by Mark Ayre
“What are you doing?” she said, her voice strained.
“You don’t think I’ll kill you,” said Eve. “Maybe not directly, but that force around your throat will snap your neck if I lose consciousness or die.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I am, so you’d better make sure these itchy trigger finger folk don’t start shotting. They look ready to spray their bullety load any second.”
“Eve is out on my command,” Sandra called “Lower your weapons.”
Though some looked disgruntled, none hesitated to carry out the order. Eve could not help but smile.
“You are important around here aren’t you? You duplicitous bitch.”
“Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
“Whatever. Lead on.”
The troops retreated as mother and daughter walked the hall, their eyes not leaving Eve. At the control room door, Sandra poked in her head without entering. Six living and four dead employees stood, sat or lay inside. In a leather chair sat a frightened woman of no more than twenty-five. Her fear grew when Sandra pointed her out.
“You shot Adam?”
Her eyes flicked to Eve, who could feel her hands flex into fists. Sandra glanced at her daughter. “You’re not going to kill this girl, are you Eve?
Aware of the eyes on her, knowing there was a chance someone might choose to put a tranq in her even without Sandra’s permission, especially if she killed one of their own, she shook her head.
“See,” said Sandra with a smile. “So, did you shoot Adam?”
The woman nodded. Sandra drew a gun and shot her through the eye. As the deceased slumped from her chair to join her dead colleagues on the floor, Sandra turned to face those in the corridor.
“Julia and Joel have made their positions clear,” she said, raising her voice. “I see some of you look at me with mistrust, even loathing. Well, listen close, and understand; my ire comes not from fear for a son. I am furious because someone has damaged company property. Property that means more to our founders than anything, so, here is what I suggest: scour this building from bottom to top. Leave no stone unturned in your search for Adam. Bring him in. Should you fail to find him, there will be repercussions. If any of you kill him by mistake, you should go ahead and blow out your brains before I catch you. Is everyone clear?”
There were murmurings, a few stutters, lots of limp nods. Sandra sighed.
“I said, is everyone clear?”
Almost as one: “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good morning Mrs Sandy,” Eve intoned behind her mother.
Ignoring her daughter, Sandra watched as the guards spread out, going every which way in search of her errant son. Those who still could began to file from the control room. The last to go, Sandra caught.
“Sit.”
The three of them entered the room and closed the door. Their new companion hovered over the chair, no doubt reticent to plant his behind in a seat covered in his colleague's blood. Raising a finger, Eve used her mind to help him. He squealed as an invisible force shoved him down.
“Get one screen automatically flicking through every room in the building,” Sandra said. “On the others, work your way through. The moment you see Adam, let me know, and you—” she turned to Eve. “My neck still feels cold.”
“I’ll remove the leash when I can trust you,” said Eve. “I think we both know when that will be.”
“Not my concern,” said Sandra. “You’re holding it, right? So why don’t you see the walls blaze? Why doesn’t it look as though you might collapse any second?”
Curiosity and nerves overrode the desire to be sarcastic. Eve glanced to the walls but found they looked ordinary. She looked to the ceiling, where she might expect to see the beginnings of a whirlpool designed to suck her soul into hell. Nothing. More metal. Quickly, her nerves grew. In being captured, and all that had followed, Eve had let certain things slide. Now she remembered her last trip to that hellish dimension. A dinner she had refused to eat; a man at whom she always struggled to look directly
“In thirty years, how many successful trials did you say there had been?” Eve asked. “It is relevant.”
“Six,” said Sandra. “You and Adam in 1992, then 1998, 2002, 2010, 2014 and late last year, 2019.”
The answer did nothing to soothe Eve. The fear grew again, and she looked to the walls. All her life, she had feared seeing those signs of hell. Now, she found herself wishing they were there. What if the alternative to getting sucked into hell for using her power was far worse?
If the mountain will not come to Muhammed, then Muhammed must go to the mountain.
She did not know why the phrase came into her mind. All she could think was: what if I’m the mountain?
“That’s six years between us and the next successful trial,” Eve said, “then four years, then eight, then four, then five. I’m guessing this place carried out the trials pretty consistently, two or three times a year, as you said, and yet there’s been no consistency in output, nothing to predict when success might happen. Except that it’s never been more than eight years nor less than four. Right?”
“All true,” said Sandra.
“So why did you expect today’s trial to be successful, less than a year after the last?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe. Why did you expect it to succeed?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just tell me.” Eve almost roared, and Sandra’s hand shot to her throat. In Eve’s agitation, she had nearly throttled her mother and lost all chance of getting the answers she sought. Also, Adam would have been super mad. Eve forced herself to calm, and loosened but did not remove the force binding Sandra’s throat.
“Fine,” Sandra said, rubbing her neck. “Each product of the red room is born with an ability. Some you’ve experienced: Graham, AKA Grendel, has incredible strength and speed, and nearly impenetrable skin. Lucy, who captured you, can steal the form of anyone with whom she comes into contact. Others you haven’t: Cassandra, the red room child born one before Lucy, has prophetic powers.”
“Really?” this was the guy in the chair. Sandra waved the gun in his face.
