Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  ‘Be reasonable, Myron! Just let him walk out of here—he did try and help her, after all,’ Lonny begged.

  Myron nodded his head and sighed deeply.

  ‘OK, I’ll let him go, but if I ever see him again, he’s dead,’ Myron grabbed hold of Lonny’s hands and removed them from his shoulders. He turned to face the terrified Parker.

  ‘You’d better hope and pray that our paths never cross again. So help me God, I will kill you where you stand! Now, get out of my sight!’ Myron barked ferociously.

  Lonny whispered conspiratorially in Myron’s ear: ‘Don’t be too quick to judge him. Perhaps we should take him with us. He could help us navigate this place, and would come in handy as a hostage—or even a shield.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Myron. He turned back to Parker. ‘You will come with us but if you take one step out of line, I will carry out my threat—is that understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ said Parker gratefully. ‘And thank you.’

  *

  As expected, the entrance to the infirmary was teeming with clones. Since his exit from the interrogation room, Besson had ordered that Oscar be watched over constantly. The clones stood woodenly in the corridor, their rifles pressed to their chests. Their faces held no expressions. Their mouths made no sounds. They were programmed for one thing and one thing only: to meet resistance with sudden and deadly force.

  ‘There’s a lot of them and only three of us,’ said Jack, the team leader. ‘Our weapons are no match for theirs.’

  ‘Lonny said they crumble like a house of cards if you pierce ’em good!’ one of the other operatives put in.

  ‘We can only hope he’s right,’ said Jack. ‘At any rate, we’ve got the element of surprise our side. Ready, men? Attack!’

  With a mighty battle cry, the squad leapt into the corridor. The stoical clones raised their rifles, but too late: the men swarmed over them, swinging their Clone Cudgels in wild abandon. In no time, all that was left of the guards was a giant pool of blue goo, a mound of hair, and the tattered remains of their uniforms.

  ‘Right! Let’s find Oscar,’ cried Jack.

  This proved easy. Oscar was alone in the infirmary, shackled to a crude metal table. It had no mattress and no pillows, and was obviously not designed for comfort.

  ‘My God, it looks like something out of Dr. Frankenstein’s lab!’ Jack observed. He bent down to Oscar’s ear and said softly: ‘Oscar, my friend, can you hear me? It’s me, Jack! We’ve come to get you out of here!’

  Oscar’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked up at Jack and smiled weakly. ‘Did you get the number of that lorry?’ he quipped in a hoarse croak.

  ‘Same old Oscar!’ said Jack. ‘For a minute there I thought you were dead, old boy.’

  Jack released Oscar from his shackles with a key he had found on a surgical tray beside him. He then took his jacket off and placed it around Oscar’s shoulders. Oscar found it difficult to walk, as he was still feeling the effects of the claw that Besson had used on his genitalia.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Oscar asked, as the other operatives got on either side of him and helped him to walk.

  ‘To the office of a man named Gerick,’ Jack replied.

  Oscar smiled to himself. Good old Gerick! He’d have to remember to write him a thank you note.

  *

  Myron transported Jen carefully into the main corridor, with the aid of Lonny and the new, but not altogether welcome addition to the Mind initiative, Lawrence Parker. The journey towards Gerick’s office would be swift, with nothing to stand in their way thanks to Jack and his team.

  They had made it past the interrogation wing, but unbeknown to them, Besson had caught sight of Parker as he turned the corner.

  ‘Parker! Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he shouted.

  Parker had to think quickly so as not to arouse Besson’s suspicions further. He poked his head back round the corner after he had shooed Myron and Lonny away with Jen, back to the safety of Gerick’s office.

  ‘I need to relieve myself—I won’t be long, I swear.’

  ‘Carry on then, but don’t take all day about it!’ Besson snapped. ‘By the way, how is our patient?’

  Parker thought fast. ‘Out like a light, sir. She wouldn’t be much sport for you at the moment, I’m afraid. I’d wait until she has gotten some strength back.’

  ‘Damn these delays!’ Besson thundered. ‘But you’re right, I suppose. Meet me back at the interrogation room in fifteen minutes—and don’t be late!’

