The Last Dreamer

by Nicholas Erik

  “My head hurts. Aspirin’s fine.” Devin rubbed the back of head, from where Boyd had cold-cocked him. A nice egg had formed, and it felt raw beneath the tips of his fingers. He winced.

  “Give him a couple Percocet,” the man said. Devin watched as Stanton whirled through a long list of drugs, tapped his fingers in the air, then a picture of a white tablet, not unlike an aspirin or other pain pill, flashed on screen. Behind him, the machine whirred and lit up, casting a strange glow throughout the room.

  Kind of like a Xerox machine, except for whipping off mommy’s little helpers.

  The light stopped, and two pills clinked into a tray. The man picked it up and handed them to Devin.

  “Try it,” he said. “They won’t kill you.”

  Devin eyed them up and rubbed them between his fingers. “What do they do?”

  “Christ, kid, you ever been laid before?”

  Devin thought about Sarah, in the fields, and said, “Yeah.”

  “One time barely counts.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve seen less squares at a square-dancing competition,” he said. “Just take the damn pills or give them to me and I’ll take them. God knows you need to be loaded to be in this place. Look at this. It’s like an alien shit a giant building out in the middle of the weirdest desert you ever saw.”

  Devin wasn’t sure why, but this guy, whoever he was, wasn’t all bad. He popped the pills underneath his tongue and handed the man back the tray. “So what’s the plan after all the tests are over?”

  “I like you, kid,” the man said, “so I’ll tell you straight.”

  At the console, Devin could hear Stanton suck in his breath, hold it. “Shoot,” Devin said.

  “These Chimera assholes, their tactics, they ain’t on the up and up. I don’t like what they do, and I don’t like their game. They can’t even sell the shit they’re making through the FDA. This Dreamer pill, or whatever they end up calling it, they’re gonna sell it on the streets. Illegal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s got no pharmaceutical value. It just gets you zonked. Stoned out of your mind. Which reminds me, how you feeling?”

  Devin had to admit he was feeling much better. His head didn’t hurt. “Good.”

  “What’d I tell you—serious tech down here. Anyway, here’s the deal. After they’re done, they don’t need you. They need total deniability.”

  “You’re’re just going to kill me?” Even with the warmth of the painkillers easing some of his worries, Devin didn’t like the sound of what he was hearing.

  “I’ve been watching you awhile, kid,” the man said. “You know how many years I spent out in that shithole, Rever’s Point? Jesus Christ, I hated that place. But my daughter seems to like you, and I’m the main asset on this goddamn project, so I’m shutting it the fuck down.”

  “Mr. Parsons?”

  “You didn’t figure that out by now?”

  “You did get me a little loaded,” Devin said.

  “Here’s the plan, kid,” Mr. Parsons said, turning towards Devin, lifting up the tail of his button down shirt to show the glint of a pistol. Devin almost gasped, felt his heart race, but then Mr. Parsons said, “I’m gonna do my thing, and you’re gonna do your thing. Sweet dreams, mother fucker.”

  Mr. Parsons took out the pistol, aimed it at Mark Stanton’s head, and pulled the trigger.

  Then he walked out the door, leaving it open, and Devin alone.

  51 | Fortunes and Reversals

  Devin blinked.

  He blinked again.

  The holographic console was glitching. The aftermath of Dr. Stanton’s demise had turned the large screen into a cracked, spinning mess. Colors flooded and ran through the air, even without his fingers guiding the transient images.

  The antiseptic floor near Devin’s feet was spritzed with droplets of blood. Devin turned his gaze upon the open door, which seemed to be calling his name.

  He leapt up from the gurney and ran towards it, barefoot, then reconsidered. With a deep breath, Devin decided that it was best to see what secrets the corpse of Dr. Stanton held.

  Running his hands through the limp lab coat, Devin’s fingers came up empty. He ripped the garb from the body and went to pillaging Stanton’s pants. Still nothing. Devin stood up and wanted to leave.