“Back to work.”
He did as told. Eve once again looked for signs hell had come calling. Nothing. For the first time, she was using her powers without feeling the immediate consequences of her actions.
“She can’t do it on demand,” Sandra continued. “But every prediction comes to pass. A couple of weeks ago, I visited her, and she said something which, to me, implied our next trial would be a success.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
Eve stepped forward again. Saw in Sandra’s eyes that the invisible band had tightened around her throat. Forcing herself to take a breath, Eve said, “Just tell me.”
“It was something to the effect of: all nine children of the red room will soon be united under one roof. Of course, there are only seven children as I’ve told you, so I took her message to mean—”
“Twins,” said Eve.
“That’s right. At the time of Cassandra’s prediction, she, Noah, Lucy, and Graham were in the facility. Graham and Lucy left, but Lucy returned with you and Adam. Graham and Delilah are currently on their way which will bring the existing seven under one roof. All we’ll need then is a successful trial.”
“All nine,” Eve said, her voice almost a whisper. Her mother gave her a strange look. “Are you planning to end the trials after this one?”
“No.”
“Then, why all nine.”
“Maybe she means so far.”
“If she meant so far,” said Eve, “why not say seven? If she’s looking to future entries, why not include all there will ever be? Maybe she did. I think she means all nine because, after that, you will no longer be able to run your trials.”
“You think so?” said Sandra. “And what exactly will prevent us running future trials, might I a
sk?”
Eve was back in that dining room in hell. The man with the gorgeous smile that made you want to scream in terror was leaning close to her. He had told her how important she was, how she had a part to play in his great and final plan. She had asked him what final plan and what did he say?
“Well?” asked Sandra.
With haunted eyes, Eve looked at her mother.
“The fall of humanity.”
Pandora smiled at the monitor on which they were watching and listening to Eve.
“My sister is right,” said the newborn, who now appeared to be around fifteen. “The great fall is coming, but mother, it’s nothing to fear.”
Arriving in floor -3’s control room, Pandora had directed the four members of staff to four separate cameras. They had been reticent to follow the orders until they had seen she was pointing a gun at Steadman. Pulling up the camera angles they found themselves looking at Adam in an empty room, Sandra and Eve in another control room, the entrance lobby where Omi, Delilah, Graham and a stranger were entering and the exterior carpark boasting zero signs of life.
Isla sat in a wheelchair, afraid and confused. She had been struggling to come to terms with being a mother, with having a murderer for a daughter. Now she had to deal with talk of humanity’s fall. This should have been easy to process. After all, Karim’s fears, backed by her evidence, had spoken of worldwide disaster. It wasn’t.
Isla thought Steadman might question the comment, but he remained quiet. Abbot’s murder had stripped from him his arrogance, his ability to dominate a room. His eyes were fixed to the gun which might mean his end. He was afraid.
Pandora moved from Eve’s monitor to the one which depicted the entrance lobby.
“It’s a trap,” she said. “Secreted shooters plan to kill Doc and Omi only, but plans often go awry. My brother will be okay, but a stray bullet might spell the end for Delilah.”
Isla could not fathom how Pandora knew so much, having been in the world less than half an hour and the womb mere minutes. Then again, did it make sense that Adam could turn invisible? That Lucy could steal the form of those she murdered? Most of what she had seen since working at the organisation made no sense, but that did not mean it wasn’t to be trusted.
“We are so close,” said Pandora, though no one was engaging. “I cannot allow something so ordinary as a stray bullet to kill any of my siblings. It is time to act, don’t you think, mother?”
“I…” Isla didn’t know what to say. “Yes, if you say so.”
At her mother, Pandora shook her head. Her hand never dipped; the aim of her gun remained true.
“Don’t do that, mother. You must be strong, decisive. People like him—“ she nodded at Steadman— "believe women are a lesser gender. They believe us girls can’t think for ourselves, that we need a man to control the direction of our lives. He may have hired you and a handful of ladies because it is the done thing—and because his CEO is a woman—but look at him. Come on, mother, look at him and tell me how old I appear to be.”
Afraid of her daughter, Isla did as told. At first, she thought Steadman still stared only at the gun. Closer inspection revealed his eyes continued to flick away: up, down, then back. Still wrapped in a towel, Pandora’s long legs and the top of her full breasts were on show. Despite his terror, Steadman could keep his eyes from neither for long.
“You look fifteen,” said Isla, “and Steadman stares at you as though you were a stripper hired for his gratification.”
“Animal,” said Pandora. “He believes woman are for cooking his meals and servicing his genitals. He is weak, and you are strong. He’s eyeing up a baby.”
“That’s enough,” said Steadman. His face burned red, and the anger rose with his embarrassment. “You will not humiliate me in my labs. I am the commander here and you—”
He seemed to lose his train of thought. Pandora had raised her free hand to her mouth. As she seductively sucked a finger, her towel slid, revealing a little more of her breasts.
Steadman struggled to regain composure. “Whatever games you play will be short-lived,” he said. “You may think you have the upper hand, but that can change in an instant. You may not fear me, but nothing you do will shock me into losing focus. Nothing..”
