Unknown

by Jane

  “Why are you doing this” I ask.

  “I’ve been waiting for you Gordon, you and the others, to rise up and rebel, to fight. I can’t do it alone and even together it’s going to be hard. But we have to try.”

  “Why do we have to try?”

  “You want the long or short answer? The short one is that I won’t be the one to let this planet die out. I’ll fight for our existence. And so will you.”

  “I will?” A grin creaks over my face and I chuckle to myself. This little girl, who does she think she is?

  “You don’t know everything, Gordon.”

  She comes closer, her glowing skin pink with excitement, her blue eyes a dull shimmer in the darkness. She reaches her hand around the back of my head and runs her fingers through my hair. She pushes up against me, her lips to my ear, a sweet whisper of jasmine and lilac. “Like this...” she breathes as her long sharp fingernails dig into my skull, pushing deeper and deeper, the pain overwhelming me as my knees buckle and fail. Placing her hand over my mouth to hush the groans, she clasps onto the microchip and tugs hard, ripping and tearing, a slow gurgle oozing out, running down my neck as I black out once again.

  6. ASSIGNED

  //

  alert

  warning: chip 30021 malfunction

  last known location: sector 87

  loss of data, eminent

  MEMORY lost: 12%

  RESULT: STATUS IN FLUX, POSSIBLE FAILURE

  END/ALERT

  //

  //

  SEND MESSAGE

  JKABOL@US/SS/BLACK/DISPATCH.GOV

  kabol:

  WE HAVE A PROBLEM. PROJECT 30021:GORDON HAS

  DISAPPEARED OFF THE GRID. TRACKING DEVICES

  HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED, BUT AS A SECONDARY

  LEVEL OF SECURITY, ACTIVATE SS/BLACK

  MONITORING SYSTEM AND AS A LAST RESORT,

  IMPLODE. ASSET IS DANGEROUS AND UNSTABLE.

  ELEMENTS ARE FRACTURED AND POSSIBLE MUTATION

  COULD LEAD TO ANTI-EFFORTS WHICH WILL NOT BE

  TOLERATED. UPDATE ON PROJECTIONS BASED ON

  CURRENT INFORMATION:

  A-PLAN: 87% SUCCESS RATE

  B-PLAN: 54% SUCCESS RATE

  C-PLAN: 23% SUCCESS RATE

  X-PLAN: 94% SUCCESS RATE

  IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED. ACTIVATION OF

  YOUR SYSTEMS MUST BE IMPLEMENTED WITHIN 24HOUR, OR ASSET WILL BE DE-ACTIVATED FROM OUR

  END. THAT WOULD NOT BE OUR BEST OPTION.

  ASSIGNED

  MESSAGE SENT

  END

  //

  //

  SECURITY UPGRADE

  TOWERS: RAISED FROM ORANGE TO RED, ACTIVATE

  PROBING SENSORS, LOCK DOWN OF GATES

  BORDERS: RAISED FROM ORANGE TO RED,

  ELECTRIFY ON MOTION

  PORTS: RAISED FROM YELLOW TO ORANGE, ANCHORS

  MOORED, GPS ACTIVATED

  TRANSPONDERS: SHUT DOWN, NOT TO BE OPENED

  WITHOUT ALPHA-LEVEL CLEARANCE

  X-FACTOR: MONITOR, ALL AUDIO AND VISUAL

  REBOOT, WHERE APPLICABLE

  END

  //

  7. ROLAND

  I don’t even know his name and yet I feel comforted in his presence. I sit on the back patio watching the sun go down as my anger slowly drains from me. Everything I’ve seen points in his direction and yet little of it makes sense. Who are the others in the group? Some I recognize, like the infamous Jimmy. His wavering presence is a giant question mark. Jacob I’ve seen around town, but I don’t know him at all. My mother, the town whore.

