The tank was surrounded by a railing with several poles extending inwards, suspending it directly above a smallish hole leading straight down underground. The tank must open out at the bottom, I thought, and that must be where they disposed of my wee. It would be unfortunate if that were to happen before I had executed my plan, but best not to worry about that. Very soon, the generator would be shut down. By me.
I scanned around the rest of the room. The walls were plastered with diagrams and safety signs. At one end, there was a secure-looking glass cabinet filled with several slender green metal bottles, the same ones I’d seen upstairs in the lab. Next to that, there was a small silver chute with a control pad bolted into the wall. Also, same as the one I’d seen in the lab when they sent my wee manna up. They wouldn’t be sending any more up after tonight.
Aside from that, there was a row of large metal filing cabinets, what looked like several large computer units, and a desk with a PC, screen and chair.
I unplugged the PC and dragged the entire desk to the door, pulling it back as far as it would go and sliding the desk in front of it so as to keep it open.
Now I paused, took a deep breath and considered one last time the mayhem I was about to enact. It was a drastic step and there would be no turning back. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? I wanted this to be final.
*****
I stood next to the sphere tank thingy and unzipped, taking one final glance over my shoulder, down through the opened door and towards the grimy corridor and the stairs beyond. This was the part that would require all my skills of drunken concentration. To be honest, with the amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I was in the perfect state of readiness: clear of mind, simply needing to pee. The beer had seen to that. This was my time, my place, my… thing.
Before I let it rip, I had a little idea. I scanned around the ceiling and soon found what I was looking for: the innocuous-looking glass ball affixed to a corner up there. I faced it and gave it the big fat middle finger of my right hand. All the records would be destroyed soon enough, I thought. And well, if for some reason they weren’t, sod it. Truth be told, I kind of wanted them to know it was me.
And so, now was the time.
I stood up against the railings and, with a brief push on my bladder, I began the task, letting out the first spurts of green ultra-urine over the hole and onto the tank. As I had suspected, it left a little mark, sort of yellowy, but nothing much happened. The tank didn’t crack or burn or anything like that—after all, it was made from the same super-strong-poly-mega-dega-carbon-alloy stuff as the piss bin in my room.
I stepped back and did a turning motion, directing my wee to the floor. I sliced the railing support as I did so, causing it to crack and break. The tank lurched, having lost one of its wedges, but otherwise it remained in place, as did the railing structure itself. My wee was now hitting straight onto the floor, smelly yellowy smoke pushing up, the solid concrete fizzing and crumbling itself away down underground, down into the abyss of rock that was the earth’s crust. The usual, you know.
I walked myself backwards around the tank, waving my lethal stuff left and right over the floor, leaving a circle of blistering corrosion. I soon passed over the wiring from the generator, burning straight through it. The humming of the tank came to a stop. For an eerie moment there was silence, just the fizzing sound of the floor being melted away.
Then a klaxon rang out and a red light started flashing anxiously on the wall.
Bollocks.
I hadn’t considered that an alarm might be triggered before I was done. My plan had been to set off the fire alarm myself when I was good and ready. I guess I was drunker than I had thought. Never a good idea to make major decisions when intoxicated.
I continued hurriedly on my path of wee destruction until my orbit around the metal sphere tank thing was complete, doing my best to hold back enough pee to finish the job. Still urinating, trying to ignore the klaxon and the flashing light, I took careful steps back towards the door, keeping one eye over my shoulder so as not to trip up on the desk that held it open. The tank was now surrounded by a rising blanket of yellowy smoke, the floor around it steadily disintegrating away.
If someone came down now and saw me, I would be in deep doo-dah, but I was banking on the fact that loud music and copious boozing would slow them down. Plus, I doubted if this alarm was hooked up on every floor; I didn’t think it was the same as the fire alarm.
I continued steadily on my rearward tinkle path, through the opened doorway and into the corridor where I pissed as far down as I could manage. As planned, I reached almost halfway by the time I was spent. I let out the last drips with a sigh of relief. Smoke was fizzing up from the floor, making a line all the way down the corridor to the inside of the storage room, though I could no longer see anything within there through the yellow toxic haze. It always amazed me, the damage I could do with my member, the sheer crazy fact that somehow, with this stuff churning away in my body, I was still alive.
There was no time to linger though. I ran to the far end of the corridor, to the tradesmen’s staircase, my soon-to-be escape route, where at the bottom the actual fire alarm was located. I smashed through the glass with an elbow and flicked the switch inside. This had been my plan all along, though I wasn’t sure if it would make any difference now, what with the klaxon from the tank room. Straight away, the fire bells started ringing, adding a sharp and distinctive layer of noise on top of the klaxon, hammering my ears and rattling my head like it was a glass jar full of jelly beans.
Happy that all the partygoers would now start evacuating the building and spurred on by the ear-splitting volume of that combined ringing, I rushed back down to the midpoint of the corridor, to the end of my little smoking pee line. I took out a cigarette and lit one up. I stood for several minutes, smoking the fag, giving them all time to escape upstairs. I had to contend with the real worry that someone might possibly rush down now to check on me a tad sooner than I wanted, but in my drunken-fuelled idiocy, I had that all worked out.
