The aroma of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, raising tiny flashes of memory in Jim’s mind. He had quit smoking back when first finding out that Laura was pregnant. But even now he missed it quite badly. Sitting on his porch with a hot cup of coffee and a cigarette had been one of his favorite little moments. But Laura had insisted that he quit for the sake of their child.
He drove the memory from his mind. He needed to concentrate. He had to stay focused.
Moving from shadow to shadow, he closed in on the building. He'd already made the decision that, if this place really was unguarded, he would take one of the vehicles. After a quick look around, he drew his .45 and pulled on the door handle. For a moment it wouldn’t budge. He tugged harder, and this time felt it scraping against the frame. He'd been anticipating a small noise, but the sudden anguished groan of metal on metal sounded a million times louder than the gentle creak of earlier. To Jim's ears, it was almost as effective as an alarm bell going off.
His face screwed up in a tight grimace, as if this might somehow dampen the sound. A stupid reaction really. Anyone nearby would need to be totally deaf not to have heard it.
But there was no immediate response. Barely breathing, Jim peered through the narrow opening. Just inside was a bare hallway lit by florescent ceiling lights. After easing the door open a few more inches, he squeezed inside and closed it behind him. There were rooms at regular intervals on both sides of the corridor, with steel double doors at the far end. The air was cool…air-conditioned. It sent a chill down his spine and raised goose pimples on his exposed forearms.
He tried to open the first door to his right. It was locked. As was the door directly opposite. He was reaching out for the handle of the next one in line when it suddenly jerked open. He jumped sharply back, leveling his weapon. A man stepped out. A man whose face Jim instantly recognized. His eyes shot wide. It was the normal guy. He was dressed in blue, short sleeve coveralls and a blue cap.
Scrambling further away, Jim tried to take aim at his head, but the tiles were slick. In his haste, his feet slipped from under him, sending him flying backwards onto the floor. The air was forced from his lungs as he landed, leaving him gasping and only just able to keep a grip on his gun. He knew this was all the normal guy would need. One mistake. One moment of vulnerability. He braced himself for what he was sure would come next. But nothing happened. The normal guy was looking straight over the top of him as if he wasn’t there at all. It was then that Jim noticed the wooden handled dust mop in his right hand.
The normal guy turned his back and began methodically sweeping all the way down the corridor until reaching the double doors. Jim could only watch in total confusion as the thing he had only ever known as a cold blooded killer, opened the door and continued with his cleaning.
“What the fuck?” he coughed.
His breath beginning to return, he struggled to his feet and made his way along the corridor. A square glass window in the double doors allowed him to watch the normal guy as he made his way down the next hall.
“A janitor?” he murmured in astonishment. “They’ve turned the Shadow People into janitors?”
And why hadn’t it noticed him? It had acted as if he didn’t exist. None of this made any sense at all.
He waited until the normal guy had passed through the next set of double doors at the end of the hall before following. As before, the first room in this section was locked. But this time, the second one was not. Not that there was anything much inside that could help. Just an empty office desk, an equally empty filing cabinet, and a few scattered chairs. Two more unlocked rooms further along were much the same. However, just before the end of this section, there was a flight of stairs going up to the second floor. Jim listened at the foot of these for a moment, but could hear only the buzz of the lights and the low hum of the air conditioning.
The double doors only a few feet away suddenly snapped open, causing Jim's heart to leap into his throat. It was the normal guy returning. Once again he completely ignored Jim’s presence and headed back in the direction of the entrance. Jim watched until he had disappeared into the previous corridor before moving on. The next section of hallway was rather more interesting. Even though the double doors at the end had been chained shut, those along the hallway were nearly all flung wide open. Jim steadied his breathing and peered into the first room on his left.
Sitting at a small round table were four more normal guys. But there were no mops in sight. These clones were dressed in black fatigues and carried 9mm sidearms. Jim ducked rapidly back, pressing himself flat against the wall. Not that there was any point in remaining like that for long. After a few seconds he risked another look. They were just sitting there, motionless and expressionless. Surely they could see him? Smothering his fear, he stepped inside the room. Still, there was no reaction. “This can’t be happening?” he found himself muttering.
He waved a hand directly in front of their eyes. Nothing. Not even a blink. Each of the next few rooms contained the same. Four armed normal guys all sat around a table staring into space. The final room to his right was closed but unlocked. Surprisingly so, because inside he found a variety of small arms, together with a large stock of rounds to fit each one. Jim rummaged around until he found ammo suitable for both himself and Peter. After stuffing as much of this as he could into his pockets, he decided to take a look upstairs.
The second floor layout was almost identical to that below. But here, nearly all of the doors were unlocked. The first room, with papers scattered about a cheap desk and a small filing cabinet shoved into the corner, was clearly an office. Jim glanced at the papers, but they were mostly lists of seemingly random numbers. Some had names at the top, others did not. The cabinet yielded more of the same, with the addition that each sheet was labeled with a date and time. The earliest one was from just over a year ago.
