by T. C. Edge
He walks around to the front of the van, urging me to follow.
“Such as that,” he says, pointing at the broken windows and bullet-ridden flanks of the vehicle. “They’ll know we were in a fight as soon as we drive up.”
“So…we tell the truth,” I say, another of my bright ideas flashing in my head. “You can tell them that we were attacked on the road, and that’s how the other Stalker was killed. It works perfectly, actually…”
“Right. That’ll work,” says Zander, nodding with more resolve now. “And it’ll cover our tracks in case a Bat was listening.”
He surges back around to the rear of the van, and tells me to give the City Guard his jacket and weapon back. Then he creeps into both of their heads, performing some of his own mental manipulations in order to make sure we both have control over them.
“Just to make sure,” he says to me.
As he does so, the two City Guards move around to the front and climb in behind the wheel. Zander, meanwhile, tells me to get into the back, before rushing off into the woods. Moments later, he’s returning with the jacket of one of the dead Stalkers, as well as the helmet and visor they use to cover their faces.
He pulls on the enemy outfit, concealing his own features.
“How do I look?” he asks.
“Like a Stalker,” I answer. “It’ll work…this will work.”
“Good. Then let’s get it done.”
He gets into the van and shuts the rear door. Ahead, the City Guard in the passenger seat has opened up the small window, allowing us to communicate with them.
“OK, drive us to the REEF,” he orders. “Remember your roles. You will explain that we were attacked on the road and that one of the Stalkers was killed, but you managed to get away. Understood?”
They both answer in the affirmative, and the van begins to grind off again in the direction of the REEF.
Sitting in the back, I listen as my brother sets about doing what he does best, searching the Hawk’s mind for further details about the exact layout of the REEF, its security personnel, and Adryan’s likely location.
I stay quiet, leaving him to slip into the role he’s grown accustomed to over these many years fighting in the shadows. When I get a chance, I ask him about his own knowledge of the facility, which appears to be lacking.
“I’ve heard only a few things,” he informs me.
“You’ve never been there?”
He shakes his head.
“No, but I’ve heard accounts from people who have.”
He spares me only a few words before continuing his interrogation and mental exploration of the City Guard’s knowledge of the REEF. While he hasn’t been there, it’s quite clear that both of these men have been involved in transporting prisoners to the facility for some time, and as such their knowledge of the place is now very much my brother’s too.
Because, unlike merely asking for an explanation of the layout, he’s actually able to see the place within his subject’s mind. Within a few short minutes, he’s confident that he knows where Adryan is, and exactly how to get to him.
To give us time to plan and prepare, we maintain a relatively slow driving speed as we crunch along the track and creep along the half dozen miles to our destination. Yet, before I know it, the woods are beginning to thin out ahead of us, and the shape of grand structures are starting to appear as distant silhouettes in the fog.
Time has dashed past too quickly.
Are we ready?
We have to be…
“OK, we’re coming up on the front gate,” says Zander, gripping his pulse rifle a little tighter. “Brie, remember that you’re my prisoner, so don’t let those Hawk-eyes shine too brightly. Keep your head down and let me do the rest. Getting in should be easy enough. It’s getting out I’m worried about.”
In order to maintain the illusion, a fresh set of cuffs are attached back to my wrists, one of the Hawks at the front having a spare set. The little window is then closed, leaving only a little gap for us to listen through in the back as the van begins to slow as it cruises up towards the front gate.
When it stops entirely, I hear the grinding of gears as the gate opens, and then the voice of a sentry guard confirming the identity of the Hawks. As expected, he immediately brings up the state of the vehicle, his voice tense as it booms from a body that can only be a Brute.
The Hawks, now under my brother’s control as well as my own, do as they were ordered, explaining that we were attacked en route, and that one of the Stalkers was killed, leaving only a single remaining Stalker to escort me in the back of the van.
A few more words boom from the Brute’s body, and then the sound of several sets of feet come shuffling around to the rear of the van. The doors are hastily opened up, and several gigantic men stand before us. As instructed by Zander, I keep my eyes low, but am still able to peep through my peripheral vision at the hulking men.
“Your partner was killed?” comes the main Brute’s voice.
Zander, now playing the part of the only remaining Stalker, sets about answering. He does so with a scratchier, monotone voice that appears to be his impression of how a Stalker might sound. I suppose he’s encountered enough of them to know.
“Correct,” he replies. “We were ambushed on the road. Several hybrids. We dealt with them…but my partner was killed in the fight. I suggest you send out a retrieval team immediately to fetch his body before the beasts get to it.”
The Brute nods, happy with the explanation. Moments later, the van door is shut and it continues on through the main gate, the surface of the ground beneath the tyres changing from crunching dirt to the flat form of a concrete path.
We continue on for a little while, perhaps fifty or so metres, before reaching another gate. It opens immediately, allowing passage through the inner layer of security, leading us into a wide courtyard that gives entry into the various buildings of the REEF.
