Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  Lange laughed, “How ironic. You: calling me a bastard.” The hologram slowly shook its head. “You know she threatened to reveal you to the world? As though I or anyone else would have cared?”

  Elijah clenched his fists, “Your ‘perfect’ reputation would have been shattered if anyone had known of your little habits?” He thrust an accusing finger at Lange. “How would it fare if they knew that you had my mother murdered in cold blood?!”

  Lange raised an eyebrow, “Now how did you know…?” Victor stepped out of the elevator and up the ramp. “Ah, I see now. Both of my favorite little traitors have come to see me once more.”

  Lange sneered at Victor. “You know, I had you guard him to keep him in control, to watch him. Not become friends.” He put on a disgusted face. “Of course… Instead of killing him, like I ordered, you spirited him away?” He shook his head. “Absolutely worthless. Tell me, again, why I ever trusted you to do anything correctly?”

  Victor’s face remained calm, his icy blue eyes boring into the hologram, “Franklin. It’s good to see you again.”

  Lange smirked, “Yes, I suppose it would be.” He looked back and forth between Victor and Elijah. “Ah, I can see it now.” He chuckled. “You informed Elliot about what happened to poor mummy, and now you’ve come to teach me a lesson.”

  Victor opened his mouth to respond, but Elijah cut him off, “No. We’ve come here to kill you.”

  Lange raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He spread his hands out. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you, especially after all the work it must have taken for you to come this far. I must say I’m impressed by your resilience, but all you have managed to do is finish what I started.” The hologram shrugged. “This has been an amusing diversion, but I’m afraid my attention is required elsewhere. Goodbye, Elliot.”

  With a cascade of shimmering lights and colors, the image dispersed and the cylinders descended back into the floor. Elijah scowled and started moving around the table towards the heavy double doors at the other end of the chamber.

  Four panels on both the floor and ceiling on either side of the door way popped open, heavy machine guns mounted on tripods swiveled towards Elijah. A mechanical voice said, “Warning. This is a restricted area. Do not attempt to move any closer.”

  Elijah chuckled, “Really, father… so very glib.” He cleared his throat and said, in a loud voice, “Execute operation sigma one-nine.”

  The weapons appeared to hesitate, then their aims veered off. The defenses retracted and the panels settled back in place.

  Elijah smiled, “All too easy.” He motioned for Victor to come forward. “Let’s get this door open. We don’t want to keep the good Citizen waiting.”

  ******

  “All right,” Gregory Michaels said, after Dunlevy had expressed the entire story of his back-and-forth communications with the man he called Elijah or Elliot, “I’m willing to admit the possibility of this man’s authenticity as well as his ability to engineer this coup if everything you say can be believed-”

  “It can,” Dunlevy said firmly.

  “Fine.” Michaels said, irritated at the interruption, “But you still haven’t told me who he is. Someone of his obvious importance would be known by people regardless of archival information.”

  Dunlevy shifted his eyes back and forth, clearly not wanting to reveal this portion. “Well, ah… This may be difficult to believe; it certainly was for me. He, ah, told me after we developed a bond of trust that he, ah…” Dunlevy furrowed his brow.

  Michaels leaned forward, “What is it?” he demanded.

  “He claimed to be the offspring of Citizen One.” Dunlevy finished.

  “Absurd.” Michaels scoffed. “No one has heard of Lange leaving his tower in years, much less fathering some whelp.”

  Dunlevy shook his head, “Make no mistake, Elijah is older than I am. He told me that when he was an adult, his mother passed away, and he sought out his father. Lange took him in, in secret, and utilized his technical brilliance.”

  Michaels frowned, still not convinced. “Then what? A falling out? How did Elijah end up down below?”

  Dunlevy shrugged, “He never told me.”

  Michaels threw up his hands, “Well, isn’t that marvelous! A man that no one has ever heard of but apparently is a genius responsible for the wondrous technology we possess pulls together an army out of the rabble from down below and brings them to the surface. Then, with the help of a disgruntled hack, they all raid the Institute and teach the nasty old Citizen One a lesson about treating worthless people better.” He smirked. “Oh, and the guy is the old man’s son, somehow.” He added.