  ‘I shan’t,’ said Parker.

  Besson made his way back to the cafeteria for another cup of the unbearably sour, black coffee that he had been forced to endure for the past half hour.

  Meanwhile Parker, feeling quite pleased with himself, joined his new friends.

  *

  Gerick had prepared a way for the Mind to get their two injured operatives back into the network without too much effort. He had re-established the link he had used earlier to make sure Myron had the easiest possible evacuation route, which just happened to be in line with the security cameras.

  The only thing he could do now was wait anxiously, as the link had only been set for half an hour. He made his way towards the back of the laboratory to the junk room exit Myron had used to get to the medical wing. Halfway through, Myron reappeared with Lonny and Parker, very carefully carrying a semi-conscious Jen.

  ‘We need to hurry! I’ve set up a security link so that you can use the easiest route back into the network—you have twenty-five minutes to get everyone through,’ Gerick explained. Suddenly his face fell. ‘Wait, where are the other operatives?’

  ‘They’re not already here?’ said Myron.

  ‘No,’ said Gerick. ‘Oh, this is bad! I’m breaking out in hives!’

  ‘Get a grip, man,’ said Lonny. ‘Here they come now!’

  True enough, the other group appeared through the junk room exit with Oscar in tow.

  ‘Everyone follow me to the grate!’ Gerick cried.

  With five minutes to spare after the last man made his way down into the network, Gerick scrambled to replace the grate and disconnect the link. He wished he could go with them, but his family still lived in accommodations at the armoury and he didn’t want to put their lives in danger. He knew that John Howard was capable of making his life even more unbearable if he were to abscond from his unwanted responsibilities—and with the Christmas deadline creeping up, he needed to get the new batch of clones ready for dispatching. Unbeknown to the hierarchy, Gerick had added a compound to the final batch. It was a ricin mix which would kill off the cells gradually, leaving The Independent Mind free to do as they needed during Christmas and New Year—what, once upon a time, had been called The Holidays.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Myron and the others reached Charing Cross with Jen and Oscar. The difficulty would come beyond that, when they would have to make the rest of the journey in the open. Myron had to find a way to go safely from the station to the safety of Ryker’s bar. The only other alternative was to try and get back to the little part of the network that he and Jen had claimed as their own. The only problem being that he wouldn’t be able to give either Jen or Oscar the comfort and treatment they both required. Although it was apparent Oscar was not as badly off as Jen, a good deal of damage had still been done to his person: slight puncture wounds and swelling around his genitalia, and the bruising on his back and legs from previous beatings.

  On reaching the end of the line as far as Charing Cross was concerned, Myron finally came to a decision. Against his better judgment, he decided he would rather take the risk of getting both Jen and Oscar back to the warmth and comfort of Ryker’s than subject them to the damp, cold, and dangerously congested tunnel network.

  ‘You!’ Myron pointed his finger at Parker. ‘Go and check that the coast is clear!’

  Lawrence Parker, while ecstatic he was no longer under Besson’s thumb, had had enough of being downtrodden and v
erbally abused. ‘I’m tired of being treated like a dog!’ He shouted. ‘My name isn’t you, it’s Lawrence! And it wouldn’t kill you to say “please” and “thank you”!’

  Myron found himself feeling humbled for once. He didn’t expect Lawrence Parker to answer back, but he was glad he had. He now had a newfound respect for the assistant interrogator, seeing past the hatred he harboured for him.

  ‘OK, Lawrence,’ he said. ‘Can you please go and check that the coast is clear? Thank you!’

  ‘That’s more like it!’ Lawrence replied. He ran as fast as his short, stumpy legs would carry him to the main entrance of the station, negotiating the numerous flights of blood-soaked steps along the way.

  *

  Lawrence reached the exit to Charing Cross underground station, and everything was not well. Patrolmen were out in force, checking documents and making random arrests. It was apparent that John Howard was not content with the damage he had already caused, wanting the people to suffer again and again until he was satisfied they had been tormented enough.