Jim knew that he needed to find the man who had come outside. Whoever he was, he was not one of the normal guys, or any other clone model he had ever seen. He searched from room to room, but at first found nothing apart from small offices and storage space piled high with boxes. Then things changed. He turned right midway down the main corridor and was immediately confronted by a large metal door bearing the words ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ in bold red letters.
He pressed his ear to the door and at once could hear muffled voices on the other side.
Shadow People don’t talk.
This was the first thought that flew into his head. His heart was now beating like a hummingbird's wings. The answers he was so desperate to find might only be a few feet away. It took considerable effort to steady his hand and control his breathing. Gripping the doorknob, he mentally counted: One - two - three. Go!
In a single swift motion he threw open the door and stepped inside. Two men in white lab coats were seated at a table in the center of the room. Both stared at him with a combination of fear and bewilderment.
“Don’t fucking move,” Jim ordered.
He took a moment to survey his surroundings. Along the rear wall was a counter cluttered with various electronic instruments, none of which, apart from a laptop computer, he was able to identify. Multicolored lights flashed on and off in seemingly random order. To his left, sitting on another smaller table, was a microwave, together with plastic cups and plates. To the right stood an immense box-like piece of equipment, black in color, four feet tall and eight feet across. A thick cable ran out of its top and up into a hole in the ceiling. Beside it, shoved into the far corner, was a printer spitting out sheet after sheet of paper.
The startled men both looked to be in their mid-thirties. The one on the left – the man Jim had seen step outside - was thin and wiry, with straight blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. The other had dark hair, wore glasses, and was clean shaven.
“How the hell did you get in here?” the bearded man demanded. He stood up and began to reach into his pocket.
“I said don’t move,” Jim roared.
The dark haired man slowly got to his feet as well, his hands spread out in pacifying fashion in front of him. “Take it easy, fella. You’re just confused. We can help you. Just put the gun down and we’ll take you back home.”
Jim closed the door with his foot and moved closer. Each man had a name badge clipped to their coat top pocket. The blond man's said Millhouse Vaughn, and the other Timothy Miller.
Jim gave them both a mirthless smile. “So Tim - Millhouse. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to ask you questions, and if I think you’re lying, I shoot off a body part.” He motioned with his gun for them to sit.
After a brief hesitation, they did as instructed.
“You don’t understand,” said Millhouse. “You’re just confused. But we can help you. I promise.”
“Oh, you’re going to help me,” Jim assured him. “You’re going to start off by telling me exactly what this place is.”
“It’s just a monitoring station,” Millhouse replied. “We’re here to watch your town. You know, take readings and things like that.”
Realizing that they believed him to be a stray resident of Constitution, Jim decided to approach slowly. “How come you have power and we don’t? Why haven’t you come to help us?”
Millhouse still had his hand in his pocket. “We can’t.”
“So whoever is in charge won’t let you?”
“We just can’t,” he repeated.
“What about the truck outside? The one that came through town earlier? And don’t think I can't see your hand in your pocket. You can place it on the table right now.”
Millhouse faltered, but the hammer of Jim’s .45 locking into place motivated him. Slowly, he did as he was told. “You shouldn’t know about the truck,” he said, casting a quick glance across at Tim. “How did you see it?”
“I’ll be the one asking questions.”
Jim could see a slow realization growing on Millhouse’s face. Tim was breathing rapidly, his hands balled into fists in an effort to stop them from shaking.
“Tell me about the truck,” Jim pressed.
Millhouse lowered his eyes. “I’m not saying anything more.”
Rather than pressure him further, Jim decided to go after Tim, who was clearly the weaker of the two. He took a menacing step forward and pointed the gun at Tim’s head. “The truck. What does it do?”
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” snapped Millhouse. “If you...”
That was as far as he got. Jim leaned in and backhanded him across his jaw. “Next time it’s a bullet,” he said coldly.
Millhouse glared, but Jim merely smiled and turned his attention back to Tim. “You were about to tell me something?”
Tim’s lips were quivering with fright. “I…I…” His eyes flashed helplessly over at Millhouse, then back to the gun threatening him.
Jim gave a sinister grin. “Last chance.” The barrel was now only a foot away from the man’s head.
In a rush of movement, Millhouse kicked the table forward and threw himself to the floor. Jim jumped back, but not quite quickly enough. The table’s leading edge smashed into his thigh, sending a sharp spear of pain shooting through his leg and throwing him off-balance. He could see Millhouse reaching into his coat, then caught the glint of chrome in his hand as he rolled left. Jim swung his weapon around, but Millhouse was just able to get off the first shot. For a terrifying instant Jim thought he was hit, but the bullet flew mere inches past him at waist level, embedding into the wall. His own aim was much better. The .45 round tore into Millhouse’s chest, splattering blood all over the front of his white coat and sending him flat on his back. But even now the man wasn't finished. Weakly, he tried to raise his weapon again. Jim fired a second shot, this time hitting him in the neck. Blood sprayed out from the shattered carotid artery, soaking the floor. After a few convulsive twitches, Millhouse stopped moving.
Jim leapt forward and kicked the man's gun away into the far corner before turning his attention back to Tim. Not that this precaution was really necessary. It was pretty obvious that Tim had no intention whatsoever of fighting. He was curled up into a ball, his back pressed against the huge black box, trembling violently.