“You’re right,” Pandora said. The finger between her lips muffled her words. As though it was the only way she knew to solve the problem, Isla’s murderous daughter bit off the offending digit.
Everyone stared. One man screamed. Another whimpered, slipped, and almost fainted. Pandora chuckled and spat the finger onto the floor. The stump, which ceased just above the knuckle, bled profusely, running onto the breasts which had so greedily stolen Steadman’s attention and soaking the towel. Pandora smiled at the doctor.
“You were saying?”
The corridors were a maze; the enemy never far away. While Adam’s nose had stopped bleeding, the headache was here to stay. Another use of his powers in the next few minutes would turn it into a full-blown migraine. If he had to keep a group of guards from seeing him for a prolonged period or walk through another wall, he would surely faint.
At the end of another corridor, he paused, waited. Footsteps approached, moving down the hall towards the turn behind which he hid. To his right, at the edge of his field of vision, he could see the lifts he so desired. He knew he was one floor from the bottom. Saskia, if she was alive, might be less than a five-minute walk from where he now stood.
On came the feet. Adam needed a card to work the lift, which meant taking out a guard. Now unarmed, he would have preferred to find a loner. It was clear they never travelled in less than pairs. Smart. The approaching group was at least two strong, but could easily have been double that. Four or more, he would struggle to overcome. Using his powers would be worth the risk. If they were going to capture him either way, he might as well be unconscious when they escorted him to the torture chambers.
The guards were seconds away but had slowed. Had they kept up their previous pace, Adam might have stayed pressed against the wall and hoped they walked past without noticing him. They would be easier to assault from behind. Their slowing indicated they would approach the corner with caution and check around it before proceeding. This Adam could not allow. His best bet was the element of surprise.
Ever closer they crept. Adam moved as close to the turn as he dared, ensuring not one millimetre of his shoulder or hair showed to those who approached. He waited until he could afford to wait no more.
Calm as he could muster, he stepped around the door and took stock. Three guards, each pointing a stun gun his way, a more lethal pistol clipped into a holster at their waist.
He had known they were they. He did not require the fraction of a second they did to process the presence of an enemy. Immediately his fist flashed. He grabbed the barrel of his closest assailant’s weapon and smashed it into the guy’s face, sending him to the ground in a wave of blood, via the second guard who he knocked off balance.
Ducking, Adam put an elbow into Guard Three’s stomach. When the guy bent double, Adam cracked his head twice into the wall, dropping him cold.
Guard Two had shoved Guard One aside and raised his gun.
Adam ducked. A bullet missed his head by an inch. He charged, taking the guy to the ground like a bull into a clumsy matador.
On the ground they scrambled, grappled. Adam landed a punch in the chest; took a fist to the jaw.
Guard One was rising, raising his gun. While taking a punch to the throat, Adam unclipped Guard Two’s holster, took the weapon, span, and put a bullet in Guard One’s head.
Guard Two put two fists in Adam’s chest. Using the momentum, Adam pushed up, rolled onto his back and sprung into a crouch. Raising the guy’s own pistol, Adam put two bullets in Guard Two’s chest and one through the throat.
Guard Three was unconscious. Already, Adam could hear more feet, drawn to his location by the shooting.
Rifling through the closest guard’s pockets, Adam quickly foun
d the key card he sought. Springing to his feet, he ran to the nearest lift and pressed CALL.
New enemies were five seconds away.
Four.
Three.
The lift opened. Adam jumped in.
More guards appeared in the hall. Adam shoved the card in the lift and thumbed -1. The guards were running his way.
Bing. The door closed.
Before the guards could reach him and force the doors back open, Adam was descending.
Down to the bottom floor; to the truth.
“I hate a woman’s whining,” said Yacob. In his hand was a gun, at his belt a knife. He tapped the hilt of the latter. “You mess this up the first thing I’ll do is cut out your tongue. That way I won’t have to listen to your pleading and your screaming when we rip your daughter’s fingernails from her—Omi, lovely to see you again.”
Yacob took a step forward but did not release Hattie’s arm as Omi entered the building, pushing Doc, followed closely by Graham and Delilah. Graham and Omi moved forward and closed in, obscuring Delilah from the enemy. They had no idea she was not the one in danger.
“Drop the false pleasantries, eh?” said Omi. “You’re a loyalist. You must loathe me for betraying the cause. What we’re here for today is a business transaction. “
“And what is the transaction?” asked Yacob.
“Delilah would like to offer herself in return for her mother. Given we know you want the child and have no need of Hattie, shall we skip the negotiations?”
“Why not. Send the little girl this way; When she starts moving, I’ll release Hattie who can do the same.”
Hattie was trembling. Tears filling her eyes, she wanted more than anything to shout and scream that this was a setup. Even if it wasn’t, the trade was unconscionable. Without Delilah, Hattie was nothing. She’d sooner Yacob killed her than spend a life separated from her daughter.
Graham had stepped aside, freeing Delilah to move forward. As she took her first tentative step, Yacob released Hattie’s arm. The index finger on the hand he had freed, he raised at his side. Hattie knew, though he had not said, when this finger dropped, the shooting would begin.