  Although Lawrence considered Myron his enemy for wanting him dead, he would never consider putting Jen through the rigors of torture again. For her sake, and her sake alone, he would not feed her and her comrades to the wolves. In his eyes, she had been through enough and would not survive another attack at the hands of Simon Besson.

  He backed slowly into the station again before the patrolmen had a chance to spot him, and made the journey back towards the others to tell them of his findings.

  *

  Lawrence jumped down onto the tracks and approached Myron tentatively.

  ‘What news do you bring, Lawrence—is it favourable?’ Myron asked calmly.

  Lawrence drew a deep breath and sighed. ‘Unfortunately not. The patrols are out in swarms, and I don’t consider it safe to leave the network.’

  Lawrence seemed genuinely fearful and concerned for their safety, and Myron thought he knew why.

  ‘Lawrence, can I have a private word?’ said Myron. He beckoned one of the Mind operatives over to take hold of Jen’s right side. ‘Keep hold of her well, John!’ he ordered.

  Lawrence walked over to Myron apprehensively, not knowing what was going to happen. It turned out he had nothing to fear, as Myron gently put his arm around his shoulders.

  ‘Look, Lawrence, I know we didn’t hit it off in the beginning,’ Myron began, ‘but your actions showed me you’re a trustworthy person. What I mean is, you could just as easily said that the coast was clear and put all our lives at risk, but you chose not to. I thank you for that.’ Myron paused and flashed a big grin. ‘One more thing, Lawrence: I welcome you into The Independent Mind with open arms.’

  Lawrence was awestruck; he didn’t know how to react to Myron’s statement, but at the same time he was pleased he could count Myron as a friend, and not fear him as a foe.

  ‘Thank you, I will try and serve you well,’ said Lawrence, choking up.

  ‘I know you will—you have already demonstrated that to me,’ Myron replied warmly. ‘We need to get moving. It’s getting cold… and Jen is getting weaker!’

  *

  Two hours had passed by since their return from the rescue mission. Myron had made Jen as comfortable as he could. He lay her on her stomach in order for him to work on her seared skin, and used any means he could find to keep her warm in her semiconscious, pain-racked state. Oscar, although still feeling the effects of his interrogation, was now strong enough to move under his own power. He had spent the past hour keeping a vigil over Jen.

  Myron said nothing of this and carried on around him, tending to Jen’s burns with a dampened rag. He gazed upon the hurtful slur permanently seared on her back. Every now and then she would wince weakly, but Myron was glad that she did so—it told him she was still breathing. The injuries she had sustained as a result of Besson’s sadism would have killed a lesser person. Myron hadn’t even attempted to reset her shoulder, but it did need to be done eventually. What better time to do it than while she was in a semiconscious state, and therefore might better withstand the ordeal.

  ‘Lawrence, could you come over here please? I need you to do something for me!’ Myron cried out.

  Lawrence shambled over. ‘What do you need?’ he asked, eager to please.

  ‘I need you to keep Jen steady while I pop her shoulder back into place. I would’ve asked Oscar, but he’s still far too weak to hold her. Come on, let’s do it.’

  Lawrence followed Myron over to Jen and Oscar.

  ‘Kneel beside her,’ instructed Myron, ‘trap her good arm between your knees, and pull her body up tight—make sure that she doesn’t move.’

  Lawrence did so. Next, Myron took hold of Jen’s dislocated shoulder.

  ‘This may bring her round in the worst possible way, and I want you to be ready,’ said Myron.

  Lawrence braced Jen’s body as tightly as he could, as Myron quickly and expertly jerked her shoulder. Jen let out a mighty scream and promptly passed out again in shock.

  Myron didn’t attempt to revive her; she had been through enough to last a lifetime and it was best for now if she rested, however fitfully.

  ‘Thank you, Lawrence, you can go back to what you were doing,’ Myron said gratefully, as he returned to tending the wounds on Jen’s back again.

