by Jim Heskett
Kellen smiled. “So my blog post did get out before you could pull it down.”
George scowled and stepped even closer, holding the nail file. Wasn’t as good as a knife, but it did have a pointed end. “You got a few shares on social media, and we couldn’t stop all of them. In the end, though, what did it matter? So a few people know our names. It’s not like you prevented anything.”
“Maybe not. But there’s one thing I’ve never been able to figure out,” Kellen said. “I get the assassination of the president. While you had the whole country freaking out about your fake meteor, you put everyone in place to pull that off. I know you even had the V.P. in on it. But killing the entire internet? How did you manage that?”
“That was the easy part, actually. It was a coordinated series of Denial of Service attacks. Mostly from Bulgaria. The meteor was much harder. Suppressing all that data, paying off the right scientists… we knew we couldn’t keep it secret forever because the machine was just too big. But it only had to work for a short while to get everything else in place. Flood the market with bad stocks, have our people at the Fed devalue the dollar, then watch everything come crashing down.”
Kellen made the mistake of looking at the nail file, which George must have seen. He chuckled and stuffed the file back into his pocket. “You’re not nearly as bright as you think you are, you know that? Tell you what: you finish going through everything in that folder by supper time, and I might let you shower tomorrow.”
“How about you let me speak to Anders instead?”
George grinned, then laughed. “You’ve come a long way from being a sniveling staffer. It’s quite impressive, when I stop to think about it. But you can forget about Anders. You’re never going to get within an inch of him again.”
***
George didn’t let Kellen shower the next day, even though Kellen had breezed through the data with plenty of time to spare. He used the free time to stare out the window for a couple hours, trying to figure out what city he was in. Some trees would have helped, but all he could see from the window were broken buildings and desolate roads. When was the last time he had seen a car? In the last place they’d kept him–which he figured was either Florida or California based on the palm trees–he had heard cars. So he knew they still existed. Gasoline must have been in high demand, though.
The morning after that, he sat on his bed so he could see the door when they brought him his assignments. When the door finally opened, he honed his eyes so he could concentrate. All these weeks of staring at numbers in the dim light had made his eyes lazy and weak.
He squinted. A long hallway lit by overhead fluorescent lights narrowed to a point, several hundred yards away. Doors lined the sides, most of them with keycard entry.
That was all he had time to see before the door slammed shut.
“What are you doing?” asked a man he’d never seen before. The man was clutching a laptop.
“Just trying to get a different view. Is that a real laptop?”
The man held up the computer and turned it in his hands. “Yes. We’ve loaded a spreadsheet program on it so you can use some formulas. Mr. Grant wants you to step up your production, so we found you one.”
Kellen flexed his fingers, which were thin and dirty. “We’ll see if I can remember how to type. Maybe you guys can beat me into improving my words per minute if I don’t type fast enough.”
“Don’t abuse the privilege of this laptop. You’ve been doing good work. I’m authorized to let you shower after lunch today, so don’t do anything to screw that up. Shower, maybe even some clean clothes if you behave.”
The promise of hot water and soap had never sounded so appealing. Back in DC, he’d outfitted his shower with an extravagant dual shower head, something Kellen and his ex had fought over. One of those stupid arguments that begins as one thing then becomes about everything, and no one wins. Eventually, the ex moved out, but the shower head stayed.
“I can behave,” Kellen said.
The man set the laptop on the table, unwrapped a muffin from a napkin, then set it next to the laptop. “I’ll be back at noon.”
He gave Kellen the eye before he left. Noon. Shower. Another chance to escape.
***
The laptop didn’t have internet access, and as far as Kellen knew, the internet was still a thing of the past. There must have been some way to transfer information around, though, some kind of network they’d been using. How else did LaVey and George and these people communicate with each other?
He spent part of the morning poking around in the laptop’s hard drive, but found nothing useful. Spreadsheet program, a few harmless files to look at, and not much else.
He kept his focus on noon and a chance to leave this room.
When they finally came for him, his stomach was empty, yawning and gurgling. They probably gave him only the meager muffin for breakfast so he’d be too weak to try to run.
The same man as this morning came through the door, twirling his keys, as well as a brute of a man carrying a baseball bat. Not a gun, because then Kellen might have a permanent escape option. Run, get shot, prison sentence over. But a baseball bat could serve to teach him a lesson only.
“Where do you people keep finding these buildings that are so intact?” he said. “Everything I can see out of the windows is all bombed out and rubble, but you keep stashing me in such nice places with electricity and running water.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said the man with the keys. He walked to Kellen and knelt. “I’m going to unlock your ankle chain now. My friend here with the bat is going to keep a close eye on you to make sure nothing happens that I don’t like. Got it?”
Kellen nodded. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Mr. Blue. My friend here is Mr. White.”
“Like Reservoir Dogs.”
Mr. Blue shook his head. “I don’t know what that is. Anyway, Mr. White here is a Buddhist. He’s not into violence.”
“Is that right?” Kellen said.
Mr. White didn’t move his head or acknowledge the question. “Just behave yourself and you’ll be fine.”
Mr. Blue keyed the lock on the chain, and a rush of air stung the scabbed and bleeding area around Kellen’s ankle.
