The Last Dreamer

by Nicholas Erik

  And there were turrets lining the hallways.

  But what surprised Anya the most, intrigued her the most, wasn’t this message from Devin, passed along by Jeanie, one of the facility’s genetic research scientists. It was the additional note from Jeanie, which provided Anya with a backdoor into the facility’s security feeds. Along with it, there was a final plea to pass everything along to the correct media outlets, if everything went sideways—a sort of failsafe.

  Anya copied the master key into the command screen, and typed in several strings of numbers, gaining access to further and further levels of security. The firewalls would be almost impenetrable, given the time, but the key melted through the digital walls with astounding speed, unlocking everything until Anya had full blown control of the network of security cameras.

  “We gotta get moving,” Tommy said. “Look at this place.”

  “Give her a moment,” Catalina said, recognizing the intense focus and purpose from the past two decades of raising the child, “just give her a chance.”

  “She’s got one,” Tommy said, the words low, mumbled. But he stayed put, right outside the elevator, didn’t run off to play hero—or, more likely, bullet pincushion.

  Anya zeroed in on the feed and turret covering room 37B. Even within this small sector of the facility, there was an astounding number of camera angles to choose from. She saw Devin conversing with the woman to whom the office belonged—Anya surmised that this was the Jeanie who had relayed the message—and then switched feeds to the one outside the office.

  No activity. The bullet strewn hallway was quiet, empty. Anya cycled through the nearby hallways, looked up from the screen for a moment to search for any obstacles that lay in their path. One nice thing about the seamless glass cubicles was the line of sight—any threats could be seen from a ways off.

  Anya took a break from surveying the feeds to craft a quick message and corresponding contingency program for the media whistle-blowing email. If she didn’t enter the correct passcode in the next hour, Chimera’s plans and strong-arming—of sorts, although it wasn’t without some complicity—of certain elements of the government would come to a not so pretty light.

  Anya flicked back to the feeds. Armored men were approaching 37B. Anya took control of the turret, not even pausing to weigh the equation. These half dozen men’s lives for Devin’s. It was a fair trade.

  A single button press, and the turret warmed up, sending the men crashing to the ground, jerking like marionettes as the bullets peppered their bodies. After a half minute and hundreds of rounds, Anya pressed another key, and all was silent.

  Just like that.

  A strange chill passed through her body and she shivered.

  Devin huddled against Jeanie in the corner of the room, shielding her from any stray bullets or armored men. None came; the fight in the hallway was one-sided, and the turret seemed to be victorious. Devin heard it spin down, cool off, stop firing, and he got up slow, reached a hand down.

  Jeanie took it, trembling, and he pulled her up.

  “How the hell did that just happen?”

  “I dated the guy in the security room, once,” she said. “I might have seen the code.”

  “And you still have it?”

  “I’m good with numbers,” she said, and blushed, like it was embarrassing. Devin wondered when it was that he had developed this way with the ladies. Never before had they blushed in his presence, or seemed embarrassed by anything. “I memorized pi to three thousand digits once in high school.”

  “You must’ve been real popular,” Devin said, and edged out into the hallway. There was no movement, either from the turret or the pile of bodies that lay prone on the floor.

  “I was pretty lame,” Jeanie said. “Surprise.”

  “Me too,” Devin said. “Let’s go.” He reached back without looking, found her hand in an instant, and pulled her out, doubling over to the downed soldiers for just a moment, long enough to pick up a pistol, and then he started running towards the elevator, which seemed miles away.

  The cubicles streamed by the pair as they ran, like the endless white dunes of the desert above, all the same, yet every one different.

  Devin looked up, and as he got closer, he saw two soldiers approaching the group, which he could see now was three people, and he heard a couple shots. Devin was too far to do anything. The hallway ran in a square, all around the cubicles, and he was on its left side, and the five figures were on the top, separated by what seemed like miles of bulletproof glass.

  He dug into Jeanie’s hand and ran faster.

  Tommy Travis staggered to the side and fell against the wall, the pistol spinning on his finger and then clattering to the ground. A faint wisp of smoke hung in the air where he had stood just a moment earlier. Twenty yards down the hallway, the surviving soldier stepped forward with deliberate strides, reaching Tommy and kicking the pistol away behind him.

  Tommy groaned and flailed for the gun, but the man kneed him in the mouth. Tommy let loose a small cry of pain and protest, a bubble of blood and spittle dripping from his mouth, but he didn’t make another fruitless attempt to grab the firearm.

  Instead, he leaned back into the wall, blood dripping down the wall above, into his long hair.

  The soldier grabbed the two woman with a rough hand, upset at the loss of his comrade, and jerked them towards the direction he’d come.

  “Wait,” Tommy said. “Where’re you going?”

  “You’re going to hell, you piece of shit,” the soldier responded, and pushed the two women past Tommy’s slumped form. “I know that much.”

  “Probably,” Tommy said, and let loose a sputtering laugh. Pink spit dribbled down his chest, onto his chin. He reached into his back pocket, and the soldier, catching the movement from the corner of his eye, cocked the rifle.

  “Don’t even try it, you piece of shit.”

  “Relax, boss,” Tommy said. He held up a flask. “Just a little taste of Kentucky. Even a piece of shit deserves that.” He poured a little out on the ground. “To lost friends and lost souls.”

