Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  She spotted the leader, his smoking pistol clenched in one hand. He laid flat on his back, a wound on the side of his head gushing blood as he stared, dazed up at the sky. His mouth worked up and down, as though he was trying to speak.

  One of the other soldiers flew through the air past her, screaming as he crashed headfirst into a filth-encrusted metal trashcan. She turned back and watched as the other two soldiers shouldered their assault rifles and fired into the creature with the glowing eyes. She heard the rounds strike home, shaking and rattling the creature’s body, but no sounds of pain, anger, or anything else came from it. Kaylee still had yet to get a decent look at the thing as it staggered backwards under the hail of gunfire.

  The glowing eyes slitted, and the creature hurled itself at the two men, knocking the left man’s gun arm sideways. Still firing, the wayward weapon sprayed several bullets in an arc into the torso of this companion, who crumpled against the opposite wall. The creature grabbed the remaining man by the shirt, hauling him up into the air before slamming him into the cold concrete. The creature knelt, lifted what Kaylee now noticed to be gloved hands, and pummeled the man on the ground with powerful, rapid blows. The soldier quickly ceased struggling as the sounds of dull, cracking thuds filled the night.

  Kaylee felt a chill spread through her as the creature rose from the unconscious, maybe dead, body, turning its gaze to her. She squinted, and her mind twisted up in confusion as she finally beheld the…

  … man?

  Around six feet in height, hunching, and definitely human in shape with the appropriate amount of limbs, a stocky, thick body wrapped in a dark brown trench-coat. Above the coat was a mass of tangled scarves. Atop that was a tattered, wide-brimmed hat; the combination obscured any facial features save for the eyes, which continued to glow out at her in the darkness, very much like a cat’s.

  She slowly rose to her feet, never taking her eyes off of the figure, which continued to stare at her in silence. He/she/it was completely covered without an inch of flesh exposed to the air; layers of patched clothing adorned his legs and arms, wearing large boots and thick leather gloves. She crouched, scooping up the silver .45 from the now unconscious leader and training it shakily on the figure, who continued to do nothing.

  “W-wh-who are you?” she stammered, finding her voice.

  The figure issued strange, muffled noises through the cloth. After a moment, Kaylee realized he was trying to speak. His vocalization separated out into, “Mmmyy…” a throaty, grating, masculine voice, “hkhnnnayymmme issss…”

  He paused, appearing to be considering how to go about saying it. Kaylee’s mind had long since flown off to greener pastures, leaving her behind to wonder if she perhaps needed another tongue to say it.

  “Mlacxo.“ He struggled. “M-al-clo.” Bizarre throaty noises issue forth in what may have been frustration. “Mmmmaarrcccclloommm.”

  Kaylee stood, passively observing the strange whatever-it-was attempt to vocalize its name. It seemed to light up with the potential for an idea. The figure stooped down, scooping up a small chunk of brick, and etched into the grimy alley wall several letters.

  Even with the darkness, Kaylee could make them out, but it was fragmented, lacking vowels. It read “MLCLM.”

  “Malcolm?” She asked. “You’re name is Malcolm?”

  The figures eyes widened and scrunched together, in clear, and to Kaylee, comical confusion. He shrugged, a very human gesture, and nodded. He raised his hand, and pointed at her.

  “Oh, me?” Her eyes widened. “My name? I’m Kaylee.”

  “Hhhhkkhhaaayylhee” came the harsh tones.

  “Close enough,” Kaylee said, dizzy. Adrenaline still coursing through her veins presented a sudden giddy exhilaration from her against-the-odds survival. She clapped her hands over her mouth as a small, trickling giggle escaped. Her mind replayed the elongated butchering of her name, and she lost herself in a torrent of hysterical laughter. She doubled over, wincing at the pain in her midsection, still trembling with lightly manic mirth.