“Christ,” said Mr. Blue. “That’s disgusting. You’re probably going to lose this foot pretty soon, so fair warning. But, it’ll be a lot easier to keep tabs on you if that happens.”
Kellen gritted his teeth, trying to keep his composure. Must be a model inmate, for now, at least. “Where’s George Grant? I figured he’d want to oversee my bath time personally.”
“Mr. Grant isn’t any of your concern.”
“Fine, then, what about Peter Anders? Or Edward LaVey?”
Mr. Blue averted his eyes. “Never heard of either of them. On your feet, now.”
Kellen stood as Mr. White gripped the baseball bat like a slugger, high and over his shoulder.
Mr. Blue waved his hand at the door, and Kellen limped toward it. Blue and White followed, with White so close that Kellen could feel hot breath on his neck.
On the other side of the door, Kellen squinted against the harsh glow of the overhead lights. Fluorescent lights were always such an annoyance back before these people had imprisoned him, and now they were a thing to marvel at. Electricity seemed magical, almost.
“Where are we?” Kellen said as he stepped into the hallway and looked out a window at a collection of mostly-rubble buildings.
“Mobile,” said Blue. “Or what’s left of it.”
Kellen wasn’t thinking Alabama, but it made sense now. Heat carrying into the fall. Humid days and rainy nights.
They marched down the corridor. The building seemed utterly silent.
“We’re going to the last door on the left,” said Blue. “Do not touch anything else before we get there.”
Kellen said nothing, and kept his hands to himself. This was the best opportunity he’d had in weeks. He could smell
freedom but couldn’t quite touch it.
At the last door on the right, White threw a hand on Kellen’s elbow and squeezed. He stopped. Blue took a keycard from his pocket and pressed it against a pad next to the door. It beeped, then the door opened.
Inside was a small locker room, with benches and towel racks like a country club. “Where are we?” Kellen said.
“Some college. Athletic dorm, I think. Does it matter, though? Any building that’s still standing is as good as any.”
Blue was by far the chattiest and most forward with information of any of the people keeping watch on him. Not that knowing where in Mobile did him any good.
Blue took up a spot inside the room, and White pushed Kellen toward a door in the corner. On the other side, Kellen found a bathroom with shower stalls.
“I’ll be right here,” White said, pointing to a sink across from the showers.
Now that Kellen had a chance to properly examine him, White wasn’t half-bad looking. “You sure you don’t want to join me?”
White sneered. “Don’t push your luck. You’ve got five minutes.”
Kellen dropped the flirty act and stepped through the shower curtain. Tried not to think about how the floor must be crawling with athlete’s foot. A single nozzle poked out of the wall, and a tray bolted underneath that housed a bar of soap.
He stripped his clothes and peeled back the curtain to drop them on the floor. White was five feet away, leaning against the sink and staring at the ceiling.
Kellen turned on the shower, a blast of cold water striking him. Shocking, but good at the same time. He watched lines of dirt and grime run down his skin, and stifled a yelp when the stream ran past his mutilated ankle.
He let the water run over him for a few seconds, and it started to warm up. Steam clouded the air around him.
“Hey White,” he called above the sound of the shower. No response. “You want a blowjob?”
“Quit fucking around,” said White. “You got five minutes, better make the most of it.”
“That’s what I’m saying. I’m guessing I can get you off in thirty seconds. Forty-five, tops.”
The shower curtain was mostly opaque, but Kellen could make out White’s shadow. The shadow grew larger.
Kellen dropped into a crouch, sending needles of pain into his ankle.
White pulled back the curtain, and Kellen threw everything he had into ramming his fist into White’s crotch. White grunted and stooped forward.
Kellen jumped up, throwing the palm of his hand at the underside of White’s chin. He connected, and the big brute toppled backward. He fell, and the back of his head cracked the edge of the porcelain sink. He slid onto the floor, eyes closed.
Kellen stood there, in the running water, heart beating so fast he thought he might also collapse. He hadn’t punched anyone since junior year of high school, when the asshole varsity quarterback wouldn’t let him leave the cafeteria. The quarterback had kicked Kellen’s ass, but Kellen got in a couple of decent punches.
But this guy on the floor of the shower room wasn’t the varsity quarterback. This man was deadly, and Kellen had signed his own death warrant, unless he could escape now.
He picked up his filthy boxer shorts from the floor and slid them on, then decided to pass on the shirt and pants. They had hinted he might get clean clothes, so those had to be around here somewhere.
Now, to deal with Blue on the other side of that shower room door. Then whatever else was beyond that. Then figure out how to get out of Alabama and back to DC.
One thing at a time.
White was alive, judging by the rise and fall of his chest. He appeared knocked out, but Kellen had no idea how long that would last.
Kellen picked up the baseball bat from its spot over the sink. Felt solid in his hands, despite the fact that he hadn’t played a day of sports in his life.
He edged up to the door, mind racing. Blue didn’t have a gun, but Kellen didn’t trust himself to go up against him one-on-one, even with the bat. White hadn’t seen it coming. Blue would be ready for him, plus Kellen was weak. He couldn’t weigh more than 140 pounds right now and couldn’t walk faster than a limp with his ankle the way it was. He needed a doctor. He needed to escape.
