This morning, it is Sara’s turn to hide in the niche formed by the access ladder and parapet wall. She had offered to take the morning shift today because, while it may be colder, at least the wind is somewhat calmer than in the afternoon, and the morning light reflecting off the mountains is almost worth any discomfort. The building beneath her is still disconnected from the grid, so the heat is not functioning, but they were able to find a stash of chemical hand warmers and plenty of winter weather gear in one of the equipment rooms. As a result, her huddled form is barely discernible as a human. Only her eyes are visible between the layers of puffy insulation.
Winter seems to be bringing its full wrath this year, and as she looks down at the perimeter guard closest to her, she can’t help but feel some pity for him. He is standing out in the open where the wind is clearly blowing hard, an observation supported by the spirals of blown snow billowing past him every minute or so. His uniform clearly isn’t as warm as the three coats that Sara is wearing, because while she is somewhat chilly on her rooftop perch, he spends the majority of his time alternating between stamping his feet and blowing on his hands and jumping up and down in an attempt to keep his blood moving.
Her pity quickly fades, however, when she thinks back to why he is standing there. Their rooftop vigils have given each of them plenty of time to think about the events that led them to where they are now. Her thoughts travel back to running through the panicked crowd, holding onto Ryan’s hand as he uses his big frame to push through people who are moving slower than them. She feels more than hears the explosion of the police van that they had run past only seconds before, the heat seeming to wash over them like a wave.
Looking back over her shoulder, she can see the remains of the fireball drifting up between the buildings, and, in the sudden void in the fleeing crowd, she can see the mangled remains of those too close to the blast. On the far side of the carnage, there is a contingent of soldiers. Each had been attempting to detain the crowd and calm the panic. Picking themselves up from the blast, the soldiers panic themselves in the face of the stampeding mass of people, opening fire in the crowd in attempt to keep from getting trampled.
She freezes in her tracks, jostled, bumped, and screamed at, as the crowd rushes past her. If not for Ryan’s insistent pull on her hand, she might still be standing there now. Stunned by what she has seen, the faces of the people around her, the sounds, the smells, and the fear—the palpable, physical fear—she lets herself be led off by Ryan.
The rest is all a blur—the running, the hiding, the running again, and finally the recent boredom. But try as she might, she can’t push out the images of frightened faces suddenly turning to shock and falling before the onslaught of bullets whizzing around her. Looking back at the soldier guarding the fence below her, she smiles from within her insulated cocoon, taking joy in his suffering.
Beneath her, in the confines of the slowly cooling athletic center, Jon and Ryan are doing what guys with too much free time will inevitably end up doing: working out and talking about girls. Based on their current predicament, they have access to very complete facilities for working out. The university has spared no expense when it comes to the gyms that their athletes use. But, unfortunately in their current situation, there is only one girl for them to be talking about—Sara—though she does seem to be posing enough challenges to keep their minds occupied.
“I mean she’s just so hard to read. It’s like, at first she seemed kind of interested in me, we hung out a bunch, and she really seemed cool. But then I started getting a total vibe that she just doesn’t give a damn about me,” Ryan says while helping Jon return the bar to the rack. Jon takes a second to catch his breath.
“You ever think that maybe she has something else on her mind right now?” Jon asks. “You know, like staying alive?”
“I know, I know, that would make some sense, but I’m talking about before last week.” Ryan still can’t bring himself to vocalize exactly what he saw. “She seemed excited enough about hanging out with us that time at the bar, but then I sent her a message to see if she wanted to hang out again a couple of days after that, and she totally blew me off. Normally I can’t even get the girls that like me to hang out with my friends, A.K.A. your nerd face, but she seemed totally cool with it.”
“I don’t know, girls are weird,” Jon informs Ryan, as he adds some weight for Ryan’s set. “Something I do know is that you need to get your lazy butt under that bar and stop talking so much.”
Their conversation peters out as exhaustion sets in. With nothing to do and a lot of time to do it, both of them are pushing harder than they usually would while under the pressures of their normal lives.
It’s a couple hours later when they are both sitting, enjoying yet another meal of boxed protein supplements and watching the snow begin to fall, that one of the radios they’d found in the facilities manager’s office crackles twice. Two bursts of static is the signal that the lookout needs them to come immediately.
Ryan and Jon rush upstairs to the spot where they can access the roof, donning layers of insulation as they go. Ryan climbs the ladder first, using his bulky shoulder to push through the hatch and onto the roof. Jon is right behind him, and both are torn between excitement and fear for the reasoning behind the summons. That Sara would risk using the radio must mean it’s important, even dangerous; but anything beats sitting around and watching the clock tick. Once they are both on the roof, they close the hatch behind themselves in an attempt to preserve any heat left in the building and scurry in a half-crouch, half-run along the flat roof to where they know Sara is supposed to be positioned.
Hearing them arrive, she turns her head, her eyes wide, and motions them to get down.
