by P. F. White
Though he had absolutely zero official authority, like it or not: Hank was quickly becoming someone that people talked to when they wanted to get something done. He was the closest thing the tower had to a politician, but Adriana had only teased him about that title a few times. It tended to put him in a bad mood.
Adriana smiled to herself as she thought of his various speeches, and the passion he put into them. Early on in their courtship he had talked with her about ideas just like this, often spending hours debating some imagined future in which everything was different. His idealism seemed to have faded with the years, time and careers moving to obscure them like they always did, but something in this place had re-awakened his old passions. Once again: they seemed to spend at least an hour or two a day just talking to one another about whatever ideas or possibilities were presented to them and by extension the community they were a part of. She loved those talks, she loved the care Hank put into his words and the importance he put upon her input.
Adriana loved her husband dearly, and recently she had been giving serious thought to having another baby by him.
“Of course,” she mumbled aloud to herself, wiping a trace of sweat from her eye with one dirty forearm, “I think the one I have is going to have to get a name first...”
In his little stroller the nameless baby struggled a bit in his sleep and Adriana smiled at it.
She had been more than a little dismayed when the child had suddenly started speaking in complete sentences, and even more so how he had started telling stories of invisible cartoon people and hidden rooms. Eventually though: she had simply been happy to finally hear him expressing himself. He had a remarkable vocabulary and, at least according to two of the psychologists in the building, he appeared to be in fine mental state.
He was just a little weirdo like his dad, she thought. Go figure.
She looked up at the sky. It seemed somehow even brighter today. The fog was disappearing at a fantastic rate now. The clear blue of the Florida sky could be seen seemingly forever. The air was warm. Everything was right with the world at last.
Then she heard an unmistakable noise that instantly sent a chill down her spine.
She stood up and looked out toward the sound. She hoped she was just hearing things, but she somehow knew she wasn't. The noise was gunfire, and it was growing closer. There was another noise too, that seemed to be moving even closer to the building at a fantastic rate. It took her a moment to actually place that sound. It was unexpected, but it was also somewhat hopeful.
It was the sound of engines. Lots of engines. Someone was coming.
Adriana grabbed the baby out of the stroller and didn't even bother to put on her dress. The baby awoke, sleepy and disoriented as she began racing for the stairs. He buried his face in his mother and seemed content enough for the change of pace.
Adriana didn't know exactly what was going to happen: but she had a bad feeling about it and she wanted to be safe inside when, whatever it was, finally struck. Whatever else could be said for her new home: she was gradually becoming more certain of its' inherent safety. She supposed that was something to be proud of.
Maybe even something to fight for if it came to it.
# # #
The man in the small office put down his pen and frowned at the little cartoon man.
“You cannot be serious,” he said.
The Cartoon man looked slightly afraid. Its' eyes were wide and shone.
“What on earth would make them come here?”
He paused.
“Well of course it is far safer than outside. But how would they know that?”
He listened a moment, tapping his fingers absently. Eventually he said:
“Tell Mr. Smith no. We will not be relaxing any restrictions now, nor in the foreseeable future. If, by some miracle they are on the list then of course-”
He frowned. He didn't like being interrupted. He opened his mouth to say as much when the clock next to him began to chime.
“It really is my call I'm afraid,” he said peevishly to the clock. It let out a single discordant peal at those words.
“Well you can take it up then I suppose, if you must. I say they stay put and I don't care what fa- excuse me, what Mr. Fletcher has to say on the matter.”
He rolled his eyes.
“We will simply cross that bridge when we come to it. Now go. We should be perfectly safe, as you well know. There really is no further need to bother me with these things.”
He paused, seemed to think of something else, and looked up to say it. The cartoon man was gone. The man shrugged and looked back down at the paper on his desk. The clock beside him chimed once more, but he ignored it. He still had much work to do, after all.
# # #
“So what are our options?” asked Hank. He was sipping from a cup of coffee in the security room. His wife was beside him wearing a robe over her bikini and it was surprisingly hard not to make lewd comments about it to her. For some reason over the last few weeks he had found himself increasingly attracted to her. He didn't think it was anything really different about the two of them...more a case of finally having the time to spend with one another they desperately craved. He never thought that he would be one to overlook how beautiful, complicated, and intriguing his wife was...but time and pressure could do strange things to a marriage. If it took the apocalypse to get him to fall even deeper in love with his wife: then so be it. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“Get your mind out of the gutter sweetie,” said Adriana with exactly the dirty little smile that she knew would definitely keep his mind in the gutter. He just sipped from his coffee and tried to ignore that. He did a quick mental inventory of his loved ones. Claire was with the baby now, and so was Sven, though Hank thought he would finally get around to having that talk some other time.