  He told me to focus. Sit on the back patio, sip some tea, stare at the beautiful surroundings, and focus my concentration and energy on something, anything. ESP, astral projection, kinesis - what the hell is he talking about? I pick up the long silver spoon that rests next to the glass of iced tea and stare at it. I will my mind to do something - to move it, to levitate it, to bend it perhaps. Focusing, I stare at it until every imperfection is engraved in my mind, every tiny ding and dent, every little scratch and curve, every reflection of light. My vision blurs and the spoon vibrates as I feel my clarity slip away. Everything buzzes and jumps about, the details lost as the spoon pixilates and the atoms bend to my will. Like a limp noodle from a spaghetti pot it bends in half. Leaping to my feet it falls to the stone with a dull clang. I stare at it and it remains bent, unnatural at best.

  “Um...hey,” I stutter, “mister.”

  Blood throbs in my head. Placing my fingers to my temples, I close my eyes. A screech echoes inside my skull as voices come to me, my mother, and several others.

  Take it easy, you brutes. Just a little further, Marcy. Get you hands off my ass. You’ve been very busy, haven’t you. What the fuck is that? What do you guys want?

  My head swims and I reel to my right.

  “Hey, buddy...dude,” I murmur.

  My head snaps back and a flash of light pours over me. I open my eyes and am greeted by a slap of cold air, my legs thigh deep in snow. I stand at the edge of a cave, next to a large fire. Screams of some beast, a deep moaning howl floats to me. Below in the snow covered hillside, something looks up at me, its eyes glowing red, covered in long matted fur that must have once been white. I close my eyes and fall backwards.

  I stand in a bedroom, my cold wet feet dampening the carpet. The queen sized bed is covered with an open suitcase, and spread out over the bed are an assortment of vibrators and dildos. I’d seen them before. There is laughter coming from the next room, women’s voices. My mom.

  “Mom,” I cry, “help me,” as I stagger to the door. I place my hand on the knob as a jolt of electricity surges through my body. I fall to the ground on the cool stone tile. My arms flail wildly and I lose my bearings. The sound of spilling liquid and shattering glass spins in a dull circle around me as my head cracks the patio with an uneasy thud. In the distance he yells my name, over and over again. ROLAND he says, coming closer, as I drift away. ROLAND!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  May 13, 2024

  1. JACOB

  I run upstairs to the closet and the telescope is still there. Back down the steps I fly and out the back door. Behind the buildings and up the street my feet carry me faster and faster to the hidden, broken-down barn, just off the beaten path. I plunge into the overgrowth and weave my way to the back door. It’s bolted shut by a shiny new padlock, and when I stretch up onto my toes the key is still on the sill. Wiping the grimy window clean, I gaze inside at the tarp covered shape that can only be my first love, the Mustang. Turning around my feet give way and a heavy weight settles over my weary frame. I thud to the ground with a dull ache and stare at the greenery stretched out in front of me. I remember it all. What the fuck is going on.

  I return to the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. I need something to soothe my jangled nerves and a little chamomile with honey and lemon may do the trick. If not, the Knob Creek bourbon won’t be far behind.

  The dust flits around me, sun seeping through the dull windows. My hands shake on the tabletop as if I’m at the end of a three day binge, every emotion I have boiling to the surface. I fight back tears only to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all, to be followed by a numbing despair and on the heels of that a raging anger that makes my fists clench.

  This place. What has it done to me?

  The illusion had been shattered many years ago. If you asked any old timers, and there were very few of us now, they’d tell you how it started. The goal of this prison camp. But how many knew we were on an island, I wonder? Obviously, the staff that handles the boats and docks. I assume the upper management. Exodus for sure. The various forms of darkness, whatever they are. Did it really matter anyway? The zombies that had been sentenced to this place quickly forgot the real world. Upon landing, there were many things that were done to ensure the gap in memory. The brainwashing was first, the psychology of the mind erase
. The microchips were second. The tracking devices were just for security, to keep an eye on us all. Or so they said.

  In the beginning it had been a game. The founding members were allowed to keep their memories, and in return, they were to help with the illusions. We were given the hope and dream of getting out of here, back to the mainland, and whatever lives we had left. Somebody had to run the asylum, even if the staff wasn’t much more sane. I’ve seen the caves. Marcy and I took care of some business together, the good of the many at the sacrifice of the few. She was a stone cold bitch, but she carried the weight of promises and possibility. And that was a rarity. Jimmy was the only one to get off, as far as I know, and his departure was tricky and surrounded by rumors. Those rumors drifted back to me, now and then, and there has been talk of disaster on the mainland for a very long time. I don’t know who or what to believe. Part of me feels the weight of a world carrying on without me, without us, business as usual, traffic and babies and television and baseball. Another part of me knows it’s all gone. I saw something in Jimmy’s eyes. He was trying to tell us something. I barely know him, but he’s a good man, I know that much.