  Dunlevy wore an angry scowl, “It’s all the truth.” He growled, irritated more at Michaels’ disbelief than at the insult of ‘disgruntled hack.’

  Michaels rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m sure your absurd story is completely true.” Sensing the other man’s growing irritation and recalling that Dunlevy still had a firearm, he dialed down his sarcasm. “Look,” he said, holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “I’m sure it’s at least possible.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would be.” Dunlevy glared at him. “Although your flippant attitude makes me want to reconsider your usefulness.”

  Something about the threat struck a nerve in Michaels, and he realized that he truly would rather be a corpse than to live under the thumb of this rotund fool, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said with venom, tone rising, “but if you think that your threats are going to stop me from pointing out how moronic and ridiculous the things you say are, you better kill me right now and spare the both of us!” He ended, shouting. A giddy exhilaration coursed through his veins, and he wondered how stupid he was being. You know, I don’t really care, he realized.

  Dunlevy gritted and bared his teeth, his hand clenched on the pistol he still brandished at his side, “Listen, you arrogant child. I promise that the time will come when you answer for your sins-”

  “Oh really?” Michaels interjected, “Tell me; what were sins of Dennis Myers?” He thrust a hand at the corpse on the floor. “Hmm? You murdered him without hesitation!”

  Dunlevy opened his mouth and stammered, flustered by the accusation, “He deserved, I mean… I did only what was necessary for my, I mean, our new cause.” He seemed to gain confidence. “That man made his living on deceiving others with his propaganda, and he never would have followed our new regime!”

  “Really? How can you be sure of that?”

  “You heard what he said about Claudia! He said she deserved what was done-”

  “Then what about Marcus?” Michaels accused. “I know that you killed him.”

  Dunlevy’s eyes filled with sorrow, and he hung his head in shame. “I never wanted that to happen. He just wouldn’t listen! What he was working on was dangerous! I tried to get him to stop, but he needed to…” he trailed off, and suspicion glinted in his eye. “How did you know-?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I found out!” Michaels yelled. “I know that it’s true! You killed him, just like you murdered Myers and how many others? Who else, Arthur? Who?!” Michaels worked himself into a frenzy.

  “I, ah, no one! I’d never-” Dunlevy backed away a step.

  “What about Claudia?!” Michaels roared, cutting him off. “Would you have killed her too?! Maybe you’re relieved that you didn’t have to! That Wresh dealt with her intelligence and defiance for you!” The analytical part of Michaels’ mind was mildly surprised at the intensity of his outburst. The rest of him didn’t care.

  Dunlevy looked horrified, “No! Of course not! Claudia was a very dear friend of mine.” He sputtered. “If there had been anything I could have done to prevent her fate, I would have! And, and- I-I mean to see that Wresh pays for what he has done to everyone!”

  Michaels glared, gritting his teeth, “And what about you, dear Arthur? What about the terrible things you’ve done? When will you have to pay for them?” As though to punctuate his indictment, the doorknob twitched.
The analytical portion of Michaels’ mind, passively observing, disregarded it as his imagination.

  Except Dunlevy, still off guard, threw a glance at the door and stammered, “I’ve only done things to save the city; to bring equality to everyone who lives here!” He shook his head violently. “I never wanted to have to do any of this, but I had to because no one else would!”

  Michaels threw back his head and laughed, “Oh, is that so? Poor, valiant Citizen Dunlevy all alone against a world gone mad?”

  Veins throbbed on Dunlevy’s forehead and neck, and his face bent in a furious expression. “I told you,” he seethed, “to call me ARTHUR!” he bellowed. “And I’ve had enough! I will not have some seditious, insolent fool judging my actions when his own sins are far worse!” He slowly shook his head, never taking his eyes off of Michaels. “Your usefulness and intelligence clearly cannot offset your disobedience and arrogance. Goodbye, Citizen Michaels.”

  Dunlevy raised the gun once more and thumbed back the hammer. Michaels stared down the weapon defiantly. The analytical portion of his mind screamed at him to survive, banging around against the insides of his skull, but the rest of him set into a cool determination. Whatever, he thought. This world doesn’t deserve me.