“Look at the top floor of offices in that building over there,” she whispers excitedly, indicating the building situated behind the lecture hall, just to the south of the stadium. Through the glass and the reflection of the mountains beyond, they can make out a faint and intermittently rhythmic flash.
“It looks to me like someone is up there welding,” supplies Jon, squinting to make out any detail at that distance. “I’m not sure, but I’d guess they’re in the hallway, because if not, that whole room would be lighting up, instead of just a little bit.”
“Why would they be welding something in the hall?” Ryan wonders aloud. “What could they be doing over there? Once they cleared the building, they haven’t even looked twice at it when their patrols go by.”
Since Sara has been the one on watch this morning, she is also the one with the most information—and subsequently the most curiosity—about what is going on. About a half an hour before the flashing started, she had seen a head pop up over the parapet wall. Something about the way head suddenly appeared, quickly scanned the courtyard in front of the building before darting back out of sight struck her as odd, which is why she has been watching this particular building extra carefully.
“I don’t think it is the police or the military up there—they’d have a ton more lights on, and I would have noticed them going into the building in the first place,” Sara says. “The only troops to even show any interest in the building were the mid-morning patrol, and that’s because one of them took a break to piss on the wall by the door.”
“We should go over there and check it out tonight once the patrols go by,” suggests Jon. Whatever is going on over there is bound to be more exciting than what they are up to, part of him actually hopes it’s the military and they are discovered as they investigate. Anything that brings the tedium to closure would be welcome.
“Why wait?” asks Ryan. “Yesterday I was down in the basement again, and I was checking out the steam tunnel entrance. Since the power has been cut to the building, the locks aren’t functioning on any of the doors. I bet we could sneak across right now and check it out without any one seeing us.”
Sara thinks of arguing, irrationally feeling that it is safer to sneak in when it is dark or even safer to stay put. But giv
en their present circumstances, she can’t think of any reason why they shouldn’t go now. The patrols shouldn’t be back through for at least another hour—two if they take their usual smoke break a couple buildings to the north. In fact, they could probably walk right down the middle of the path between the buildings right now, a couple of hours before noon, and no one would even notice. Letting her eyes wander out over the parking lot and the slowly patrolling troops beyond the fence, Sara realizes that everyone seems to be following their orders, but nobody is particularly motivated to show initiative. In her mind, boredom wins out over caution.
“You’re probably right, let’s go to the steam tunnels,” Sara concedes. “I’m probably just being paranoid.”
The three of them move cautiously back from the edge of the roof, staying low until they make it down the hatch and into the slightly warmer interior of the building. Once inside, they raid the stash of supplies they’ve managed to put together, grabbing flashlights, a crowbar, and a set of lock picks that Sara has been making out of various odds and ends. She may not have mastered their use yet, but she’s been practicing on the doors around the building and seems to perform a little better each time she tries. With the essentials for their adventure, they head to the door that leads into the steam tunnels.
Ryan takes the lead, slowly opening the door. With none of their flashlights on and power cut for the entire campus, they can only feel the slight change in atmosphere between the hallway and the tunnel. Edging across the threshold, they wait, listening for the faint sound somewhere down the tunnel of an alarm going off or an ambush being set. There is nothing to hear. The silence would be as complete as the darkness if it were not for their breathing. Ryan presses the flashlight against his leg so that when he switches it on, the sudden burst of light does not blind them instantly.
He slowly works the beam of light off of his leg and down the hall, sweeping from side to side, illuminating the pipes and conduits along the walls, but no ambush and no security cameras or sensors are triggered by their passage. They move slowly but steadily down the tunnel, never letting the light play too far in front. Jon, who is bringing up the rear of their party, pauses and glances behind to see if the door to the hall has closed when he hears a click echo down the tunnel from behind them. It is too dark to make anything out, and only a void remains of where they had been. Hearing nothing but silence from that direction, he turns and hurries back down the tunnel to catch up with Ryan and Sara, who have continued on without him.
As a group, they reach the first fork in the tunnel and take the other path from the one they’d used to enter the building originally. It doesn’t take long before they reach a sharp turn to the right, followed nearly immediately by a sharp turn to the left. Some of the pipes seem unable to make the turn, so they abruptly cut diagonally across the tunnel, causing the group to have to duck, lest they hit their heads. Once they make it through the mess of pipes, some of which are hot to the touch, they come across a door that is set into the wall of the tunnel. The recess is nearly hidden behind the pipes that run across it, but a stray beam of light from a flashlight makes it through to illuminate the door behind.
Crawling under the pipes, Ryan pops up on the other side and tries the door handle. It turns smoothly. Beckoning for Jon and Sara to join him, he flips off his light and slowly opens the door. The hallway on the other side is as devoid of artificial light as the tunnel they are leaving, but at the far end of the hall, a small casement lets in a shaft of sunlight that glares off the polished floor tiles. Seeing nothing but a series of closed doors leading to small lecture halls and study rooms, Ryan opens the door and walks calmly out into the hall, looking into the classroom nearest the door.