  Then Tommy drank the entire flask in a single pull. It did almost nothing for the pain, at least not right away, but it was like an old friend had patted him on the back. And, right now, Tommy was fresh out of those.

  Had been for quite some time.

  Hell of a thing to think about on your death bed. How alone you were in the world.

  The soldier snorted and kept moving, but turned his body so that his steps were sideways, just in case Tommy pulled a quick move, decided to play hero. Even if that didn’t seem likely, given the blood pool forming.

  Tommy fished in his other pocket and brought forth a crumpled, stained pack of cigarettes. Half the tobacco fell out as he put one in his mouth, but he wasn’t too picky. Lit it up and sat still, felt the warmth of the whiskey bathe his limbs as he dragged and exhaled.

  He could hear Anya putting up quite the fight, kicking and screaming, being difficult. That chick, she had, what’d they call it? Spunk? That was kind of cheesy. No, she had something more, something like…but Tommy’s mind was making fewer connections, and he’d never been quick, anyhow.

  He decided to forget it and just enjoy this last cigarette. He shut his eyes, embracing fate, and then a familiar voice yelled, “Both of you, get down!” and Tommy felt the floor shake a little from two people diving into it, and he heard the barrage of gunfire from a military-grade pistol. But he didn’t open his eyes.

  Just smoked his cigarette.

  Someone ran past him, and another person ran up to him, said, “Are you all right, mister?”

  And Tommy said, “Miss, do I look all right to you?”

  But before she could answer, before Devin could pick Catalina and Anya up off the floor and run back to his brother, Tommy Travis died, and the smoldering spindly skeleton of his last cigarette dropped on to the white floor.

  Devin bowed his head as he passed back, went into the elevator and pressed the single
button. There was no time for prayers or tributes.

  It was just time to leave.

  53 | Escape

  Anya put her feet up on the table and sipped the drink. She made a face and set it down. Too strong. Way too strong. She pushed it away like it was radioactive, and returned to the note she was crafting.

  Note was a little too weak of a term; it was more of an ultimatum, a fuck off or reap the consequences type of message. One of a few she’d relayed to the head honchos of the White Sands facility and the esteemed Mr. Ena.

  Satisfied with the threats and contingency plan well-outlined within, she pressed enter and closed the computer’s lid. Ahead, the sun was setting, splashing the still beach with warm, inviting flashes of beautiful color.

  Like the desert, but more alive. Everything was the same, but everything was different.

  On the table, a burner phone rattled. Anya had told Miss Ena to call, given her the contact information when the four of them—Jeanie, Catalina, Devin and herself—had parted at the Albuquerque airport.

  The small, cheap phone vibrated against the thin plywood, before giving up the ghost and chiming to indicate that a missed call had been logged. A moment later, a single message came. Anya picked it up, watching Devin come in from the ocean, and flicked to the inbox.

  Sorry.

  That’s all it said. Anya bit her lip, but wasn’t sure if it was enough. Genuine or not, words were just words, and the world was a product of actions. And whatever had brought the two of them to this impasse, it was all Miss Ena’s fault.

  And it might not be enough.

  Devin brushed a towel through his hair and shook on Anya. She squealed in protest, but didn’t run away. Looked up, deep in his eyes. They were still bright, but there was hint of something that hadn’t been there before. Others might call it growing up, maturity.

  Anya would’ve just called it darkness. Sadness.

  But she saw things differently, and maybe she saw them wrong.

  “Not a bad place,” Devin said. “What the hell did you tell them to convince them to give us this?”

  “It would be bad if all this got out,” Anya said. “They know that.”

  “And Sarah?”

  “She’ll be okay. No one will hurt her. And also…”

  “Also what?”

  “I said that Mr. Ena or anyone else that came to get us might end up doing things they regret without knowing it.”

  Devin’s eyes darkened at the allusion to the ability that had brought him to this place, no matter how scenic and beautiful it appeared on the outside. Anya flashed a smile, but the grimace tugging at the edges of his tired face didn’t dissipate.

  “You don’t have to do it again,” Anya said. “You don’t have to dream.”

  “I won’t,” Devin said. “Tommy, this whole thing…”

  His voice trailed off, and he stepped away. Anya craned her neck, watching him head into the cozy beachside bungalow. Everything furnished, everything paid for. Nothing to worry about, ever again.

  Except for ghosts of the past.

  Which were more than enough to worry them forever.

  Anya stared at the setting sun until night overtook the beach and stars glinted into the sky. Then she picked up her notebook and the burner, took a final glance at the dying waves, and headed inside.

  She wrapped her fingers around Devin’s arm, the action feeling less awkward as she practiced it more and more, the strange jolt that once accompanied the touch being replaced with a new feeling that was no less frightening or extraordinary. Her heart hammered and leapt at the possibility.

  The tantalizing realization that the truth of life was simple. Everything would always be the same, and everything would forever be different.

  But for one fleeting moment, for Devin Travis and Anya Sylvi, despite all that had transpired to bring them together in this small sliver of the universe, that was more than enough.

  Because all that a good life required was faith.

  Faith that they had enough to survive in the planes of reality, rather than the wisps of dreams.

  A note From the author

  Thanks for reading The Last Dreamer. If you enjoyed it, please leave a brief, honest review at your online bookseller of choice. Each one is a massive help.

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  ‘til next time

  Nicholas Erik