Before the Nothingness

by Kevin George

  “Not the first one who’s fallen and stayed down,” Moretti said, his expression blank as he watched. “Probably won’t be the last. You don’t get far in those conditions by dragging dead weight along. . . except for that one.”

  He pointed to one particular villager stumbling along, dropping to his knees every few steps, being pulled back to his feet by those behind.

  “How should we handle the situation?” Moretti asked. “Even if they manage to reach The Mountain, they’re no threat to get inside. Should we let the weather deal with them?”

  “That would be a waste of life,” Samuel said. “If they turn back now, they might make it back to their ISUs.”

  “How do we get them to turn back after they’ve risked their lives to get so far?” Moretti asked.

  Samuel finally looked away from the images, turning to the security worker wearing the drone’s flight goggles and controller glove.

  “Pilot,” Samuel said. “Is your drone armed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Killing them won’t be a waste of life?” Moretti asked with a chuckle.

  “Not all, just one,” Samuel said, his voice cracking. This wasn’t the first kill order he’d ever given, but he found it harder to give now that he was solely in charge of The Mountain. “Kill one, then let the rest return to ISU-Ville with the story of what happens when they try coming here.”

  “Which one?” the pilot asked.

  “The one they’re helping,” Moretti answered immediately. “Whoever it is must be important. If we’re going to make a point, it should be impactful.”

  “Copy that,” the pilot said.

  Samuel watched footage from the drone as it banked around the villagers and lowered closer to the ground. Within seconds, the drone was twenty feet above the ground and speeding toward the group. A few villagers at the front noticed the drone and waved their hands; others kept plodding forward with their heads down. As the drone took aim at its target, the weakened villager suddenly fell and a gust of wind blew back his hood.

  “Wait!” Samuel yelled.

  The pilot pulled back before firing, lifting higher into the sky, momentarily cutting off their view of the villagers. Once the drone hovered above the group, Samuel and the security team watched the villagers continue forward. The targeted villager was back on his feet, his hood pulled over his head again, appearing no different than those around him. But in Samuel’s mind, he saw the split second image of the man’s face, confirming his worst fears. Moretti and the others stared at Samuel, nobody saying a word, their silence making it clear that they’d recognized Horace, too.

  “Send out a team to engage them,” Samuel said, his voice shaking. “We need to save my. . . we need to save Horace.”

  Nobody moved, all eyes in the security center turning from Samuel to Moretti.

  “Don’t look at him,” Samuel snapped. “Look at me. I’m the one in charge and I say we send guards to rescue my son!”

  Many of the workers fidgeted, but nobody made a move to follow Samuel’s order.

  “No,” Moretti said.

  “No?” Samuel asked, taking a step closer to the security leader. “What do you mean, no?”

  “We won’t send out guards to rescue your son or any other villager,” Moretti said. “The Board ordered us never to open The Mountain’s hangar bay for villagers, regardless of who that villager might be. I’m sorry for the position your son has gotten himself into, but I can’t—”

  “Since when does The Board’s orders trump mine?” Samuel asked.

  “Since your father’s death,” Moretti said with utter nonchalance. “There’s a new leadership system in place. Perhaps if you sought approval from The Board—”

  “I don’t need their approval for anything,” Samuel said, though Moretti’s bored shrug told him differently.

  The resulting silence was overwhelming, the only sound being the distant wind coming from the drone’s transmission. Though many villagers kept walking toward The Mountain, those at the back stopped and waved at the drone. It took Samuel a moment to locate his son, who was now being propped up by two other men, one of whom waved at the drone, the other holding a threatening arm across Horace’s throat.

  “Please,” Samuel said, leaning closer to Moretti. “Allow the drone to eliminate those savages threatening him.”

  Moretti nodded and ordered the drone pilot to kill any villagers holding the Jonas hostage. Samuel held his breath as the drone flew ahead of the group again, positioning itself for another attack run. But as it neared Horace and his captors, the pilot flew right by without firing a shot.

  “They must know what I’m planning,” the pilot said. “They’re using your son as a shield.”

  “Try again,” Samuel snapped. “Fly out of their viewing range this time, attack from the side so they don’t see you coming.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jonas, but I’ve already been flying patrol for the last few hours,” the pilot said. “The drone’s battery is going to die if I don’t bring it back right away.”

  “So what?” Samuel snapped. “We have plenty of drones. Just make sure you don’t mess up this next attack.”

  “Abort mission and return, pilot,” Moretti said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Samuel shook his head. Moretti explained the importance of not losing too many drones, but Samuel barely paid attention, watching in agony as the pilot turned away from the villagers. Samuel rushed at the pilot, but Moretti intercepted and ordered Samuel taken out of the security center. Samuel thrashed in the arms of several guards, but stopped suddenly when he saw the final image from the villagers.

  His breath caught in his throat as he watched a blur of movement—another villager?—rush up from behind the group, heading straight for Horace.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Where’d it go?” the gang leader yelled.

  “I don’t know,” one of his followers called back over the howling wind. “Is that it up there? Flying away?”