  Malcolm watched her, head cocked slightly, as the catharsis of her laughter ran its course. Kaylee wiped tears from her eyes, smearing them with the blood from the cut on her face. A certain clarity and relaxation settled over Kaylee’s body, and she started walking, gesturing for him to follow. She took an involuntary glance down at the leader, nose still oozing blood and a gaping head wound that Kaylee concluded occurred from the chunk of brick lying nearby. His eyes were closed, and she couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

  “Bastard,” she whispered, spitting on him. She walked down the alley, the bizarre man-thing following her. Kaylee crept around the corner, surveying the area before nodding and relaxing. They stepped out, washing in the pale glow of the street lamp. She looked at him again in the better lighting and jumped, startled. His eyes looked very alien. They were oval and slanted in shape with a milky, translucent off white swirling with dull pastel colors, shifting and changing as Kaylee’s mind struggled to put it them discernable shape. As the light caressed his eyes, he squinted and the formula solidified, becoming more opaque. Kaylee could see small patches of dark grey-blue flesh around in the eye sockets. She halted, staring, mouth slightly agape.

  “What the hell are you?”

  Malcolm tensed up at the inflammatory inquiry. “Paainn.” He hissed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaylee asked, puzzled.

  “Hkkhhiittt hhhurrtss.” Malcolm said, gesturing with an open palm at his chest, where dark red blood leaked out of holes in his clothing.

  Kaylee had forgotten that he had been on the wrong end of assault rifle fire. “Oh my God,” she cried out, “they shot you! Are you okay?”

  Malcolm stared intently. “Hkkurrtts innsside.”

  “Here, let me take a look,” Kaylee approached, reaching for the trench-coat. She didn’t really know what to do or how to treat bullet wounds, but the creature had saved her and she-

  Malcolm expelled a hissing screech and recoiled, striking her arm away. He shoved her backwards with surprising strength, sprawling her out on the street. She scrambled to her feet, raising the pistol to fend off the impending attack-

  Nothing. Empty streets, quiet. She spun around, aiming in other directions, but he was gone. She glanced down the alleyway but saw no hint of movement. She lowered the weapon, shaking her head.

  “What a day.” She sighed. “No one is going to believe all this shit.” I don’t even believe it, she thought.

  She continued muttering to herself, once again scooping the very battered can of peaches, now featuring a few flecks of blood. She polished the can with her sleeve, wiping it clean. She sighed again, gently probing her sore ribs, cheek, and forehead. Nothing seemed broken or too severely damaged. Bruised and battered, dirty and exhausted, she sighed one final time and began trudging back, beat-up prize and handgun in tow.

  As she skirted the streets, ducked into alleyways, caution ever in the front of her mind, she considered the strange inhuman creature. Something from the surface? Kaylee shuddered, letting her mind wander at the immense possibility of horrors and wonders that could have occurred in the past twelve years. Aliens? Armageddon? A free utopian society? She gave a hollow laugh. Anything would be better than this shithole.

  She emerged from another alleyway into a more open section of street. In front of her, a long stone staircase lead up to a once-preserved gothic cathedral. She gasped. Dozens of dead men lay scattered on the steps, riddled with bullet wounds. They all wore dark, urban camouflage with a Citizen insignia. Vacant eyes stared lifelessly up at the nothing. She continued down the opposite sidewalk, noticing several more dead soldiers, all from the surface. She stepped around them, continuing.

  She encountered a few more scenes similar to this at various locations, accounting for something like fifty or sixty dead soldiers. Something had clearly happened while she was away. She didn’t pause to figure it out. Instead, she continued her steady pace, progressing quickly
and cautiously.

  Chapter 6: Keeping Watch

  Back in the dark alley, surrounded by the unconscious and dead forms of his men, blood oozing from a head wound, the former leader of the group that ran into Kaylee lay, unconscious, his breathing shallow. Blood from his nose dribbled into his mouth, causing him to cough and sputter every now and then. He lay there, likely dying, for hours.

  Several men dressed in all black came down the alleyway. They took crouched positions with automatic weapons swiveling in all directions, watching every shadow. In the center, with an unbreakable air of confidence and authority, walked a tall, built man, wearing the usual Citizen insignia. However, behind the crescent-moon and star lay faint etchings of an eye. This was the mark of the Inquisitor, the individuals who watched over the proceedings of Haven and its Citizens.

