Lenders

by Johnson, John

  “Look,” Jim said seeing the panel come to life. “Now try it.” Rico sped back to the door. He felt a little dizzy from the lifting and darkness feathered the edges of his vision. But he shook it off and entered the code, this time on a bright green back-lit keyboard. And this time, something! A moment later a grinding noise could be heard on the other side, motors. Another second and the steel door began to slide left into the wall, very slowly. It was twice as thick as the hidden freezer door, at least a foot wide. And the walls were at least three foot thick.

  “Glad that one’s powered,” Rico said finally catching his breath.

  Jim felt bad for getting angry and ranting. And this meant, he could no longer doubt Felix. The implications of this, he thought. It dizzied him to think: the depth of it all, the ramifications; but he didn’t have time to take it there right now; probably not enough time in a whole lifespan to go that deep.

  “I’m glad to say I was wrong and this proves it. Your father is alive. Sorry for—”

  “Jim, you don’t need to apologize,” Rico replied. As the door opened relatively fresh although sweet and greasy and musty air vented the cube they waited in. More than welcome, it cleared out the rest of the rotten food smell—which, they realized was actually still there and was finally departing; it had benumbed their sense of smell. The motor finally stopped. “Well, let’s go.” They stepped thought the passage. Its marrow was compressed junk metal. The impenetrable looking edges were six-inch thick solid steel linings.

  A slight gust of cool ventilation could be felt and Rico’s hair rustled lightly. The room had a dim light in each corner and a grated vent on the ceiling. Affront them, the shaft. In each direction it was about three feet wider than the suspended six by six foot steel-framed elevator and lined with lights all the way down. The lights were dim unlike those of the inner wall above and disappeared into blackness after about fifty feet. Wordless, they looked at each other, likely sharing the same eerie thoughts: bottomless pit, black hole, abyss—shit, hell. Loads of multicolored bounded power cables lined the shaft on the far side just out of arms reach, snaking up into the great wall, like well-fed magical beanstalks growing from the void below.

  They stepped aboard taking hold onto the railing, the carriage rocked slightly and their footsteps clinked on the elevator floor as if they had on metal-soled shoes. Every clang and clatter echoed throughout the cavity; sonorous vibrations disturbed the cold lifeless air. Jim looked down into the darkness, then back; they couldn’t help but look at each other every few seconds. There were three buttons: up, stop, down. Jim nodded, do it. Rico pushed down. The greasy gears and cables above them clamored with a heavy steel clang. The cage broke loose from its perch and slowly descended. It wasn’t log until the yellow-lit room above disappeared into the darkness.

  46. Balloon Festival

  It was quite dark in the broadcast room. Anything using power that wasn’t absolutely necessary, even most of the emergency lights, was shut off. Only the necessary screens rounding the BROCC, and the HAT illuminated the surrounding area. Devon handled his station as well as Ron’s. The twins were in charge of finding ways to further conserve power throughout the entire facility, even the most minuscule amounts. Ted stood at the HAT. He waved three fingers affront the hologram and swiped left. Slices of the active maps rotated clockwise and he moved the slider to maximum for each that passed—more urgency, more intense red. Just as Jim suspected, he was on top of it. Not long and the entire table, all slices, emanated with a red glow that reflected eerily throughout the broadcast room adding to the already ominous tension of their situation.

  They finally got the damn thing inflated, Nanny operated the burner. Up they went. Several other balloons were already sky-high, many more than the last time they’d used this map—thanks to time spent with Amy of course. Of the many other flying maps (from which she was banned because of too many unexpected logouts in the past—crashes-and-burns) and contrary to her past service as an ace fighter pilot, Fran nevertheless enjoyed the slow serene flights to be had in the hot-air-balloon map: one they still allowed her. She loved flying, the higher the better, and did enjoy the rest and relaxation. For any flight, fast or slow, she always donned her tight leather aviator hat and goggles. From around its edges, flowing to her shoulders, her intense ginger hair flared out.