  But instead, he rolled the dead man over, the body swishing and sloshing in the pool with a sickening sticky sound. A lanyard hung around Dr. Stanton’s neck; his identification card, for navigating the Ghost’s secret facility. What clearances he had, Devin didn’t know.

  He reached out and yanked it, and the cloth loop around the dead man’s neck caught for a moment, then broke, leaving Devin with the bloodied card. Beneath the crimson veneer, he could see Dr. Stanton’s smiling face and the first few letters of his name.

  Devin scrubbed it against his jeans—they’d only taken his shoes, thank God, and not everything—and shoved it into his back pocket.

  Then he rushed out the door, looking both ways before deciding to turn left, into the great unknown.

  The building began to whir and shake as the supports shifted and it returned to the Earth. Despite the great movement, the entire process took less than a minute, and was far quieter than any of the three interlopers would have suspected.

  Anya, Tommy and Catalina had been waiting in the first room, which looked very much like the lobby of an expensive hotel. A vast ceiling, a row of columns, ionic, on each side. Only difference was the distinct lack of people.

  There were none. No desk staff, no check-in counter.

  Just a single elevator that led in only one direction.

  Encased by a glass tube that stretched to the ceiling, it was clear that the elevator was a one way ticket to the center of the Earth.

  Above them, the three watched as the sunlight disappeared, the room’s ambient natural lighting replaced by something more clinical and modern. Brighter, perhaps, but not as warm or inviting. It made the whiteness of the interior far too sterile.

  A plush looking elevator carriage, decked out in red velvet and gold trim, filled the empty tube and dinged, opening, inviting the three of them forward.

  Tommy took a halting step forward, then stopped.

  Catalina brushed by him and rushed into the open doors. “Paradise awaits,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

  Tommy shrugged, and Anya, still tapping at the computer, brought up the rear.

  There was one button with a script “L” emblazoned on it.

  With everyone situated, Catalina reached out and pressed it, sending the shaft hurtling downwards.

  Mr. Parsons didn’t make it very far.

  The thing with top-secret government facilities buried deep beneath the desert was, they had the best security. Top notch. Which meant one thing, above all else: security cameras.

  He rubbed the rubber grip of his large pistol against his head, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It wasn’t like the kid could escape, anyway. And Stanton, they’d just find another Stanton. Twenty years a company man, then flush, all away.

  Why? It didn’t even make sense.

  But something about the last month or two had bothered him, starting with pasting those two clowns at the warehouse. The company line gets boring, and Parsons had had enough of it.

  Besides, whatever that kid could do, whatever powers he had possessed, Devin had saved his daughter. She’d told him that much.

  He deserved a chance for that.

  Mr. Parsons rounded the corner, and a hail of gunfire blazed. He staggered to the ground, down, soon to be out, but not before his former co-worker—more like boss—came over, shaking his head.

  “You know that was pointless,” Mr. Ena said. He brought a hand down on Mr. Parsons shoulder. “There, there. Just fucking breathe and it’ll all be over.”

  Mr. Parsons spat on the CEO’s well-shined shoes and smirked. “It’s all pointless,” he said.

  “Mayb
e,” Mr. Ena said. “But I’m not here to engage in philosophical debates. I’m here to change the world.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Mr. Parsons said, and brought his hand upward, still gripping the pistol, in a last-ditch, pointless attempt to kill the boss man.

  A single shot from one of the guards stopped that, and his body crashed to the well-shined floor.

  Mr. Ena brought his hand up to his ear. “What’s that?” He gestured at one of the half dozen soldiers to pull Mr. Parsons’ body away and clean up the mess. “Say that again.” He nodded, although the lines in his face showed the slightest hint of worry. “Bring her to me. Don’t shoot. Not even if she shoots first, no.”

  The call with the person manning the security feeds ended, and Mr. Ena brought a handkerchief from his tailored suit. Wiped the sweat from his brow with the polka-dotted fabric.

  Of course his daughter was here.

  Mr. Ena hurried out of the room, down the hall, almost running so that he would reach the security monitors in time. They would shoot first. He had to stop that.