  “Inquisitor Gottfried.” A soldier stepped up, “This is the last group we found, sir.”

  In a voice layered with bands of steel, he said, “Bring the survivors. Leave the dead.” The group of men grabbed the unmoving forms, picking up Cap and one soldier, the man who was hurled into the garbage can, in a fireman’s carry, hauling them back towards the Escape lobby. Gottfried squinted into the darkness for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and strode after them.

  The former leader drifted awake as he bobbed up and down on the shoulders of one of his fellow soldiers. He fell roughly, dropped as they reached the large elevator. His stomach churned as the lift rose, bringing him and the rest of the survivors out of Old Haven, to the surface, as he once again faded out.

  ******

  The one known as Malcolm crouched in the shadows, watching as the soldiers carried off the unmoving forms of the men he had encountered. His eyes once more glittered in the perpetual night. Turmoil and confusion coursed through his mind as the integration process continued. He flexed his hands and arms easily, powerfully. He moved aside his various wrappings and clothing, and rummaging around for several moments with a sharp piece of glass. One by one, he painfully extracted the flattened slugs from his body. He found them all relatively close to the surface, although he didn’t know how or why. He held the bloody ammunition in his hand, staring at what the fledgling rational portion of his mind repeatedly informed him should have been lethal.

  He tilted his gloved hand, letting the bullets fall to the ground, tinkling faintly as they scattered about. He caught sight of his reflection in a dirty window. He walked towards it, wiping off some of the grime. The same glowing eyes flanked by a wide-brimmed hat and covering of scarves and cloth that Kaylee had seen stared back at him. He tenderly touched the face covering, making a small grunt at the still-formidable pain.

  He slowly unwrapped the covering, breathing hard and heart racing as the ache sang a crescendo. At last the wrappings came off, and he winced again at what he knew he would see.

  His face was human in relative shape. His features were sharp and angular. The top portion of his skull had bulged somewhat with the enhancements to his optical apparatus and other senses. The top of his head featured a tangled shock of white hair, matching his eyes save for the glow.

  His nose had drawn upwards and closer to his skin, as though the outer half had gotten cut off and the rest pushed backward. Exposed to open air, the stench of decay and filth once again flooded his olfactory senses. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He sifted through those scents, identifying each of the departed wounded and dead men through their sweat, what aftershave they used, the rations they had eaten recently. There was also something else he detected in the air, a scent similar in nature to the men though very different, lighter. Unlike the others, in which it merely clung feebly to their clothing, this lighter scent was wrapped and suffused with the filth, decay, and odors of this environment. He knew at once that it was the woman’s scent. Kaylee.

  Opening his eyes once more, he saw his skin, which held a bluish-gray tint. There was a dark green line passing through the center his face, vertical until it reached his upper lip, then it skewed beneath.

  This was due to the fact that Malcolm’s lower jaw hung open, low and twisted, as though held in a perpetual death scream. Still severely broken, though much better than it had been when he first awoken, it just lay slack with his tongue hanging out.

  He an attempt to vocalize, “Hkkhhaaylleee. Nmaallhkkolm,” phlegm and spittle issued forth from his throat, and the slight motions sent shards of lancing pain into his jaw.

  He pulled the broken jaw up with one hand, ignoring the pain, and rewrapped the scarves around his face, securing it back in its closed position. He wandered off, back towards the Escape.

  Chapter 7: Homecoming

  Kaylee traveled without incident for several hours, her stiff body working out the kinks as she kept a steady pace. Eventually, she arrived at her destination, the former city’s arts district. It was a strip-mined center for cultural beauty and entertainment, filled with museums, theatres, art galleries, and more.

  She came to stop outside an old live theatre building, the dingy marquee reading the cracked lettering ‘Highland.’ She walked across the street, standing in front of an apartment building once co-owned by several of the local managers as housing places for musicians, actors, and the like.

  She placed the pistol and the can on the ground in front of her, facing the marquee, then held both hands up, palms facing outward in front of her. She turned them inward, crossing them over her front until her thumbs met, angling her still-open hands slightly upward in a birdlike symbol.

