save for a few indicators painted onto the walls, though I failed to remember
what the original indicators looked like and my mind was too clouded to concentrate as I pushed forward. I could have sworn I went back the way we came in, but this manhole cover was situated in the middle of a street; thankfully, one that was not busy.
"You've got to be kidding," I groaned, hauling myself out of the manhole before replacing the cover. It slid into place with a metallic clank, nearly pinching my fingertips in the process. I rose and turned around to surveil the landscape and get my bearings. The World Council building loomed behind me, which meant if Castor was correct, I took a wrong turn and now had to backtrack to get to the other side of the massive government building.
I shoved the rebar I carried with me into my belt and closed my jacket around me, trying to look inconspicuous. I doubted that was possible if anyone watched me climb out of the manhole or stood close enough to smell me. If anything, carrying the rebar around would be like holding a sign displaying that I was a madman. For those who gawked, I would be suspect to something amiss. All it took was one concerned citizen to make a report and the Guard, or Agency, would be onto me. I had no idea if those two entities communicated, but if either found me, I was done. "At least I'm out of the tunnels," I muttered, trying to shake off the funk that followed as I walked away.
The World Council building stood stoically before me, taunting me as I made my way towards it. It would be so easy to go in and fire a quick shot before any of the Guard personnel knew I was there. Spending the better part of a decade in law enforcement, I knew how to breach a space and perform tactical maneuvers. That would be the easy part. The hard part was getting out when you are significantly outgunned.
The only reason I didn't act now was because of Castor's insistence that Pontiff Cherum was responsible for conspiring to kill Marada. I knew Tetrim was involved somehow, but without proof, my accusation was nothing more than the angry words of a widower. My plan was to try and piece together information from Castor's assignment and prove Tetrim's involvement. The outcome would be the same. I would kill him regardless, if for no other reason than because it would put my mind at ease to know someone, as tainted as him, was no longer involved in shaping humanity's future on Mars.
A small voice in the back of my mind shunned the thought, labeling me a murderer for thinking that way, but I ignored it. Grief brought me to the edge and I would be damned if I didn't want to jump.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, strategically trying to conceal the gun belt strapped around my waist as a group of people walked in my direction. I watched as they casually conversed, paying no attention to me until we were within speaking distance.
"Evening," one of the men of the group said with a nod of his head. A chorus of other voices hailed me with the same sentiment, none of them enthusiastic in their expression. They were just impersonal, polite pleasantries forced onto us by societal norms. It was human autopilot at its finest.
At first, I thought they could smell the funk from my trail through the tunnels, but I let the thought go and nodded to return the gesture. I kept quiet, not wanting to draw more attention to myself in case there were reports about me on the media. They kept walking past without missing a beat and I was relieved. I didn't have a contingency on being discovered and reported if anyone recognized me. I hadn't even considered disguising myself, knowing I was in full view of surveillance cameras the closer I was to the World Council.
"I'm an idiot," I muttered, keeping my head down and lifting my collar as I passed another tall post with a four-way camera installation at the top. It was constructed to mimic a palm tree, not that anyone on Mars had seen one in real life. I imagined it was intended to blend in with the landscape, to desensitize people to the fact the government watched them, but it stuck out like a sore thumb.
At least to me because I knew what it was.
Once past the surveillance area, I took a side alley to get to the next street on the other side of the World Council building where the library was. It took nearly eight minutes to get there, even walking at a quick pace. My shins screamed as I walked, my muscles tensed in revolt. Still, I pressed on, intent on getting to the library and finding the access doors leading down to 23E. I was concerned at how much time elapsed since leaving Castor in the tunnels. The longer I was topside, the more at risk of being discovered I was. This was a risk I couldn't afford if I was to avenge Marada.
I turned the next corner and the library stood in silent protest to the modernization of Archea. The rust-colored stone buildings nearby stood in sharp contrast to the composite material used to build the historical library. Most of the buildings in Archea built during that time were gone. It was humanity's sentimental side that allowed this building to continue to exist, despite the cracking and overall poor state of the structure. The restoration project would have been best served to demolish and rebuild rather than try and fix what was there.
I pushed through a plastic barrier used to keep the dust and debris contained from the construction crew and pulled my flashlight out of my pocket. The streetlights failed to make it past the barrier which continued overhead, effectively sealing it off. It felt like standing in a large, dirty tent that reeked of chemicals and dust. What was nice was no longer having to worry about surveillance cameras. That put me at ease a little bit.