  “Maybe it’s leading us to The Mountain,” the leader said. He gave a quick squeeze to Horace’s throat. “That’s what you better hope it’s doing.”

  The leader loosened his grip, but Horace didn’t care. Part of him actually hoped he’d be deprived of oxygen long enough to let him drift away. But the leader still held him upright and pushed him forward. The fools seemed to think the drone’s appearance might be good for them, but Horace had watched enough of his father’s flights to recognize the drone’s attack runs. He just wondered why it hadn’t fired on either occasion.

  “At least we have their attention now!” the leader called out. “Maybe they’ll even send out people to—”

  A dull thud cut off his words, as did the sickening cracking noise that accompanied it. Only Horace heard the gang leader’s slurred groan. Suddenly free from the leader’s grip, Horace felt unexpected pressure against his back as all of the man’s weight pushed against him, sending them both sprawling forward. Horace barely had the strength to lift his arms and brace himself for the fall into the snow.

  Horace considered staying put and allowing the man’s weight to press his face into the snow. But the gang leader was clearly hurt and Horace heard several more thuds and cries nearby. Every time Horace braced his hand on the ground, it sank deeper into the snow beneath him. By the time he squirmed his way out, he noticed the warm droplets that had sprayed his face. He touched the liquid, rubbing it between his gloved fingers, noticing its red tint in the faint glow of the cloud-shrouded moon.

  Blood.

  He scurried away, looking back to see the gang leader’s head covered in blood, turning to see his followers also down, also bleeding profusely. A figure crunched in the snow a few feet away, tall and menacing from where Horace sat, heading straight toward him. Horace shook his head, but didn’t have the strength to hold up his hands or plead for his life. Blood dripped from the shadowy figure’s metal pole and Horace wondered if he would be its next victim. Then, the figure drop
ped the bloody pole into the snow and pulled back his hood.

  Her hood.

  “Carla,” Horace whispered.

  She hurried to his side, kneeling long enough to hook her arm into his and pull him up. The sight of her—not to mention exhaustion and thinking he was about to be bludgeoned to death—had turned Horace’s legs into rubber bands. Carla gestured for him to follow, but Horace barely took two steps before stumbling back into the snow.

  “I can’t carry you the entire way,” she said breathlessly. “We wouldn’t make it back.”

  Realizing how tiring it must’ve been to track down the group—how frightening it must’ve been for Carla in the stormy darkness—Horace felt a sudden burst of strength. He gave her arm a squeeze.

  “Thank you. . . for—”

  “Thank me when we’re home,” she said.

  Carla pointed to dozens of footprints in the snow, a path leading back to the village, though each gust of wind made them harder to see.

  “Stop!” a voice yelled behind them.

  Horace and Carla glanced back, where some of the followers waved at them. Others in the group kept plodding forward, either not seeing what had happened to the gang leaders or not caring. Though Carla continued to pull Horace forward, he resisted just enough to call back to them.

  “They’re never letting us into The Mountain,” he yelled, his voice not much louder than the wind. “Turn around now and you might make it back.”

  A few villagers hobbled toward Horace, their hands outstretched, desperate eyes staring out from beneath their hoods.

  “We have to go,” Carla urged him.

  “We can’t just leave them,” Horace said.

  “You have to stay with us,” the nearest villager moaned. “They won’t let us in without you.”

  Horace shook his head. “But they’ll never let any of us—”

  “Grab him!”

  Horace didn’t resist as Carla pulled him away. Arm in arm, they rushed in the direction of the village, expending the little energy they had left. For the first few minutes, they glanced back and still saw villagers chasing them. But the others fell farther back and it wasn’t long before snow and darkness swallowed everyone behind them. Horace didn’t know if the others knew to follow the tracks, but he hoped they were smart enough to stay clear of The Mountain.

  Not that they were smart enough to avoid taking this trip. . .

  Any worry for their safety faded as he focused on keeping Carla and himself alive. Both were freezing and exhausted, alone in the frozen wasteland, unable to see more than a few feet ahead, the wind blowing so hard they could only stand by holding onto each other. With every passing second—and every gust of wind—the footprints they followed filled in with more and more snow until they completely faded from view.

  Carla finally slowed, shaking her head.

  “It’s useless,” she said. “This is where we’re going to—”

  “Don’t!” Horace snapped at her. “Keep going. . . you don’t want to leave your mother alone.”

  Carla’s arm tightened in Horace’s and they continued pushing, following in the general direction where the tracks seemed to be headed, neither of them certain they were going the right way but certain they wouldn’t give up while the other still pushed. With no way to gauge the passage of time, Horace didn’t know how long or far they’d walked, or if the return trip was taking longer than the trip to The Mountain, or if—

  Carla suddenly fell to her knees and lowered her head into her hands. Horace dropped beside her. Though the sudden rest filled every muscle in Horace’s body with sweet relief, he shook his head, trying to convince himself to keep fighting as much as he was trying to convince Carla.

  “We have to. . . keep. . . going. . .”