  Devin saw a flash at the end of the hallway. He had twisted and turned throughout the unlabeled complex, and he found it wondrous that any man had ever found his way in, or out, of the place. And yet, from the looks of what lay behind the glass doors and the glimpses he got as had rushed by, men were doing a great many things in this place.

  Crazy things.

  Insane things.

  But right now, Devin saw a little glint at the end of the hallway, where the luminescent lighting caught something that didn’t belong, just for a moment.

  Devin didn’t know why he thought it was a turret.

  He just dove through the glass door to his right, the shards cutting at his arms and face, as the hallway erupted into a shower of bullets and sparks. Devin crashed to the ground, bleeding and bruised, clutching his hands over his head tight—as if that would do anything to stop the deluge of bullets.

  But the turret soon stopped, as if it was aware that the intruder had disappeared. Devin tilted his head upwards and scanned the room which he had entered. A small cubicle, of sorts, except all the walls were glass. And, as far as the eye could see, rows of similar spaces extended, all the way to the horizon, where, at the very end, a single elevator shaft stood.

  These glass cubicles, filled with smaller versions of the holographic touch machines that Stanton had used in the test chamber, were almost all empty, save for a few workers who were so diligent that they hadn’t even noticed the cacophony of concussive rounds peppering the hallways.

  Or maybe, Devin reasoned, that was a somewhat regular occurrence.

  He whirled around and took a few cautious steps toward his quarters’ ruined door. Peeked his head out into the hallway. The corner of his eye caught a trail of smoke coming from the end of the hallway.

  And, if Devin strained, he could just see the termination of the maze from which he’d just come. Wherever they’d kept him in this Minotaur’s maze, it must’ve been at the very end. The core of the entire enterprise—the most top-secret of the top-secret facility.

  Aware that the turret might start firing at any moment, Devin ducked his head back into the cubicle and turned towards the console in the room. This entire time, a small woman had been staring at him, mouth agape, silent, in shock.

  Maybe she was the last person down here with actual human emotions. Or maybe the rest of this crazy place was soundproofed.

  Devin didn’t know.

  He just said, “Hi. I need help.”

  Mr. Ena reached the security room just in time to catch a glimpse of the turret firing at, and missing, Devin Travis. The margins were narrow, but Mr. Ena had to give it to the kid—he was getting quicker, more wise.

  “We almost terminated the subject, sir,” the man controlling the security terminal said. “Orders?”

  The Dreamer was becoming a liability. Chimera had enough data and information. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it would suffice.

  Mr. Ena peered at the monitors, noted the conversation occurring in room 37B between Devin and one of the scientists.

  “Do we have ears in that room?”

  The guard tapped a few buttons and shook his head. “We did, but the turret damaged some of our systems in the area. That’s why we don’t normally fire them.”

  “Are you questioning my orders?”

  “No, sir,” the guard said. “It’s just not standard protocol, is all.”

  “And you heard my other orders, correct? Well?”

  “Regarding the three intruders? Sir, standard protocol dictates that they’re detained at a secure location and then a determination is made pertaining to their security risk.”

  Mr. Ena breathed deep. He had forgotten that he, not the government’s drones, was the trigger-happy one in this equation. But even if his daughter wasn’t in impending danger, she presented a significant problem.

  “How many guards do we have on site?”

  “Sir?”

  “The number of guards at the facility, currently active.”

  The man did some quick calculations, counting and recounting on his fingers before saying with certainty, “We have eight, including myself. Sir, protocol—”

  “Follow it. And keep your eyes on that bastard there,” Mr. Ena said, pointing a finger at Devin Travis, who was engaged in a deep conversation with the scientist in 37B. “Dispatch six to dispose of him, and you and the other man should bring the three intruders to me.”

  “But the console, sir,” the guard said to Mr. Ena’s retreating back.

  The old man waved him off. “Because the turrets have worked so well thus far,” he said. “Far as I can tell, they’ve only hurt us. No, I think this job is one where you have to get your hands dirty.” He stopped in the doorway, adding, “The project is finished?”