  The festival was in full swing with many types of balloons: a carrot-nosed snowman, the famous Macaroo Mouse with its big black droopy ears and blue-jean overalls, even a huge loony-eyed lavender elephant (each eye looked a different way, moving to animate it wackily), to name a few—it was always a different bunch. A few amateurs, to include a man in a customized beach chair under hundreds of colorful helium balloons, were having trouble lifting off as Nanny and Fran, finally, soared briskly upward.

  Nanny had tried the fart before, but it never worked because of the breeze. So, the usual.

  After a good deal of altitude they heaved together with all they had. Out went the heavy black bag, crashing into the woods below, but not before pulling out a crossbow with some flaming arrows and a lighter. It wasn’t their first hot-air-balloon ride. Less weight, more speed and control—if they could manage any. Even though it was a dream world the map had randomness just like its real-life counterpart.

  “Let’s do this,” Fran yelled against the breeze with her twangy southern accent. She pulled her goggles down and was deciding on a target. “You light ‘em I flight ‘em. And don’t set us on fire again you old bag!”

  “You and flying all the time,” Nanny said under her breath, but loud enough. Her accent was as northern-yankee as Fran’s was southern-doodle. As usual Nanny felt a little sick at the beginning of a flight. “Did you get the—” Her yellow and green crocheted hat caught a whirling gust and meandered high into the cloudless blue sky. “Shit!”

  “Ha. Told ya. Always wear one of these,” Fran said. “Here, now light the damn thing.” She’d finished cocking it with her feet and brought the arrow end in toward Nanny. The breeze was stronger than usual so she lowered it into the basket so Nanny could light the tip. After several attempts the end came to life in a red and orange slow-burning glow.

  The two old ladies argued and haggled on as usual, yet enjoyed each other’s company, in their own way.

  The wind was strong, gusting today. She waited for a calm. Fran finally managed to focus her aim, right onto the patched posterior of the lavender elephant. It was the furthest balloon that was still within reach of a crossbow’s arrow. She almost pulled the trigger but a small bump of turbulence lowered her attention. The basket underneath contained several kids. She knew it wasn’t real, but couldn’t help it. She abruptly switched to the adjacent and more near snowman balloon; it carried two bearded guys (one short, one long, both grey and white), both were using binoculars. The men were looking her way and did notice the fumbling old ladies—and the weapon. Longbeard started yelping on his handheld radio.

  With a sliver of pink tongue protruding her thin lips Fran focused and took aim. Then, she noticed a red glow. “You damn bitch, you lit us on fire again!” she exploded. “Darn it, I’m gonna get at least one before we go down.” She fired the arrow and it hit the snowman right in the peeper. Its face contorted and the flames quickly melted the eye, then the entire face folded in on itself like it’d been hit by a cannonball.

  By chance the men had been looking their way—and knowing only made it worse. The old flannel-clad geezers uselessly hollered as the basket plummeted dragging a raging inferno. Their beards flew upward while they hunched down. Longbeard uselessly continued to radio for help and Shortbeard reached for the extinguisher. Blasts of white foaming chunks gobbed up from the basket and the useless ooze disappeared into the fire; he tossed it.

  They braced for impact—almost there, ground approaching—their faces froze with maximum panic. Longbeard started yelling to Shortbeard. An idea! He saddled the side of the basket and Shortbeard took the other. They jumped but leap was miscalculated and clums
y. Shortbeard flared his arms trying to tilt backwards, yet landed face first. His neck snapped—dead. Lying on the ground with broken ankles, the fireball grew larger in the reflection of Longbeard’s gaping eyes. The pain of the breaks empowered him with a final shot of adrenaline. He managed to stand up regardless of the fact that his feet went sideways. With every muscle tensed he stiff-leggedly zombied himself away. But, the blanket of fire covered him.

  Seconds later he rose again. With another burst of pain-powered energy he flogged away. Fully ablaze, dragging ninety-degree feet, he’d successfully managed to escape the master blaze and started rolling in the grass to put himself out.

  “He might actually make it,” Fran said smugly. Just then the balloon’s propane tanks exploded consuming everything. Nanny and Fran winced at the blast’s intense light and heat on their faces. Success. Then they looked up.

  “Fran, look!” Nanny exclaimed. “The sky.”