  My escape attempt failed. Miserably. I’m exhausted from the myriad of possibilities and what I should do next. Pulled in ten directions at once, I can’t move at all. And maybe that’s okay for now.

  The teapot starts to whistle. I stand up and click the stove off, pouring the steaming water over the tea bag and lemon wedge. Maybe I can survive on these little things. Mass consumption has always been overrated. But to know there is nothing, to know that it is pointless, finite with no hope of grandeur, of anything beyond this island, it dulls my senses to the core.

  There is a jangling of bells at the front of the store. A customer, how pedestrian.

  2. MARCY

  The men with the shotguns drop me at the back gate, unlocking the handcuffs, but not before getting in a quick squeeze of my breasts.

  “You know the way from here,” the tall one says with a leer.

  “Yes, I do. And...” leaning over to read the name stitched on his shirt, “...Bodin, I’m sure X will be happy to hear of your manhandling me the entire way here.”

  “It was his idea,” Bodin said. “How did he put it, Colin?” he says, turning his head to the short, fat partner of his. “Oh yeah. Have a little fun with her. She likes that kind of thing.”

  A slow boil runs under my skin and for a second I wonder if I’m fast enough to take him. It wouldn’t be hard to grab that shotgun and ram it up under his chin. Behind me the gate clicks open and a small blur flies past me, brown fur squealing and chittering. It runs up to Boden’s leg unleashing a torrent of bites and scratches in a whirlwind of teeth. It would be funny if the blood wasn’t coursing down his pant leg, his eyes widening as a wash of pale envelops his face. The tiny rodent turns and runs back through the gate on up the hill and out of sight. As Bodin falls to the ground grabbing his leg, cursing and rolling about, I eye his quiet friend as I kick the fallen pervert in the face with a satisfying crunch. It’ll have to be enough for now.

  Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air as I run up the hill. A wave of heat passes over me, followed quickly by a river of chills. As I round the corner of the house I see the only two men I’ve ever loved. Neither one looks good.

  Exodus was his name, one of many actually, but I call him X. It’s a long story that I’ll save for another day, but suffice it to say he saved me from myself. He is on his knees hunched over Roland, as my son flails about on the ground, smacking the stone with repeated violence, bloodying his hands, eyes rolled back in his head.

  “What

  happened?”

  “I don’t know, Marcy. We had a little talk. I gave him his first test, to see if his abilities were still dormant. Obviously they aren’t. That was a mistake. I should have been here with him. One minute he was bending a spoon as I watched him from the kitchen window, the next he was fading in and out. Covered in snow, then sweaty and twitching, gone again, and then back like this.”

  With a sharp twist of his neck, Roland’s head smacks the tile and he is still. We stare at each other. He doesn’t move.

  “No, that wouldn’t do it,” he says. “That wasn’t anything.”

  I kneel down by my son looking for a sign, for anything, a clue. X places his hands on Roland’s chest, and lowers his ear to Roland’s mouth. He places two fingers on his neck and shakes his head.

  “Nothing. He’s dead.”

  I stare at my son as a wave of shock runs through me.

  “It was too much for him,” X mutters. “It’s my fault.”

  I’ve never seen Roland so still, so void of life. A tremor runs through me, and all of the stupid decisions I’ve made over the years flash before me. Drunken, stoned and full of sex. Running around with no thought or worry about him. So many bad choices. What a waste.

  “Go ahead,” X says. “This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen, but go ahead.”

  “You sure?” I ask, a cold sheen of sweat coating my skin.

  “No. But we don’t have a choice.”