“I must have been sleepwalking,” I’d say. “And when I woke up the alarm was going off. I think it was my fault. Oh God, what have I done?” We’d leave together, me and whoever it was, Bill most probably, if anyone, but just before that, I’d chuck my fag down accidentally-on-purpose where the luminous green line of wee was smoking, and then the real fire and mayhem would begin. After that, I was fairly confident I’d find a way to escape unnoticed in the chaos. Okay, it was a crap plan and I knew it, but I least I had one.
Anyway, like I said, I waited for a time and it was kind of nerve-racking to do that. Basically, I didn’t have to wait, but I wanted them all out first, didn’t want anyone hurt. Thankfully, it didn’t cross anyone’s mind to come down and check on me—too pissed, I guessed. Typical, really, but that suited me just fine.
And now that I felt confident most of them would be safely outside, that they’d all had plenty of opportunity to do so, I took a final puff of the ciggie and dropped the smouldering butt down into the misty cracks of the floor I had cut open with my rocket-fuel pee.
Bluish-green flames burst up, whooshing down the steaming line in a chain reaction down the corridor, through the open doorway and into the hazy storage tank room beyond. For a moment, I gazed transfixed at this channel of bluish fire crackling like some demonic underworld rising up from the depths of hell, an act of destruction that would change my life.
And now, finally, was the time to go.
I ran to the staircase. I marched up as fast as I could, trying not to physically overextend my flabby and unfit self too much, yet aware that the tank would soon explode. As I approached the door at the top of the stairs, I heard voices and footsteps from the hallway beyond. I took a peek through the little circular window there—people were rushing through the grey reception area and out the front doors and into the night. But it was only one or two of them; most would already be outside.
I waited just a few
seconds. Then I pulled on my hood, opened the door and bloody legged it.
The party had decamped to the street. Everyone was milling about, murmuring and laughing, apparently not yet aware there was a real fire down in the basement and finding the whole evacuation all jolly good fun. I took no chances, darting straight down the road with my head down low so that nobody would see me. I was going to just keep on legging it but somehow it didn’t feel right to leave the scene just yet, not until I was sure the plan had worked. I had to know the fire had spread, just as it had in the square, that all evidence would be obliterated, including any evidence of my miserable existence.
I found myself a spot behind some cars a bit of the way down, close enough to still see the Solar Ray offices but far enough not to be seen. I crouched, holding my breath, looking up at the building. The alarm bells were ringing but still no explosion and no fire or smoke. It would come any second, I was sure. That line of wee that ran to the tank was the fuse, so that smoking moat around the tank would have burst into a great blue ring of fire long ago. The flames would now be extending everywhere my acid had penetrated, would soon be lapping up all the way to the tank itself. Once they found their way there, with their astonishing power, they’d soon burn through the mega-dega metal, surely, and—
“Stand back!” someone shouted from the crowd of partygoers.
I heard them collectively gasp. Green-blue smoke was now visibly rising from the basement and out through the little windows.
“Where’s Dave?” a shrill and panicked-sounding female voice shouted. The doc maybe.
“Has anyone seen Dave?” someone else called.
“I’m not sure.”
“Dave!”
“Dave!”
“Dave!”
They were all shouting for me now.
“He must still be in there!” shouted someone.
“I’ll go in and find him!” someone else shouted, someone whose voice I definitely recognised. “Don’t worry, I’m a police officer.”
Butter!
I watched in horror as he rushed from the crowd and back towards the offices.
Oh, Christ, I thought. What was he doing? He’ll get killed in there!
I dashed down the road, desperate to stop him.
But I was too far behind. As I ran, I saw him fling open the doors and enter. A hulking great stone slab of guilt suddenly dumped itself right into my stomach.
“There he is!” someone shouted when I arrived at the door. “It’s Dave!”
I frantically looked through the glass and into the reception. It was filling with yellowy-green smoke rising up from the basement and billowing through the tradesmen’s staircase door, which was swinging on its hinges. He must have gone down to the basement!
“Dave, get over here!” someone shouted.
I turned to the crowd. Smoke hugged the ground, ducking and weaving in between them all, obscuring some faces while leaving others revealed. I knew I only had seconds before someone would run to me, grab me, pull me away. And if that happened, Butter could die inside there. No way I could stomach that.
I turned, swung open those doors and ran inside.
“No, Dave!” someone cried.
Straight away, I had to put a hand to my face. God, that smoke smelled like shit. Literally, that’s what it smelled like—bitter and rancid and muddy. The door to the basement staircase was shut now, holding it back somewhat. It seeped through the cracks, rising ominously across the reception floor, its sooty fingers extending up the walls and to the ceiling.
I rushed to the staircase doorway and opened it.
“Butter!” I shouted down through the billowing smoke. “Are you down there?”
“Dave!” I heard him call.
“Yes!” I shouted.
I heard him try to say something. Then he started coughing.
“Come back up here now!” I shouted. “Get the hell out of there!”