  This, of course, was the entry ritual. It stated, “I am returning as instructed, and to the best of my knowledge, I have not been followed, and this location has not been compromised,” in not quite so many words. She knew that at least two men with high-powered rifles were appraising her. She heard a faint radio crackle. A small flash of light signaled from the roughly boarded up windows of the theatre box office. She smiled.

  All of this was necessary to gain entrance to the Highland, the place where the members of Elijah’s little cadre came and went. The entire district was filled with his people, staying in various buildings, offices, apartments, and whatever else was available. To remain hidden, they tapped into the sewers in every occupied building, closing off all other passageways save for the ones they used. The exterior remained boarded up save for a few seldom-used entrances. Thus, no one outside his enclave knew exactly where to find Elijah and his people. Thus, they stayed hidden, and alive.

  If Kaylee had not allowed herself to be carefully perused, and had not administered the proper hand signal, she would have been shot, no questions asked. Her body would have been dragged away and tossed down an unoccupied alley to rot, far away to minimize the stench.

  She grabbed the weapon and can from the ground and trotted across the street, sidling up to the entrance of the dilapidated building. She slid her hand along one of the rough plywood board, feeling for the seam. She felt the slight divot, and pulled it open six inches. She placed her items inside the small space, sliding the board back into place, snug and nearly undetectable without flashlight and intense scrutiny.

  Kaylee stood there for a few moments, waiting, until she heard a faint murmur, “Password?” She recognized the voice as her savior and mentor of recent days.

  She rolled her eyes, “Go to hell, Rick.”

  She heard a small chuckle, “Jeez, Kaylee; lost your sense of humor?” He asked.

  “Just open the damn door.”

  She heard the scraping of a heavy lock disengaging; a portion of the wall swung outward. Disguised by a few layers of plywood on the outside was a heavy, patchwork metal door. Car parts, metal sheeting, and other random bits had been scavenged and welded together to create a solid barrier around the entire front of the building. It would, as they hoped, be able to withstand a decent amount of punishment if it ever became necessary. The door groaned and shuddered, shaking loose bits of dust and debris clogged in its many open spaces.

  She ducked inside the dark room
, eyes adjusting to the change in light from dim to dark as the door behind her was pulled shut by the door guard on duty, Rick. If she hadn’t felt so battered and exhausted, she might have wondered why Rick, a very highly-ranked person in Elijah’s enclave, was watching the door personally. Once properly secured, he turned back, shining a dim flashlight on her.

  “You look like hell!” He exclaimed in a low voice. “What on Earth happened?”

  Kaylee closed her eyes and tenderly touched her injured face. “I…” she winced. “I’ll tell you later, okay? I just… I need to deliver this and go lie down.”

  “Sure, sure, that’s fine. Go right in.” He gave her a concerned look. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  Kaylee nodded, picking up her items once more and walking through the dark lobby area. She stepped through moth-eaten, red velvet curtain into the dim theatre space, open and silent. She trudged the raked aisles down to the stage, walking off to the stairs on the right side of the stage. She glanced back at the yawning space as she often did, imagining what it must have looked like with a full house.

  Now it was empty and desolate. No set, no players, no audience. She grimaced. They probably still have this kind of stuff on the surface, she thought. She turned and walked around the corner, pushing the enormous stage curtain aside to the backstage area, which was mostly empty; a few chairs, boxes, and scenery flats in various states of disrepair lay scattered about the area. She skirted around the debris, passing through a high door that once served to bring in scenery.

  She came into a hallway going further back, walking by several rooms and offices that had served various purposes before, a few used for housing, many more currently used for supply and munitions storage. She glanced in a window as she went by, viewing crates filled with clothing next to a few ammunition boxes and weapons. She continued through the tall hallway towards what used to be the scene shop. The companion high wooden door on this end was closed and locked. To the left was a small entrance, a regular-sized, patched-together metal door, very similar to the one on the front of the Highland, guarded by a single seated man reading an old magazine. He gave a quick nod to Kaylee as she approached.