  Carla lifted her head and turned to Horace, a hint of a smile crossing her lips. Despite the frozen torture racking both of them, Horace stared at Carla, awed by her beauty. He exhaled deeply, steam escaping his lips, content that the last image he’d see was the love of his life. When Carla raised her hand and pointed, Horace was worried the others had finally caught up to them. Instead, he looked in the distance and spotted a tiny home with greenhouse glass on its roof.

  Not surprisingly, Martin LeRoque was the final Board member to enter the room, interrupting Betty Van Horn’s third yawn in as many minutes. Martin took his seat at the far end of the table, plopping down with a great heave. Around him, the rest of The Board appeared to be nervous and exhausted. Martin didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at being woken in the middle of the night.

  Under different circumstances, Samuel may have enjoyed the discomfort he’d caused The Board, but his pulse raced and anxious sweat glued his clothes to his body. He needed all of his willpower to avoid snapping at them.

  “Shall we begin?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t you want to wait for your friend?” Betty asked. “The doctor?”

  “This doesn’t involve Nigel.”

  “You’d better damn well have an important reason to call a meeting in the middle of the night,” Martin said.

  “I gave an order to Mountain security earlier and that ordered was denied,” Samuel said. “It involved a matter of life or death for members of ISU-Ville—”

  “You mean for your son,” Martin said.

  Samuel’s eyes narrowed on Martin, but he took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, calmly folding his hands over his lap. Martin didn’t bother to hide his grin.

  “You didn’t realize security keeps me informed of every significant incident?” Martin said, also leaning back in his seat, mimicking Samuel’s calm movements. “I was also told subsequent drone patrols found him safely on his way back to the village.”

  The boardroom door opened and for a split second, Samuel felt a swell of hope that security had defied The Board and rescued Horace. But Dr. Weller slithered into the room and found the nearest corner.

  “Trying to get back to the village. . . in the dark. . . in heavy snows,” Samuel said.

  Martin snorted. “There are always heavy snows out there. I’m sure those people are used to it by now.”

  Samuel forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. “Moretti told me about changes in leadership? Changes enacted and approved by this Board without my approval? Without even my knowledge?”

  Martin grinned at the question, but it was Betty Van Horn that leaned forward to explain.

  “As you know, One Corp. was founded and grown by Charles Jonas—”

  “My father,” Samuel interrupted.

  “Quite right,” Betty said, her voice oozing with feigned sweetness. “And though The Board had a legal right to disagree with or overrule your father’s decisions, we always deferred our opinions to the owner of this company, the man who did the most to ensure this life for all of us. Now that he’s gone, we all agreed—Dr. Weller included—that major decisions should be voted on by the group as a whole.”

  Samuel looked toward Nigel, not surprised to see the doctor staring at the floor.

  “We agreed with your decision to remove non-essential personnel from The Mountain, as well as shutting down the Communications Center,” Martin said. “But you made those decisions without informing us, just as we made the ultimate decision to cut off all dealings with those living in ISU-Ville.”

  “But this is different,” Samuel said, his words lacking any true conviction. “Those are our people out there. . . they’re dying in the village. . . it’ll continue to happen if we just ignore them. . . if we don’t support them.”

  Martin’s lips lowered into a frown, though Samuel did not see a single spark of regret in the man’s eyes.

  “I don’t condone the violence taking place out there, but we’ve all agreed in the past that ISU-Ville and the City Below are separate entities and should be treated as such,” Martin said. “It’s every man for himself out there.”

  “Even when it’s my son? The grandson of Charles Jonas?”

  �
��Horace Jonas, yes,” Martin said. “The young man who decided of his own accord to leave The Mountain and live in the village. The young man who was given your father’s ISU with all of its added benefits. Did you want us to put the entire Mountain at risk for him next?”

  Samuel scanned the faces of those sitting around the table, at least those faces not trying to avoid his gaze. He saw nothing but serious expressions, faces of people whose minds weren’t going to be changed. Had his father been faced with the same situation, Charles Jonas would’ve slammed his fists against the table and demanded to remain solely in charge of making decisions. But Samuel knew that he wasn’t his father, that he’d never commanded the same respect from The Board. Fighting them would only make them more suspicious and would only make it more difficult to prove that he deserved to be their leader.

  Samuel steepled his hands in front of his face. He exhaled deeply, hating himself for the words he was about to speak.

  “You’re right, of course. My paternal instincts kicked in and I overreacted by calling this meeting,” Samuel said. “Horace has been given opportunity after opportunity to survive; he’s been given a much better chance than so many others. I have to remind myself that he’s no longer a child and must deal with the consequences of his own decisions. Truth is, we don’t know what the other villagers could’ve been planning. Better to leave them alone.”

  “Let them keep waiting for their precious answer,” Betty said, eliciting tired laughter from those around the table.

  Samuel forced a chuckle before apologizing again and excusing himself. He hung his head low as he left the boardroom, not even glancing in Weller’s direction. He walked down the hallway, heading in the direction of his room, until he was out of sight of The Board. He ran past several elevators until reaching the stairwell, hurrying down the steps until emerging onto the laboratory level. At this time of night, few people were awake, though the scientists and security guards he passed on the way looked at him with raised eyebrows.