In moments, I saw his hunched figure climbing the stairs, a hand to his face, into which he was coughing ferociously. My eyes stung.
“Where were you?” he croaked.
I shook my head, suddenly feeling very stupid for what I had done.
“When did you—”
“Not now. Come on!” I pulled him towards the front doors. “We have to—”
BOOM!!!!!
We both fell to the ground as a massive explosion burst from the deep innards of the building. The ground shook violently. I heard the crowd screaming from outside. Smoke was pouring up from the basement now, billowing through the now blasted-open door. There was an intense, otherworldly blueish-green glow which I could feel literally blowing heat into my face.
Another rumble and I looked over to see the front doors smashing into a million shards of glass.
“Cover yourself!” shouted Butter with a thickly hoarse voice, putting a hand on my head and forcing me to face down.
We sank our heads down in the thick, smelly smoke. I could hardly breathe. Debris was falling all around us, smashing to the floor. There was more screaming from the crowd outside. I felt the thump of heavy things hitting my back, though luckily my backpack was taking the brunt of what must have been falling pieces of plaster and brick and whatnot. I was very lucky not to be hit by anything larger or on another part of my body that might injure me seriously. But I wasn’t sure how long our luck would last. The temperature was growing every second, sweat was pouring from my face, and the shaking of the floor gave me a dangerous sense that the whole building was coming apart at the seams.
There was another crashing sound nearby, and Butter screamed.
“Arrrrgggghhhh!”
“Are you alright?” I said, coughing.
“My leg,” he called.
I forced myself to turn towards him on the dusty floor. A large, crooked lump of concrete had wedged itself deep into one of his legs. Blood was oozing out.
“I’m sorry!” I said.
The building rumbled ominously. We needed to get out, pronto, or we would be dead for sure.
“Come on, Butter,” I said, pulling him up.
“Arrrgggghhh…” he cried again, his leg obviously hurting like buggery.
I hoisted him onto my shoulder and started hobbling towards the smashed doorway. The building shook again, another huge crash causing us to fall against a wall, though I grabbed Butter by the waist, managing to keep us on our feet. Splinters and shards of concrete flaked all around. Through the swirling dust, I saw that the ceiling above had caved in where the front door had once been. There was now a tall mound of brick and marble and plastic and everything else that had once been part of the floor immediately above. It was blocking our way completely.
“Shit.”
There was no way out. I was suddenly very afraid that this could be the end.
“Dave,” Butter mumbled. He sounded very weak now.
“What?” I leaned in close to him.
“You can do it,” he said. “Get us out of here. I know you can.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Dave,” he said, trying to force a cheeky smile. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Chapter 26
He was right, of course: there was only one possible way we could escape. I had to give it a go. In fact, I hardly cared about myself anymore. I knew this was all my own stupid fault, a giant mess of my own making. Once again, I had done completely the wrong thing. I couldn’t risk another man dying, especially the one man who had treated me as a normal human being.
“Come on,” I said, moving so I was standing with my back to him, indicating for him to grab a hold of my shoulders. “Take a hold of me. We’ll walk out together.”
I felt his hands on my shoulders, his weight pulling down on me.
“Are you ready?”
“Just bloody go!”
I took a step forwards. The sound of flames surrounded us like a raging wind. There were rumblings far and near, sections of the building crashing in on the
mselves in higher-up, distant floors, and some closer. We would be bloody lucky to make it, and I knew it. The fire could reach us any second. Christ, the whole building could fall down and crush us.
It was heavy work with Butter hanging onto my shoulders. I could hear his strained breathing, his moans of pain. I knew he was putting a certain amount of weight on his injured leg. I just hoped he could keep himself together till we got out.
A few steps more and we reached the great mound of debris at the front. Close up, I knew it would be a task to get through it. I wasn’t even sure it was possible. The ceiling was still intact directly above us, but then it ended in a mess of pipes and floorboards and destruction. I could see all the way through to a small patch of the starry night above. There wasn’t space to climb over, and Butter could never manage that anyway. I led us to one side, where the debris appeared to be slightly less concentrated and there appeared to be no danger of flames sparking and igniting the new urine I was planning to pee—that particular chain of events was too horrific to even contemplate. A terrible way to go. If I could just dissolve enough of the rubble there, where it was easiest and safest, perhaps we could see our way to shoving or kicking our way through the rest.
I hunched over and unzipped, uneasily balancing the weight of Butter leaning on my shoulders.
For an agonizing moment I just stood, waiting. Nothing happened.
“What’s the matter?” Butter cried in my ear.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I called back. “Not sure I need to wee!”
“For Christ’s sake, you must have something left in the tank! Come on. If there’s one time in your life you have to make it happen, it’s now!”
I stood there, holding my member, but still nothing came. I strained my eyes, my whole face, holding my breath, pushing at my insides, forcing it, praying like I’ve never prayed before. Please, God, I know I don’t deserve it, but this one time, please listen. I need to pee. I have to pee. If there’s one time I must pee, it is this moment here, now! Please help me!
Curse of the Potency Page 23