Once Jon and Sara are through, they shut the door to the steam tunnels and meet to plan out their next move.
“We saw the light on the top floor. I say we go straight up there and see who’s been up to what,” suggests Ryan.
“I think we should go floor by floor and make sure we’re not walking into any sort of trap,” counters Jon.
Sara, not driven by the desire to impress anyone with her leadership skills, lets the guys make their noise before weighing in.
“If we go floor by floor, we’ll just be increasing the chance that while we’re on one of the lower floors, someone will see us through the windows,” she begins. “And, I mean, why would they bother going to all that trouble to set a trap? Couldn’t they just storm wherever we’ve been hiding, it’s not like we’re armed.”
With Sara providing the clear insight for their move forward, they head towards the internal stairwell to begin their upward trek. This building, being one of the tallest on campus, has a mountain of stairs to climb. Each floor looks the same: white walls, a door, and a number indicating their relative position to their starting point. The only real change is their slowly shortening breath. With each floor, their legs burn a little bit more, and breathing in the confined space of the stairwell becomes a little bit harder. Eventually they reach the top and are greeted by another nondescript door. This one’s number must surely be lying, because it feels like they’ve climbed at least one hundred flights of stairs, and this number is much closer to ten.
Sara, being the fastest up the stairs, is the first to try the door at the top. The handle turns, but the door doesn’t budge, seemingly still locked in place. She kneels down and pulls out her set of picks to try in the lock above the handle. Settling on her haunches, she begins her efforts, slowly exploring the inner workings of the lock.
“This may take a while guys, you might as well sit down and catch your breath,” she chides, apparently not in the least bit tired by their climb.
“Ummmm,” is all the more response Jon can get out, for as he turns to sit, facing back down the stairs, he sees the two men in masks on the landing below pointing automatic rifles at them.
“Show us your hands! Slowly,” commands the man on the right, causing Jon, Ryan, and Sara to freeze where they are.
Chapter 34
The Capital
Behind Closed Doors
The sweat-suited figure runs through the tight corridors, between towering concrete pillars, pursued by four other sweat-suited figures. The pursuers all carry wooden clubs, while their quarry carries nothing but a bundle, wrapped in cloth, in the crook of his left arm. At each turn, he glances back to gauge the proximity of his would be assailants, and, at each corner, they appear to have gained on him a little bit.
The path narrows, then breaks into a three direction tee. Without slowing, the lone figure takes the left-hand path, hoping that is the correct one to lead him to an exit. It is not; the corridor dead ends shortly after he enters it. He turns back the way he came, for the first time facing one of the cameras that has been monitoring his progress.
William’s face is sweaty and flushed, but he grins as he turns to face his pursuers. The feral defiance of his expression permeates through the screen, into the darkened room, prompting much shuffling of paper.
“It is interesting that this particular subject’s profile didn’t mention any such tendencies,” one of the forms in the room says, indicating the report in question by grinding out a smoldering cigar on its cover page. “Should we be reexamining the other files as well? Perhaps the doctor in charge should be replaced, if this is level of quality he is producing.”
“We have seen some results like this in the other teams, but nothing to this extreme, nor at this speed,” the form controlling the video feed supplies. Before he can continue, the feed shows the pursuers rushing the lone figure, brandishing their clubs. “It seems that attributes that were latent, or were not primary traits, are in some cases amplified by the team interactions. In this particular case, the interactions seem to be catalyzed by this subject.”
The image has zoomed in on William, seemingly trapped at the center of his four pursuers. The feed is paused at a frame in which all four clubs can be seen descending to strike crippling blows on William. With no w
ay to avoid or block all of them, his fate seems sealed.
“Three members of the team seem to have been injured quite seriously,” another voice adds, indicating William’s imminent demise. “Are you concerned that this might affect the team cohesion?”
“It’s unlikely,” says a silky voice from the seat beside the controls for the screen that dominates one wall of the room. “Our other studies have shown that, in the majority of cases, this sort of physical hardship encourages the members who are injured to trust each other more and form a more cohesive bond. This is why we encourage this type of behavior.”
Sensing that the scripted portion of the presentation has ended, another voice joins in.
“I believe the teams are structured of five people, are they not?” he asks patronizingly. “This team seems to only have four members present for the exercise. I would think that if the team is not fully formed, it wouldn’t represent a viable sample for the study.”
“There is a fifth member, I believe his designation is Mike E2-02-X0-00,” the voice running the presentation corrects, somewhat hesitantly. “We researched this member, and it seems that he is among the best-performing subjects in this particular facility. However, during this exercise, he focused primarily on arming himself and watching the activities of the other teams unfold. By our analysis, this suggests a deliberate and thoughtful approach to the exercise, and, as a result, we’ve recommended that this individual receive a commendation for the exercise.”
“The team cohesion seems to be forming adequately; I propose we move to the final ground phase,” the first voice suggests. “I’d say this team should make an ideal candidate for an expeditionary squad after all.”
Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) Page 18