  The guard tapped a few buttons, and a holographic image floated in the middle of the room, “The server indicates that Dr. Mark Stanton uploaded and checked the final schematics twenty minutes ago. Our people are confirming his findings now through manual and automatic checks.”

  “And they’ve found no anomalies?”

  “The drug and the technology look feasible, sir,” the guard said. “But I’m not a scientist. Perhaps you should ask—”

  But the old man was gone. The guard stared at the open door for just a moment, then returned to the monitors. The man—just a kid, really—was still talking to the man in 37B. The guard got up, eyes still focused on the room, and grabbed his rifle and helmet.

  Maybe that other guy—Parsons was his name, right?—had it all figured it out. Whatever was in this kid’s head, whatever secrets it held, the guard couldn’t imagine that it was worth all of this trouble and secrecy.

  He wasn’t sure if he worked for the US Government or was now the private mercenary of a crazy tycoon.

  But orders were orders. He flipped the plastic visor down on his helmet, relayed the orders through the console, then ran into the hallway, turning and shifting around the corners at a dead dash to intercept the trio of intruders before they got any further.

  52 | No Escape

  “I could lose my job,” the woman, who Devin had learned was named Jeanie, said, “I will lose my job. Everything coming in and out was monitored.”

  “Look, I don’t have much time,” Devin said. “You said you worked in genetics? Regrowth?”

  “We’re trying to regrow limbs. Salamanders can regrow their tails. We’re exploring if we can do the same for wounded soldiers and other patients.”

  “That’s my point,” Devin said. “You—everyone here—is doing good shit. I don’t know what type of deal Chimera struck with you guys to get access to this facility, what alarmist bullshit they sold the government to get clearance for this crazy project, but people have to know.”

  “They’ll find you,” she said. “Discredit you.”

  “They’re gonna find me anyway,” Devin said. “There’s no escape. I’m trapped.” He’d found that out
the hard way when, a few seconds after meeting Jeanie, he’d tried to throw a filing cabinet through the glass separating them from the next cubicle.

  It’d bounced off like the cabinet was made of rubber. Tougher stuff than the entrance door.

  Jeanie’s hands flitted through the air, hovering over a group of images. They shook and trembled, refusing to remain static.

  “Mind control?”

  “I don’t know,” Devin said. “A game-changer.”

  Jeanie swiped sideways and opened up an email. “And you don’t want me to contact the media?”

  “I’m assuming this place has a hell of a firewall,” Devin said. Her nod confirmed that fact. “It’ll never get out. Chimera, someone will bury it.”

  “And you think this Anya Sylvi can dig it out of the internet pile before they find it?”

  “I don’t think,” Devin said. “I know.” He watched, in the distance, as the elevator opened, and what looked like two or three people stepped out. Maybe they were reinforcements. Cleaners. Regardless, he had been living on borrowed time for the past few minutes, anyway. And his loan was coming due. “Either do it or don’t. Just tell me now.”

  “I just did,” Jeanie said. “Now what?”

  “We wait and pray,” Devin said. “We wait and pray for a miracle.”

  Maybe the Reverend had rubbed off on him, if only just a little.

  Anya’s laptop beeped, and an email notification sprung up in the corner. At first, she dismissed the garbled sea of characters and numbers as junk mail, pure spam. Then a message in the madness caught her eye; chaos theory in practice.

  She rushed the cursor to the bubble and clicked the full message open, her brain rushing to break the coded words.

  The elevator remained still, its doors open. Tommy and Catalina had stepped back to survey the glass cubicle farm for any sign of Devin—or life, in general—but were now focused on Anya.

  “We need to move, child,” Catalina said.

  Anya didn’t speak. She held up a single finger, requesting silence, then returned to the message. Devin needed help. He was in room 37B. They wanted to kill him—Anya gasped when the truth was confirmed—and release the drug that emulated his mind’s synaptic network as an illegal recreational narcotic.