  “Shit, sorry I yelled at you Nanny. Looks like we got an emergency.”

  “We better set her down,” Nanny said.

  “On the contrary, let’s go up. I find it more relaxing up here, don’t you?”

  Nanny made a crooked grin, rolled her eyes and sighed; she was tired of fighting. Besides, Old Red had a point, it was extremely serene and quiet straddling the stratosphere. “Sure Fran, up we go then.” Nanny reached down and opened the cooler. They’d pickup up a few beers at the festival before liftoff. Fran sat her skinny ass in the basket and took a gulp that nearly emptied the can. Nanny sat next to her and lit a menthol. Best friends. Together they sailed off into the red sky and relaxed. Sixteen minutes later they were logged out.

  47. The Reef (Bonus)

  Alex liked to pretend he was a secret agent, or any character who suggested the chance of peril and-or a sensational adventure. He was the best dresser on the team, even wearing his suit on the lending bed. His long time partner Trixie the nature-lover usually went along with whatever he had in mind as long as she could get a chance to enjoy the peaceful outdoors. She usually let him pick the map because he always made sure she got hers. She had rusty-blond shoulder-length hair, teal eyes, and freckles that covered her entire light-skinned body.

  After dropping anchor they stripped. It was a scorching summer day at sea and the large boat floated in clear water above a coral reef. Trixie wore a tie-dyed one-piece suit with large circle cut-outs on the sides. Alex let his hairy chest get some sun after shedding his tux and wore only some tight black diving shorts and his usual neck-strapped bow tie. His chestnut brown hair was heavily greased back but had dried leaving a sensational wave. He began to address the class that sat around the inner perimeter of the boat. They had quite a large one today and were more than ready to get in the water again for another cool down.

  “…And each of us has 50 minutes of air. Going down and returning will take 20 so you each have 30 minutes of fun time to explore. There’s a backup canister with an extra 8 minutes in case anyone runs into trouble. And remember, safety first—always. That should cover everything. Any questions?” A few shrugged but no one spoke up. He had been quite thorough, and had already covered much earlier in the day. Snaps clicked as the group fastened their tanks and straps.

  A coin toss had decided: parachuting, or the Australian ocean escapade. Tails won, Trixie was glad.

  They instructed an intermediate class earlier which involved a basic warm-up dive to make sure the class passed basic qualifications, that they would be skilled enough to enter—the cave. “Okay sir, we’ll start with you this time,” Alex continued at the stern, “jump straight out and head down to the reef. Next in line, follow after a ten count. We’ll meet up directly below the boat then line up and head into the cave.” The first man hopped in. Ten seconds later his wife followed, and everyone else until the entire class of thirty-two were in the water heading down. Alex and Trixie remained.

  “Okay, let’s do this Trixie. We’ll do some exploring after.” He opened the bait-well lid, reached into the black bag which rested inside, and pulled out a grey block of plastic explosive and a water proof detonator then put it in his belt pack.

  “Sounds awesome Alex. I’d love to swim with the dolphins again if we get the chance. Really never know what we’ll see down there.” Alex winked at her and jumped in. Trixie splashed in a second later to his right.

  The water shimmered like a blanket of electricity on the moderately still waters above. The spotty clouds and the boat shadowed the colorful reef and surrounding tan sand at the ocean bottom fifty-feet below. Several manta rays glided by diffusing the line of descending divers. Trixie pointed excitedly.

  They hovered, ten feet from the surface. Alex motioned for her to go first. She led and they both swam down, scuba gear clinging to their mostly naked bodies. Trixie had a high-on-the-hips suit that complimented her almost bony-thin hourglass frame. Its spiraling colors flaunted her free-spirited and fun personality. The water magnified her curves, seemingly adding weight to her bones. Alex always liked it when she went first; really, she loved him, and knew why. The crystal-clear water felt pins-and-needles refreshing, and got cooler as they went deeper.