  Dunlevy started to squeeze the trigger, and Michaels’ eyes slid shut. The gun roared, louder than Michaels ever would have thought, and it was oddly accompanied by the sound of splintering wood and a heavy clatter. Michaels felt a rush of hot air sizzle by his left ear. He opened his eyes as he realized that Dunlevy had missed. The office door, free of hinges, propelled forward and smashed into the desk, breaking the wooden legs and toppling it backwards. The desk lamp snapped free and rolled, casting the only light in the room towards the corner.

  Dunlevy whirled around, aiming at the door, clearly terrified, and squeezed the trigger several times at the opening, which, with only dim light in the room and outside, silhouetted in the shape of a large person. Dunlevy gave a slight cry of triumph as impacts resounded and the figure shuddered.

  The man, if that was indeed what he was, did not topple to the ground. Dunlevy narrowed his eyes with apprehension tugging at his composure to notice that the figure didn’t even seem to react other than to lightly stagger under the impacts. No cry of pain, no grasping at wounds. Nothing. Dunlevy’s hands trembled, even as both clutched the weapon. A pair of slanted eyes shined out at the figure’s head.

  A cascade of ice-water slipped down the length of Michaels’ spine as, in a growling hiss, the figure in the doorway whispered, “Arrrthurrrr.” Michaels shivered, mind grasping for an explanation. A tiny, giddy thought reveled in that, whatever his own discomfort and fear, Dunlevy’s had to be exponentially higher.

  This became obvious as the trembling in his hands extended to be visible in Dunlevy’s entire body. Quivering, he asked, “Wh-who are you?”

  The large form in the doorway stepped into the room. From the dim light, Michaels saw the figure of a man, swathed head-to-toe in clothing, large tattered trench-coat covering most of his body. His face was hidden by a mass of tangled scarves, and atop his head was a battered, wide-brimmed hat. The figure was hulking and brutish, with a slight hunch to its posture. What the hell is that, he wondered. In its leather-gloved hands, it carried a small piece of what appeared to be plastic.

  “Arrrthurrr,” the figure hissed again, moving towards Dunlevy.

  Dunlevy took a step backwards and jabbed his weapon forward, “Stay back!” he screamed. “Whoever you are, stay back!”

  “Rrememmberrr, Arrthurr.” The figure growled.

  “Wh-what?” Dunlevy asked, eyes wide.

  “REMEMBER!” The creature bellowed, leaping forward with speed that belied its size, dropping the small plastic square to the ground.

  Dunlevy let out a high-pitched scream and pulled the trigger repeatedly. A resounding crack filled the room three times until the slide snapped open as the clip ran empty.

  Two bullets pounded into the center mass of the figure. The third went higher, stripping off the battered hat. The creature’s head snapped backward as the round skipped off its forehead, splitting open the scalp. Along with rivulets of blood dripping down into the scarves, a shock of bright, white, long hair tumbled down. Michaels’ jaw dropped to see, between the white hair and dribbling blood, dusky blue skin and what was indeed slanted, glowing eyes. “My God,” he whispered.

  The blood drained from Dunlevy’s face as the figure swiped his hand forward, knocking the gun into the wall and seizing him by the wrist. Dunlevy’s shoulder wrenched with a revolting pop. The round man let out a scream of pain as the creature hauled him upward, lifting him off of his feet. Michaels watched, frozen in shock but glad no one seemed to be paying him any attention.

  Dunlevy whimpered as a low growl escaped the throat of the creature, he stammered, “Who are y-you? Wh-what do you w-want?”

  The grip on Dunlevy’s wrist tightened, and Michaels cringed and gasped as he heard a grinding, crunching noise. Dunlevy let out a high-pitched wail as the bones in his wrist pulverized under the amazing strength of the creature, who hissed, “You… why…?”

  Dunlevy didn’t notice the question. Through cries of pain and sobbing, he said, “P-please! I-I, I haven’t done anything!”

  The figure’s eyes went strikingly wide at this, and it roared, “YOU KILLED ME, ARTHUR!” With a surprising level of clarity.