  I place my hands on Roland’s chest and close my eyes. Running back in time to the very first time, the first lover, the first victim. The constant need to fill myself for a day such as this. My arms shake and the life force of a hundred men and women pour into him, and I can feel the drain on my system, the emptying. His body shakes under my splayed hands, color returning to his skin, saliva foaming at his mouth, spittle flying as his jaw clenches and unclenches. His arms and legs fly about as I struggle to hold him down. My eyes shift to a dull yellow, the pupils changing to a diamond shape, the vibration through my system a violent purring. I look up at X and his expression is rigid and calm. But his eyes, they shine and sparkle. The fear that dances on his face is only a surface tension, covering the greater expanse of emotion that runs deeper, to his core.

  “Enough, Marcy,” he smiles, grabbing my arms, and separating us. There is a crack of electricity and the downward spiral of a humming engine shutting down. I rock back on my knees and sit there, smoke drifting from my fingertips. Roland sits up and his eyes fly open.

  “Mommy? Mom?” he asks, the terror of the last hour evident in his empty eyes. He is a child again, a tiny, frightened toddler, alone in the dark. I pull him to my chest and hold him as if this is the end of it all. Tears pour down my face and a smile eases over my glistening lips. X is flush with excitement and places a hand on my shoulder.

  “We’re on our way,” he says.

  3. JIMMY

  The padlock at the gate clicks shut and I wander back down towards Madison. The baskets of pickles and canned fruit are a great strain to my arms and shoulders but every step that I take reminds me of the role I have taken on, the part I have now been cast to play. It all feels right and I’m suddenly aware of how many little bits of déjà vu I have noticed lately. I have my own theory on déjà vu.

  I believe we live many lives, and reincarnate, if the faith and ability is there. I also believe that there are an infinite number of possible futures, but only one true path that will utilize the gifts and talents we are given from birth. When we experience déjà vu it is simply the universe telling us that we are on the right path. We are given these tiny markers, these little blips on the radar to encourage us gently in that direction. It has been a long time since I’ve felt them, but with Madison it’s been a common occurrence. And that soothes me in this modern day wilderness where death lurks behind every door, and instead of missing your bus or forgetting a loaf of bread, you get your legs torn off by a pack of wild dogs or a quick bullet to the back of your head. There is no room for error now and it makes me hypersensitive to the point of sensory overload.

  Coming up to the metal door that guards our tiny hideout, I raise my hand to pound on the door. I want to let my Madison know that I’m home so she can put down the giant handgun that she holds with her two tiny hands. As I reach out to knock I am greete
d by empty space, a dark void that sends a shiver through my chest and panic through my head. Stunned by the open door and the scent of gunshot residue, I stand frozen in my steps until the shatter of glass and the acrid splatter of pickle juice at my feet breaks the silence.

  Boxes are turned over and broken, canned goods strewn about and the stench of rotten urine. I hunt for the spray of blood, or even worse, an ever expanding puddle. Or her crumpled body. I find no sign of her injury, and for some reason this gives me no peace. There are chips in the wall, more now than what I left behind earlier. Why did she answer the door?

  Have I been followed, did they know the knock and take her that easily? The urine is a marking of the Blisterheads and I know who brought them here. Somehow he found us. I pray that they don’t know she is pregnant or they’ll make an example of her. Right now she is bait, for me. But if they know her condition, she’ll be a grotesque mockery of all that is still holy and pure, for the world to see. I’ve heard of rituals they perform and send a silent prayer to whatever God still watches over me that they are not true.

  Back out into the corridor I can still smell the foul odor of the bald beasts. Wet boot prints head away from me and the easy exit to the subway above. They’ve either gone further down, deeper into the bowels of this defunct system, or they know another way out.

  I pause and quiet myself, closing my eyes, and opening my ears to anything - a stumble, a stomp, an angry grunt, a wail or a shot. I know this tunnel, and the many branches it can follow. Out into the darkness I send my spirit, willing her to make a noise, to give me a clue. At the very edges of my abilities I hear a muffled cry.

  “Jimmy!” she wails.

  Far away. Tiny. They have a good head-start. A wet slap and a barely distinguishable laugh. Ming. I will hollow out his glistening head and fuck his eyeholes if he so much as undresses her with his eyes. I pull out my Glock, check it, slap it shut, and return it to the shoulder holster and check the knife in my boot. With two steps into the room I grab the backpack hanging from the back of the door. It has been missed in their haste, thank God. With one deep breath I jog down the path, avoiding the water, my silent steps an angry vibration in the concrete around me.