  They could clearly see the class assembling on the ocean floor by the cave entrance. Everyone was forming a circle just as instructed. Their feet rustled the sandy bottom. Halfway down. In the distance Trixie spotted some dolphins playing and pointed, her face glowing with elation. A sea turtle pushed a school of zebra-striped fish. Taking in the abundance of color was as powerful as an acid trip, and Alex smiled, also glad for tails on that penny: absolutely stunning, marvelously captivating!

  As they arrived to the sea floor Alex instructed the anxious divers using hand signals. They broke the circle to form a line. He pointed to a large woman, a know-it-all during the earlier swim, then pointed at the cave entrance. He gave her a thumbs up and pointed at her again, poking his finger at the water. The woman was excited that she was chosen to lead the bunch and swam into the cave quickly followed by the others. The entrance wasn’t much wider than she was.

  The others slipped in one by one. Alex stood at one side of the opening and Trixie on the other. She tossed him a flirtatious wink and turned her head in the direction of the dolphins. Air bubbles rose from her mask, and his, and now from the inside of the dark cave. After the last fledgling fluttered in Alex squished the explosive onto one of the entrance rocks. Trixie had already started swimming away, toward the dolphins—ready for her rocket ride. She loved hanging onto their fins and blasting through the sea. Alex once again followed as she blissfully weaved her way, like a graceful mermaid, dispersing a school of bright yellow and orange fish. She had a huge smile on her face, and Alex a very content grin.

  Halfway to where they'd seen the dolphins playing Alex turned to swim backwards. His flippers continued thrusting him away. He saw the married couple who’d dove in first. They were poking their heads out of the cave searching for their missing instructors. Alex reached into his pouch and pulled out the detonator—CLICK—without hesitation. He couldn’t see it get ‘em, it was too fast, instantaneous—and beautiful in its own way. The explosion mushroomed above the cave and billowed toward the surface as the blue water choked it. Large bubbles broke into smaller ones, eventually fizzing on the surface, barely disturbing the skin of the sea. Streaks of color, barge-loads of sand and few streaks of red lined the stem of the mushroom as if feeding it in an upsurge from below. The color evanesced upon entering the massive ball of white bubbles. Its shape compressed neatly by the waters hands, everything rose as one tidy package. The ocean floor was left mad in a cloud of dust and fish darted in all directions.

  Moments later Alex felt the shock wave. It made his face flutter. The water slicked his hair combing it straight back. First came a blast of icy freshness, followed by the warmth, followed by a thin soothing layer of heat. He’d played with explosives (among other deadly things) many times, and knew exactly what to expect, luckily (but he didn’t believe in luck) never blowing himself
, or Trixie to smithereens in the process—causing the highly frowned upon unexpected logout. For Alex every workday was an adventure, a unique experience; with thoughtful planning every meticulously crafted strategy almost always worked. He perfected his every plan with a passion and his record held countless highly productive victories, only one tiny loss (a story in itself). And he always made sure Trixie had her fun.

  Just then, as if a cloud went by, the sea floor darkened and changed its hue. Trixie looked up. The blue was gone, replaced by intense red. Her happy expression gave way to a bubble spewing pout, and Alex shrugged his shoulders, palms up. They did all that work, Alex had his fun, they’d enacted is elaborate plan to a T, but today Trixie would not get hers. Although, he’d also been looking forward to the intoxicating bit of pleasure with her, there would be no nature swim, no dolphin assisted torpedoing, and no further exploring the vibrant coral reef—all canceled. Alex motioned to go up, and reluctantly their paddles fluttered pushing them toward the unwelcome color.

  As they reached the surface they felt the dizzying drain from the lend. Their eyes met, mutually acknowledging it. Good chance many people were near the cave entrance, killed instantly from the blast, but likely several had lived long enough to panic and suffer terribly. They knew all too well what a successful high-output lend felt like, and this was a good one. And, by the feel of it, something lingered, tugging on their mentality: people were still in the process of dying, perhaps just now running out of air, still panicked and trapped, or being squished.

  Trixie unlatched her heavy gear letting it sink and pulled on the aluminum ladder. Drained, she’d lost the energy to climb so Alex helped her. Not saying a word they plopped onto the boats teak wood benches lying under the clear red sky. Fourteen minutes later they were calm enough to log out cleanly.