  Lawrence returned to socialise awkwardly with the others, trying to gain their trust. Oscar continued to keep a vigil over Jen as Myron worked. Oscar felt an enormous sense of guilt for Jen’s condition. Had he not suggested the airdrop of the final newsletter, they would not have fallen into the hands of the patrol and ended up in the medical wing in the first place. Myron bore no malice towards him. He did remind Oscar that although it sounded like a good idea at the time, it was probably one of the most irresponsible acts that he had ever committed. Myron wished he could go back in time and put his foot down on the foolhardy mission, instead of caving in and giving it his reluctant approval.

  ‘I feel like I need to do some sort of penance, you know, for behaving like a proper Charlie,’ said Oscar sulkily. ‘Isn’t there something I can do besides just sitting here like a log?’

  ‘Yes, there is something you can do, Oscar—you can go somewhere else!’ Myron snapped. ‘You’re driving me to distraction!’

  Oscar rose and shuffled away uneasily. He was disheartened by Myron’s brusqueness and felt the need to leave that part of the network, but his injuries told him otherwise. It was a case of waiting until the heat had died down, if it ever would.

  *

  A day had passed and Jen was still in a semiconscious state. Myron had used a torn T-shirt to strap her right arm firmly to her side to prevent her from moving her shoulder. Her lower back was dressed in a makeshift bandage for the time being, until it was safe to move around on the outside again.

  Oscar remained distant from the others. Every now and then, he went to check whether the patrols were still terrorising the people of the Charing Cross network—and they were. Myron kept by Jen’s side, watching for any signs of movement. All he got from her was a weak moan every now and then, which satisfied him for the moment. He wasn’t going to force her into something that she wasn’t willing to do—all he was waiting for was a sign.

  The other operatives sat in the same corner as they had done on their arrival. They were contemplating the Mind’s next move to rid themselves of John Howard’s ruthless regime, along with the hordes of clone patrolmen. Gerick was instrumental in the destruction of the clones, with his intention to use his ricin mix within the cells of the last clone batch. Lawrence Parker was the external key to getting back into the Parliament buildings for the final attack. He knew that place like the back of his hand, as did Gerick.

  Lawrence, Lonny and the others were discussing the many ways in which they would be able to infiltrate the infrastructure, going so far as to suggest explosives—but only when they had formulated the plan would they share it with their leader Myron for his blessing.

  Lawrence wa
s sharing important information with his new associates. ‘A year ago while working within John Howard’s administration, I was tasked to retrieve some of the weaponry from the armoury in Kent. I was told that it may be used during the Christmas period to curtail any form of celebration. I know where the weaponry is being kept, if anyone feels the need to use such means.’

  Lonny appeared perplexed by the reference to celebration.

  ‘Celebrate! You must be joking? What the hell have the people got to celebrate—a shit existence? Don’t be so ridiculous!’

  Lawrence realised it was a ridiculous notion. Who would want to celebrate with so much death and destruction going on around them?

  ‘I’ll retract the word celebration. How about riotous tendencies instead?’ he proposed whimsically.

  Lonny frowned, but then sniggered at the suggestion.

  ‘That’s more like it!’ he quipped. ‘Riotous tendencies are a more accurate description of what will be happening over the Christmas period.’

  The others just listened, agreeing with everything said, but they were still no nearer to a plan of action.

  *

  Jen began to stir from her semiconscious state, and the first word she could muster was Myron’s name. Slowly, she turned her head to make out the silhouette of someone sitting over her, not realising it was Myron.

  ‘Jen, it’s me, Myron! You’re safe!’ he said with great relief.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked weakly.

  Myron gently stroked her hair out of her face before answering. ‘You are back in the tunnel network—you have been for the past two days. No one can harm you here.’ His relief had quickly turned to anger, as he thought about what he would do to Besson if he ever saw his face again.

  ‘Sit me up! I want you to hold me in your arms for a while, please,’ she begged tearfully. The experience came flooding vividly back to her. ‘Of everything that has happened to me over the past week, it wasn’t the torture that hurt me the most: it was Besson confessing he was my father that did the most damage. He has scarred me for life in more ways than one, and I want to see him dead! I want you to do what I can’t do myself, Myron, and kill him!’