  What’s this? Michaels wondered. Another crime to add to his list? Suddenly, the presence of the blue skin clicked something in his mind. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “That’s it…” Marcus must have implanted it on a cadaver before he was killed, he thought. My God, it really can revive the dead… Arthur continued babbling and denying knowing anything along with whimpering and gasping from the pain in his shoulder and wrist. Michaels thought, Absolutely amazing, ignoring, just for a moment, the violence occurring in his office.

  “Where the hell you go? Malcolm?” A female voice snapped from the doorway. The lights in the room flicked on, and as Michaels turned to see the source, the woman let out a piercing scream.

  In the doorway was a young woman, filthy-looking, underfed, and what Michaels would describe as ragged. He’d seen the look before on the prisoners sent to him for conditioning. This one was much different, however, in that she hadn’t been interrogated and beaten to a pulp beforehand.

  After the initial scream, the woman was still gawking at the dead man lying face-down on the floor. She shook violently and breathed in gasps as she, still in the room stepped away from the body until she met a wall. The creature, apparently named Malcolm, if he was who the woman was looking for, reacted to her arrival and scream by releasing Dunlevy, who dropped abruptly to the floor like a wet paper bag. He cradled his injured wrist with his other arm, sobbing.

  Malcolm moved towards the woman, and for a moment Michaels was concerned that he planned to attack her in the same way, but he didn’t seem to be threatening at all, “Jesus,” she breathed out, “why are there so many dead people in this place?”

  Michaels watched as the thing called Malcolm gazed down at the dead body for several moments, apparently lost in thought. He stooped over and gasped the dead man by the shoulders and lifted him up, with little apparent effort. The woman paled again and covered her mouth as the blood dribbled out of the hole in the man’s head. Malcolm stared into the vacant eyes and slack mouth of former Citizen Myers for a few seconds. His slanted, glowing eyes, narrowed and stared.

  “Myyerrss…” he hissed, and once again Michaels’ eyes widened. At this point, he noticed that Dunlevy was on his feet, inching his way to the left side of the room to get closer to the door. When Michaels shot a glance at him, he panicked at being noticed. Dunlevy bolted, limply clutching his injured arm. He ran past Malcolm, who still held Myers body, jostling into dead man’s back by mistake.

  Malcolm noticed Dunlevy escaping out the door. His eyes went wide once more and he roared, “ARRTHURRR!” He cast aside the dead body, which impacted th
e wall with a sickening thud before crumpling in a heap on the ground. He sprang towards the open door and disappeared from sight.

  “Malcolm, where the hell are you going now?” The woman yelled. “God dammit!” She cursed, moving towards the door to follow. She finally noticed Michaels standing in the room and watching with wide-eyes the whirlwind spectacle of the last few minutes. She frowned, “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  Michaels didn’t really know how to respond. He opened his mouth to say something but the woman cut him off, “Never mind, it doesn’t really matter.” She ducked around the doorway and disappeared from sight, leaving Michaels alone in the room with the dead body.

  He stared vacantly, trying to make sense of the entire event, when something on the floor caught his eye. The small object that Malcolm was holding when he came in. Michaels eyed it, walked over, and picked it up off the ground. He sucked in a gasp with yet another, my God, passing through his thoughts when he read the nametag. He, too, sprinted out of the room, following the activity.

  ******

  Sergei regained consciousness in a dark room. He stirred, and let out a grunt of pain from the wound in his midsection. A hand clamped down over his mouth and he glared upward and struggled. He relaxed slightly when he saw that it was Isaac crouched above him, with a finger pressed over his own lips. The hand came off of Sergei’s mouth, and he whispered, “Where are we?”

  In a low voice, Isaac responded, “Somewhere safe. I stumbled across you, unconscious, and brought you with.” Sergei’s hazy vision gradually adjusted to the objects in the room, and by the rows of shelves and books, he noted that they were in a library. A few other soldiers were in the room. Some lying down, some watching out windows. Sergei tried to sit up. He hissed breath through his clenched teeth at the pain and settled back down.

  “Don’t try to move.” Isaac whispered.

  Sergei didn’t usually appreciate orders, but this seemed wise.