Maybe he could call for help, say something was wrong with White, and Blue would come running. Or, if he did that, Blue might come back with guys with guns.
The best plan was the straightforward one.
Kellen cracked the door open and listened for Blue. Difficult to hear anything over the sound of the shower. He poked his head out but didn’t see Blue at his prior spot next to the door.
Kellen raised the bat and stepped through the door, heart pounding. A row of lockers blocked his view of most of the room. He sidled up to the lockers, then peered around the side. Blue was sitting on a bench, facing away from him.
He inched across the room, adjusting his grip on the bat.
Blue, who had been hunched over, straightened up. “Connor?”
Kellen hopped forward, bringing the bat down with all his strength. Blue turned at the last second and threw up an arm to block the bat. Kellen heard a crunch as it connected with Blue’s forearm, but that didn’t seem to stop him. Blue jumped up from the bench and whipped a blade from his back pocket.
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Kellen had no idea what to do next.
Blue lunged with the blade high, and Kellen’s instinct took over. He swatted at Blue’s arm, and he managed to hit him on the wrist, which knocked the knife to the floor.
But Blue was quick to recover, and he grabbed the end of the bat. They each tugged at it, and Kellen felt himself losing. Blue was too strong.
Kellen let go of the bat, which seemed to surprise Blue. Kellen pointed the fingers of his hand straight and jabbed at Blue’s eyes. He connected, which made Blue drop the bat as his hands rushed to his face.
Kellen dropped to pick up the bat, and he jabbed it into Blue’s stomach. As he doubled over, he swiped up and connected with Blue’s head.
Blue fell back against the lockers, then slid to the floor, now silent.
Kellen knelt next to Blue’s body for a second as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Two guys. He’d never won a fight in his life, but now he’d knocked out two guys.
Behind him came the sounds of White stirring in the shower room. The shower turned off.
“What the fuck?” said White’s gritty baritone.
No time to worry about the clothes. Kellen got to his feet, bat in hand, and limped through the room.
***
The hallway was still silent, no alarms raised, no people, no nothing. Back at the other end of the corridor near his prison room, there was a left turn, so he hobbled toward it. He expected an alarm bell to go off at any second. What would he do then? He couldn’t run. They’d catch him. They’d find him and kill him, or maybe slash his Achilles tendons to permanently hobble him. As long as he still had fucking hands to examine fucking spreadsheets, that was all they cared about.
After the hallway turn was a door with an exit sign, but he also heard the door he’d come out of open behind him. White.
Kellen ducked around the corner as quickly as he could.
“You little runt,” said White from down the hallway. “You broke my tooth. I’m going to find you and pull your damn head off your neck.”
Kellen limped toward the exit sign, then pressed the bar to open the door, sure an alarm would sound. Nothing happened, so he hurried to the stairwell.
Judging by what he’d seen from his window, he was on the second floor. Only one flight of stairs to go.
He eased down the first few steps, ankle pulsing each time he put weight on it. After rounding the corner halfway down to the second set of stairs, he had to stop to rest his leg, which hurt so bad he wanted to scream. Didn’t think he could go on, but he had to. He was so close.
While resting at the bottom of the stairs, the door above him opened.
&nb
sp; “This is Connor,” said White. “The little experiment got away from us. Yeah, yeah, I know. We can talk about that later. Right now, I need some help.”
So, they did have phones, or walkie-talkies, or some way to communicate. Kellen looked around, but there was nowhere to go. If he opened the exit door in front of him, White would hear it. He limped over to the open space beneath the stairs, hoping it would be dark enough that White would slip right past him.
“Yeah, that’s not helpful right now,” White said. “Is there anybody at the front? When will he be back?”
The last bit suggested that not many people were here. At least, not the big brigade of guards Kellen had expected and his captors had implied.
Feet rushed down the stairs, and White went right out the door in front of Kellen, not even bothering to look behind him at Kellen’s hiding spot.
Five seconds ticked by. Then ten. Should he go out the door after him? Maybe White knew he was there, and was waiting for Kellen to walk through that door so he could knock him over the head with a club and take him right back up to the room.
But he couldn’t wait here forever.
He got to his feet and realized the hand he’d used to punch White was throbbing. Maybe broken, and the adrenaline was now wearing off.
When he pushed on the door, light greeted him immediately. Natural light, more blinding than the overhead lights upstairs, filled his eyes.
On the other side of the door was a massive bank of windows covering one wall. Some kind of lobby, with a row of plaques lining a long wall opposite the windows. The lobby stretched a few hundred feet, with banners hanging from the ceiling, and glass cases with golden trophies every few feet. Athletic dorm. He hadn’t been in one of these since that closeted basketball player in college who used to sneak him up to his room some nights.
Out the window, Kellen saw more collapsed buildings. Whatever had happened in Mobile, it seemed the city was in ruins. Was the rest of America like this too? If it was, where was Kellen supposed to go, if his home was destroyed? He thought about his cat, and didn’t even know how many years it had been since he’d seen her.