They were as secure as they were going to get inside the family's apartment. Whatever the situation called for: he knew he could devote his attention to it without fear for his own loved ones.
Both Allyn and John were in the security office with him when Adriana had burst in to tell them about the gunfire and engines. It hadn't been hard to find the newcomers on the cameras after that, though, largely, they had managed to keep the rest of the building from finding out about the “visitors”. Now they just had to figure out what exactly was going on, and what they could do about it.
“Well, we have a lot of options,” said John as he switched the camera feeds again. He seemed to be switching them every minute or so, trying to keep the best possible surveillance on these strange new arrivals. They were the first instance of other survivors in the area that the tower had seen, which made them inherently interesting. The tower didn't yet know anything about them but, whoever they were, you couldn't help but think them thorough in how they operated.
The newcomers had first pulled up to the main entrance, and stopped to inspect the spikes that could be raised there. Though the facility hadn't raised the spikes, and really had no intention of doing so, these strangers had then proceeded to attempt to jam them and, failing that, had driven an entire tank through the concrete barrier surrounding the building. Where did they get a tank? Hank had no idea. As soon as the tank was through they had people clearing the wreckage and putting down planks so that the various vehicles they had as part of their caravan could get through to the parking-lot beyond. Apparently they didn't want to take any chances with their tires getting broken halfway into or out of the complex. The entire process had taken less than ten minutes. It was an efficiency that spoke of trained professionals. Now they were almost all inside the lot, and there were a ton of them.
“How many are there in total?” asked Adriana softly.
“Fifty six vehicles,” Said Allyn without any inflection, “There are three armored cars among them and the tank. Most likely those came from a military facility. The others are all civilian, though several look heavily modified and five were clearly used for construction.”
“Options?” reminded Hank.
“Right,” said John, “Basically we have two. We can make them go away or...they could stay here.”
“Here as in-”
“The parking lot. Unless they have any among them that are on the list. We could let those in of course.”
Hank rolled his eyes. He had been trying to get John to relax the restrictions regarding the list for some time now, and to no avail. Hank claimed that at this point anyone who had survived clearly had done so because of some great talent or ability that could be useful here in the tower. He also claimed that it was simply the humane thing to do. Whoever they were: they had almost certainly suffered enough. Neither argument had budged John. The security chief simply claimed that the rules were carefully thought out and there was no way to accurately judge the danger these strangers posed. He said that, on this, he simply couldn't budge. The standing order was the standing order, and it came right from the top. The doors would stay shut.
“How would we make them go away?” asked Hank. John frowned in response. He turned the feed again.
“We have ways,” he said somewhat reluctantly.
“Care to share them with us?”
“Well, there are these tiny silvery lines all over the concrete surrounding the building. Did you see them by chance?”
“Oh yeah!” said Adriana, “I remember them! Weird little spirals and patterns right?”
“That would be them. They are actually a rather crude way of sending some rather unpleasant signals through the air. We aren't completely certain how they work but, as far as we have been able to tell, they are something like radio waves from...well, from somewhere exotic.”
Both Adriana and Hank knew exactly what he meant, yet still John seemed hesitant to bring it up in any clear terms. Perhaps it was simply a reliance on secrecy that was difficult to give up or, even worse, it was something like a flaw in his programming. Hank didn't buy that theory though. He couldn't quite bring himself to accept that now his family knew more than they should. John just seemed too careful for that. There was something else there, Hank just didn't have all the pieces yet. Instead of trying to accommodate the guard in his reluctance to share, Hank was working almost daily on ruthlessly getting that flaw exploited. He wanted John on board with the new plan, to relax the strict corporate regulations and begin to see things in a new light. That took time, and right now they simply didn't have it.
“These signals,” said Hank, “What do they do?”
“For a small exposure they don't do much,” said John, “It's basically just like a really annoying noise except you can't hear it really or block it out. If I turn up the power it can become physically painful. If I turn it up enough it can kill.”