There are several of them, all utilised for a different purpose. Here, it’s not only the execution of hybrids and difficult and unruly characters that takes place, nor the reconditioning of criminals into Con-Cops, and the other mental recalibrations that occurs here, but various other scientific and medical experiments too.
Rumour has it, purer forms of easily controllable hybrids are being designed that would put even the Stalkers in the dark. More powerful adversaries that, if developed to completion, might just be Cromwell’s ace in the hole, his trump card used to destroy anyone who stands in his way.
Once more, the van crawls to an abrupt stop, and the rear doors are opened. A fresh troop of guards await, two Brutes at the front, armed with huge guns and covered in thick armour.
They stand on either side, creating a short tunnel for us to move through, their shadows blocking out the light filtering down through the hazy skies. Zander, hidden behind his Stalker mask and cloak, takes a grip of my cuffs and drags me down to the front of the van. With my head low, I stumble along, hitting the tarmac as I’m led into the main courtyard.
At the front of the van, I hear the Hawks leaving the van as well. As we move past the cordon of guards, they come around towards us. Apparently, since they’ve brought me this far, they’ll be taking me onward, along with Zander, towards my final destination.
Without giving myself away, I try to get a good look at my surroundings. From here, there isn’t much to see but for the slate grey structures ahead, built like large warehouses and intentionally intimidating. There are three, lined up side by side, all surrounded by the tall walls that block the facility off from the woodlands beyond.
And tall the walls are. At least 20 feet, the tops reachable at certain points by ladders that rise up into small watch positions, manned by Hawks.
My immediate concern upon seeing the place is that there’s no way out. The front is too secure, populated by a significant security force and blocked by the double gates and the walls either side of them.
The rest of the perimeter also looks to be impas
sable from the inside. We could get to the top, but could we jump down safely to the other side?
And if we did, what exactly is going to await us out there?
The concern comes and goes quickly. My mind needs to stick with the task at hand. First step: find and secure Adryan. We can work out the rest after.
Or, well, Zander can. Let’s be honest, if it wasn’t for him, I’d have walked right in here without having a clue what to expect, and would walk out a mindless slave of Artemis Cromwell. Once more, I’ve had to rely on the prowess and clear mind of my brother to even get us here safely.
And now, it’s going to be down to him to get us out again.
With Zander to my side, gripping tight at my arm and guiding me forward, and the two Hawks under our control flanking behind me, we begin moving forward.
Ahead, more security personnel dot the place. They’re up on the walls. They’re blocking entry into each building. They’re wandering about, seemingly with nothing to do but patrol.
It looks like overkill, really, considering the place is ostensibly so impenetrable. I wonder when the last time they had a proper security breath was?
Or, maybe it’s just that Cromwell has too many guards and security men that he doesn’t know what the hell to do with them. Or perhaps there’s something else here he’s trying to keep in, rather than keep out…
It’s towards the building on the right that I’m taken, towards the threatening metal doors and the mean-looking guards that block them. It appears that the guards here are less approachable than those over in the city, one of the primary requirements of the job perhaps to be of a less affable disposition. A man like Magnus, always smiling at the western gate between Inner and Outer Haven, would never be assigned to a place like this.
We’re given entry inside, the guards grunting for Zander to take me to the detention level on ‘subterranean 1’. As we move into the long, dark corridor, I turn my eyes to my brother and, speaking telepathically, ask: Is that where Adryan is?
His answer comes inside my head. Yes, he tells me. We just need to find his cell.
There’s a thick tension hanging in the air as our footsteps bounce around the walls, echoing off into the gloom. The corridor is built from stone, dull and grey and growing old. Unlike the streets of Inner Haven, always so well maintained, it looks as though this place isn’t treated with such care and attention.
Given its grim purpose, it fits. A place of desolation and hopelessness, where people see their last minutes play out in the cold darkness before they’re either executed or lobotomised and fashioned into vessels of Cromwell and the Consortium’s use.
You can feel the fear in the walls, see the ghosts of the place in the dust that filters down from the ceiling, taking shape before us as we wander towards the stairs that give passage to the subterranean level below.
Behind us, the two City Guards under our control continue to behave, neither of them giving us up or passing on any hint of our subterfuge. Like loyal dogs they are, yet to bite their master. But all it might take is one snap, and our presence here will be detected.
Down the steps we go, swirling around as they curve a hundred and eighty degrees, leaving us standing in a square reception room where a single guard stands within a bulletproof booth.
Through an intercom his voice comes.
“State prisoner name.”
“Brie Shaw,” growls my brother. “Set for reconditioning.”
“Good,” says the guard. He hits a button and a buzzer sounds, followed by a click as a solid metal door beside his booth is unlocked. “Take her to cell 14. You two,” he says, referencing the Hawks. “Stay here.”
It’s dangerous leaving the Hawks alone, and Zander knows it. Letting go of my arm, he steps a little closer to the guard in the booth, drawing his eye. The guard stares at him for a moment, before my brother steps back to me and retakes my arm.
What was that? I ask telepathically.