Jim knelt down in front of him. “Tim.”
The terrified man made no response. Jim tapped him on the top of the head with the barrel of his gun. “Focus, Tim.”
This time, his eyes jerked up. “I…I…I don’t know anything. Millhouse...he was the one in charge.”
Jim clicked his tongue. “Now what did we say about lying?”
“I’m not lying,” he insisted. He cast his gaze over to Millhouse’s lifeless body. “I was never told anything.”
“Okay. We can start there. Who never told you anything? The people in Atlanta?”
“This is impossible,” muttered Tim. “You shouldn’t be able to come here. None of you should.”
Jim was losing patience. “I think you need to know something that your boss figured out a few seconds before he died. I’m not from Constitution.”
Tim’s eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. “You have to be, otherwise you wouldn't be able to get in here. It's impossible. Unless you're a…”
The door flew open, choking off anything further he might have to say. Jim spun around and saw two of the armed normal guy’s rushing in, weapons drawn. He ducked low, but neither of them fired. They merely stood there, slowly scanning the room, as if oblivious of both his presence, and the dead body on the floor. After completing their inspection, they turned and left.
“And what the fuck was that all about?” he demanded, once they were gone.
Tears were now streaming down Tim's face. He stared at Jim with a mixture of terror and disbelief. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
A high pitched ringing suddenly came from the laptop across the room.
Jim was immediately alert. All the commotion could easily have set off an alarm system. “What’s that?” he asked. “Is your boss calling you?”
It was useless. There was still no answer from the traumatized Tim. Growling with frustration, Jim strode over to the laptop and placed it on the table. He then pulled Tim roughly up to his feet, dragged him across the room, and shoved him into a chair facing the machine.
“Answer it,” he ordered.
The rough handling might not have removed any of Tim's fear, but at least it had the effect of jolting a little action back into him. After only a moment’s pause, he answered the call. Jim moved out of sight of the web cam, all the time keeping his weapon aimed at the terrified technician's chest. He could see the man's hands were trembling even more violently than before.
“Calm down, Timothy.” The voice coming through the laptop speaker was instantly familiar. “Is he still there?”
Tim nodded slowly.
“Jim. Oh, Jim. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
It was pointless trying to conceal his presence any longer. Jim turned the computer to face him. There, sitting in a high backed office chair, was Slade. He was smiling warmly, his hands folded on a desk in front of him.
“What the hell is this?” Jim demanded.
“I told you that you should have come with me,” scolded Slade. “And Timothy. I do hope you managed to keep your mouth shut.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Then again, that's not really important. He doesn’t know much anyway. A pity about Millhouse though. When I was alerted that his life signs had gone dark, I knew it had to be you, Jim. I guess the poor guy figured you out and panicked.”
“Figured me out?”
Slade shook his head. “Jim, Jim, Jim. So much needless trouble. And all you have to do is come in. Then, all these mysteries will be solved.”
“What is this place?”
Slade chuckled. “I assume you mean Constitution. That, my friend, is the future. I was actually hoping you wouldn’t find it. Now we have to start over again. Oh, and Timothy. Your services are terminated as well.” Tim’s sobs redoubled. “Pathetic, isn’t he?�
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Jim’s rage was building. “You’re pathetic if you think I’m going to just turn myself over.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that. I'm merely saying that it would be the right thing to do. As it stands, you’ll continue on your way to Atlanta…that is where you’re going, isn’t it? Don’t bother lying. I know you are.”
Jim glared at the screen, wishing that he could reach right into it and wrap his hands around his tormentor's neck.
“Anyway,” Slade continued. “If you do make it that far, you won’t like what you find. And the answers you’re looking for aren’t there anyway.”
A muffled voice from off screen then drew his attention. Reaching out, he took a piece of paper from an unseen hand. After studying the sheet for a moment, he frowned. “I’m afraid this must be the end of our little talk, Jim. You need to get clear of the building. My superiors are highly displeased with how things are unfolding and have jumped the gun, so to speak. You have five minutes at best.”
He began to reach forward, but paused. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Tell Peter that I remember him now. I just didn’t recognize him at first without his head bowed in fear and shame.” With that, the screen went blank.
Jim stood silently for a moment, trying to take in what Slade had told him. Tim though, was already heading for the door. Jim shouted for him to stop, but the order was ignored. It looked like he was taking Slade's warning very seriously indeed.
It would pay him to do so as well, Jim decided. He hurried downstairs and made it back to the exit only a few yards behind Tim, then followed him outside.
“I said stop!” he shouted, squeezing off a warning shot.
This time Tim did pull up, hands held high. But just as he was turning to face Jim, a loud warning siren blared. The sound was more than enough to set him off again. “Oh, Jesus!” he screamed. “Oh, God no!” Still screaming, he made a wild dash toward the main gate.
From the corner of his eye, Jim saw a flash of light that was quickly followed by a deep thud. Tim’s entire body exploded in a mass of blood, bones and organs. Jim stared in horror as pieces of the man's flesh fell to the ground in a series of sickening wet slaps.
Tallos - Episode Two (Season One) Page 6