As I walked the perimeter for the second time, my heart sank, realizing that either I missed the access doors, or they weren't where Castor said they would be. I turned around, shining my light into every nook and cranny in the construction area as I swore under my breath. "I am not trying to go back through those god-forsaken tunnels," I spat, trying to get the taste out of my mouth as I reimagined the smell.
As my flashlight beam moved across the myriad of surfaces, something caught my eye. I moved towards it, turning the flashlight head to direct the beam of light into a narrower angle. Behind two large pallets was a structure I hadn't noticed before and inside that structure were two doors.
"Bingo." I reached for the rebar stuck in my belt and pulled it out, ready to lay to waste whatever lock stood in my way. It was high time I got this job over with and focused on executing Pontiff Cherum and Tetrim Rine.
The closer I got to the pallets, the more evident it became that my access was blocked. Only a foot of space separated the pallets from the double doors, hardly enough room to squeeze into, much less pry the lock off of it. I groaned at the fact this shaped up to be more of a problem than I originally thought. Looking in the immediate area, I couldn't find a pallet jack to roll them over a few feet, which left me with one option, manually shifting the stacked pallets aside.
I looked down at the rebar in my hand and it seemed ill-equipped to do much of anything aside from breaking the lock. Fortunately, larger sections were bundled together on the ground nearby. I cut one free and shoved the shaft between the structure leading to the platform and the lower pallet, using the rebar as a lever.
I pulled back, prying the lower pallet with all my weight, using my leg to push against the wall. The bottom of it scraped against the concrete, leaving pieces of wood behind as it fell off with my efforts. "Come on," I hissed, pulling again after reseating the rebar in a different place to get a better angle. After half a dozen times I had plenty of room to access the door. I also felt the strain of the load on my back and legs. I hadn't realized how out of shape I was until now.
Before wasting more time breaking into the wrong door, I knocked with the shorter piece of rebar. The same number of taps returned from the other side but muffled as if coming from far away. "Don't tell me there are two sets of doors," I groaned, shrugging my shoulders as I tried to hype myself up for the challenge, having already exerted myself to the point of exhaustion. I was running on fumes and the adrenaline rush from the night's earlier attack was gone.
I repeated the same steps performed on the previous lock and found this one equally manageable. When I opened the double-doors, I was met with the second set more than ten meters away. Figures.
I tapped on the inner s
et of doors and Castor responded. "What took you so long?"
I sighed as I placed the rebar into the lock and began twisting. "I took a wrong turn. Don't get me started," I replied.
"At least you made it out," he said after the lock broke and the door opened freely. The smell of the tunnels tickled my nose and I was thankful the odor wasn't pungent enough to bring the nausea back.
"Yeah. I don't want to do that again. Thankfully, it looks like we won't have to." I gestured to the construction area surrounding the library, barely noticeable in the dark. Castor nodded his consent as he braced himself on the wall. His breathing was heavy for someone who'd spent the better part of an hour sitting down. "Are you all right?" I asked. He nodded again, but it was a feeble attempt at masking whatever he was hiding. "You're lying."
"Probably," he answered, gasping for air.
I shone the light on him and saw sweat covering his pale face. It was hard to say what complexion was normal for someone who had the kind of transplants he had, but near as I could tell, he was experiencing a fever which led me to believe a possible infection had set in. I did my best to clean his wounds, but maybe I hadn't done enough before leaving the precinct. I was glad we brought supplies with us. I just hoped they were enough.
"Let's get downstairs and take a look at your wounds," I said, ushering him inside and down the stairwell. He carried himself under his own power, but he lacked the purpose of movement with which he had led us here in the first place. I'd only been gone an hour or so, the fact his condition deteriorated this much concerned me.
Once back on the platform, I grabbed the bag of supplies and pulled out the hydrogen peroxide and alcohol, along with some pill bottles that might help with the pain and fever. Castor pulled off his shirt and I saw blood oozing down his arm I hadn't seen when in the stairwell due to the dim lighting. There was a clear fluid mixed in with the blood which looked odd, but not entirely like the puss of an infection. It was watery and didn't mix with the blood. It reminded me of how oil and water stayed separate in the same container.