He said it so matter of fact that Adriana shivered at the cold blooded nature of the man. There was a certain ruthlessness to the guard that she simply didn't like. She could accept it in her husband because of a trust built over years. In John it was just creepy. Hank didn't bat an eye.
“So we can defend ourselves?”
“We can,” said Allyn, “through multiple ways. The most important thing is to decide if these new arrivals are on the list.”
Hank disagreed with that, but said nothing for now.
“They're getting out!” said Adriana as she pointed at the screen. They could already see an armed party moving towards the door. Elsewhere men and women, and even a few children were getting out of vehicles and forming into groups engaged in some behavior that they couldn't make out. There was a lot of equipment being readied, and nearly everyone in the group was wearing layers of clothing, some kind of body armor, and carrying a side-arm.
The armed group was of course far more heavily armed. They had everything from assault shotguns, to heavy machine guns, and even a grenade launcher. They were moving slowly and cautiously, and Hank could see that sentries had been placed all along the perimeter and were looking nervously back to where they had come. Hank didn't like what that implied.
“How much gunfire did you say you heard?” asked Hank again. Adriana shrugged.
“A lot. They were definitely shooting at something.”
Hank frowned. The group was nearing the door now. Almost all of them had masks of some kind on. They seemed to be equipped with breathing protection, sunglasses, and a few even had night vision goggles sitting on top of their heads or dangling from their neck. Whoever they were: they had prepared. Hank could only imagine what that had entailed.
“Let's go see what they want exactly,” he said.
Hank left before anyone could tell him not to.
# # #
Claire disengaged from Sven for a second, turning to look at the other room where she thought she heard something. Sven immediately began kissing her neck. His manhood pressed hard against her belly, even through his jeans. She giggled at that.
“Stop that you!” she said and pushed him away. He held up his hands in surrender, though as soon as she turned she could feel one hand slide easily under her shirt. She could swear she had heard-
“There!” she said and stood up. Sven looked wide eyed at her, but she was already walking towards the other room. She didn't know what it was but it had looked almost like a little creature or-
She found the baby sitting in the other room and staring at the corner between two walls. He was giggling and turned to smile at her when she looked at him. His expression of near total innocence pretty much guaranteed he was up to something.
“Okay you nameless little brat,” Claire said with her hands on her hips, “What do you think you are doing?”
“Playing,” he said sweetly and then giggled again.
She laughed. He may have learned to speak overnight but he was still just as bad at hiding his mischief as other toddlers.
“Playing with what?” she asked.
“My friends.”
Suddenly Claire stopped. She had a peculiar sensation along her neck. She felt like she was being watched.
“Sven,” she turned to hiss at him, “Get your ass in here.”
Sven did as he was bid. Sven was good that way. He was protective, strong, smart, and obedient. He was almost like a dog, she liked to tease.
Within a moment the big Swede was standing beside her and looking at the baby. Thankfully: his erection had faded as fast as it had come.
“What is it? I can see nothing wrong here.”
Claire just shook her head. She didn't know exactly, but she had a feeling. She turned her head to look everywhere in the room, always on the look out for movement. She didn't find any.
“This is odd taste,” said Sven. He was crouched beside the wall where the baby was grinning at him and generally looking guilty.
“What is odd?” said Claire as she moved to stand beside him. He pointed.
“Why is advertisement here? Should not be, eh, blank wall?”
Claire felt her blood run cold. A tiny little cartoon man was drawn peeking out from the edge of the wall. When she looked at him she almost felt as though she wasn't looking at a cartoon at all. She felt that it was looking back at her. If you didn't focus upon the image, he almost looked like something else entirely. Some sort of symbol or...
“That wasn't there before,” she said with certainty and stood up. She didn't dare take her eyes off of it. Some part of her was certain that if she did it would move.
From the distan
ce she heard a low rumble, it sounded almost like an earthquake, but that was impossible. Then she heard it again. The floor shook, just a small amount. It happened again. She turned around to look out the window.
Claire jumped back and nearly knocked Sven over. She clutched at him, uncertain of everything all of a sudden.
There were half a dozen little cartoon men and women all along the window pane. They were all looking outside with varying expressions of horror and shock. None of them had been there before. Claire was sure of it. They had just...appeared?
“Min Gud...”
“What?” said Claire irritably. Her head hurt. Something about the little people just-