Insurance, he answers. I have him too…
And with that, he reaches up and takes the handle of the heavy metal door, turns it down, and leads me inside.
17
Behind the large security door, the muted sounds of terrified calls spread from the murky space ahead. My eyes lift now, no longer requiring to hide their inner power, and search forward into the gloom, to the cells lining the corridor that stretches into the depths.
Each one is built from solid metal too, and each has a little window of thick, barred glass giving a view of the prisoner inside. Immediately, Zander whispers to me, no longer needing to communicate in my head.
“OK, you go left, I’ll go right. Find him quick.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I immediately spring off to the first cell on the left and peer inside. I see a frame balled on the dank floor, curled up and shivering in fear. It’s not Adryan, that much is clear. But my desire to free the poor man as well instantly swells.
He looks so alone, so frightened. Whether he’s here to be executed, or reconditioned, I can’t know. But either way, his fate is sealed, and maybe today, or tomorrow, or several days from now, the life he knows will end.
I tear my eyes away from him and move to the next cell. I encounter a similar story, this one told by the form of a bedraggled woman, whimpering into her hands as she rocks back and forward on the little bench that lines one side of the cell.
Before her eyes can lift to me, I step further to the left, and then onwards down the corridor as I pass by cell after cell filled with lost soul after lost soul.
My heart breaks a little more with each person I see, my mind filling with thoughts of what they’re leaving behind; the people, the places, the experiences. That most of these people will likely be up for reconditioning and not execution, that many will probably become Con-Cops or other slaves of the system, all set to help usher in the new directives of the Consortium.
I’ve always looked upon Con-Cops with an apathetic eye, mostly hating them for how they behave, for their lifeless eyes and unerring need to do as their masters order. I’ve looked upon them like that even though I know they were all once normal people, most of them barely criminals at all before they were turned.
But never have I truly imagined them here, locked in these cells, waiting for the inevitable. Seeing it now brings to life the true terror that they have to go through, the desperate nature of what we’re trying to save. No one with any ounce of humanity could possibly condone such a thing.
And that’s exactly what’s at stake: humanity.
As I go, I turn to see Zander making swifter progress, moving from one cell to the next without batting an eyelid. I yearn to have his ability to focus on the mission only, to look upon these people with barely a blink of caring.
He’s not a callous person, he’s just been forced to act in a callous way. He’s here to save Adryan and nothing more. There’s nothing we can do for these people, so why bother wasting time looking at them, wondering who they are, what they’ve done to find themselves here?
He’s right. I’m wrong. And I know I’m wasting precious time.
So I go on, refusing to look upon any single face or figure for too long. Just doing enough to make sure that it’s not Adryan before continuing onwards, working faster now until we reach a crossroads.
Corridors stretch left and right from it, this underground dungeon far more vast than I could have expected.
I join my brother there, and our eyes tell each other that we haven’t found Adryan yet. I can tell, too, that he’s growing more tense. He may have taken control of the guard behind the booth, but upstairs, they’ll be getting suspicious if we start to take too long.
“We’re going to have to call out his name,” he tells me. “Shout out, tell him to tap on his door to alert us of where he is. Go left, check both sides, I’ll go right.”
I nod and he immediately begins moving along the corridor to the right, his voice ringing out into the darkness.
“Adryan Sh
aw. Which cell are you in, Adryan?!” he shouts.
I do the same.
“Adryan. It’s me! Adryan! Where are you?!”
It feels good to call out, to quicken the procedure and not have to check every last cell. Yet until I hear him, I still do, moving to each little window and quickly peering inside. As we call, we occasionally stop and listen, leaving nothing but our echoing voices dancing down into the dark.
I hear no tapping.
No reply.
But from behind the many metal doors, the sounds of murmuring have grown louder as people hear us. And I see, too, faces appearing right at the windows as I arrive at them, stark eyes staring out.
Desperate. Pleading. Begging for help.
I can’t, I mouth to them as their words arrive, muffled by their cage.
“Help! Please!” they call, their mouths screaming but voices barely penetrating the barrier, barely reaching my ears.
And my reply is the same, my eyes pained as I shake my head and say: “I can’t.”
I reach the end of the corridor and there’s still nothing. I turn back and rush to the centre to find Zander doing the same.
No success. No Adryan.
We rush onwards down the main corridor. Shouting. Listening. Checking each room.
Soon enough we’re at another crossroads, with two other corridors stretching left and right into the distance.
Once more, the routine is the same. Off he goes to the right. Off I go to the left. We both call out, and we both listen, and from all the cells the terrified faces of people appear, each one carrying a hint of terrible hope.
Hope that we will save them. Hope that their lives won’t end in this place.
It’s a hope that cannot be given life. A hope that must be quashed.
There’s nothing we can do.
My desperation grows the longer it goes on, the longer it takes to hear some reaction from my husband, my man. Sometimes, the tapping sounds, the tapping of fingers on metal that I’m so desperate to hear, and my own heart lifts in hope.
But I find nothing but an imposter awaiting me; just another man, or woman, so desperate that they think they can fool me.