Lethal Injection

by K M Lovold

  Ian smiled. After he dropped off his memroth, he headed to the common room building. A couple of keepers strode around the place. Ian slowed to a stroll, eyeing the end of the building. Another building attached to the back side of it, a taller one as Ian could see it, but in between the building nearest to him and the tall one behind it was a narrow entryway. In that space he’d find a staircase leading to the basement underneath the common room. The more Ian had thought about it, the more pictures of this place’s layout returned to him.

  “Hey, Jones, come here.” One of the keepers motioned to “Jones.”

  As soon as Jones turned away, and in the spur of the moment, Ian darted to the left and slinked to the side of the building.

  He pressed his back to the wall of the building and froze, hoping he’d gone unnoticed. He sucked in a slow breath. A gush of dirt blew around him in the wind. Once it cleared, he saw there wasn’t an obvious pathway on this side of the building—rocks and boulders dotted the ground. No prisoners ever walked over here; they didn’t keep a walkway available. Yet, there was a narrow, rough footpath.

  He waited another thirty seconds, making sure no keeper rounded the corner. Jones and the other keeper spoke quietly off in the distance, so Ian stole along the small, rock-filled pathway. The building ended about thirty feet ahead. The farther he crept along the wall, the rockier the ground. Whoever entered this way had to tread carefully.

  He aimed for the next corner but looked back continuously, his heart racing. He clenched his jaw, one hand feeling along the building’s rutty cement, attempting not to wipe out spectacularly on the stony terrain.

  Finally, he stumbled to the end of the wall and leapt around the corner.

  A taller building stood in front of him that was attached to the smaller one, with a narrow corridor in between. Just as he remembered from the map.

  “I have to get down there,” he muttered. His feet remained plastered to the ground while he listened. All he heard was the whistling of the mellow breeze and his own quick breaths. He took unwavering steps into the passage, sweat dripping down his face. After rushing forward, he came in view of the staircase. He paused at the top of the tapered, stone steps. At the end of the stairs stood a slim doorway.

  He swallowed hard and with fixed steps, took the staircase to the door. Thankfully, there was a small square dirty window, and although he couldn’t see much through it, it didn’t look like there was anyone in the room. Ian gripped the doorknob and turned. It unlatched.

  The room was compact, like a dusty garage back on Earth. Makeshift workbenches lined two walls, loaded with equipment. On one: radio equipment for talking to other keepers via their handheld devices, plus computers for eavesdropping on prisoners via the listening devices. The radios also served for keeping in contact with the spacecraft—when they were coming in for landings and such.

  The other bench had some vials and gadgets found in a chemistry lab for testing the levels of memroth from time to time, but mostly for reading the levels from the disposal site. If Ian remembered correctly, there were no chemists here, but the prisoners could test memroth and even Tetracaphoxin, along with important readings from the disposal site, by using the equipment available to them. It would be a simple matter of reading the numbers and levels. A far cry from Ian and Malaki’s lab, but some of the instruments were the same.

  Off to the left was the wooden staircase leading to the common room. But his eyes returned to the bench of chemistry equipment. He needed those vials.

  He glimpsed behind him again. Nobody there. He headed to the two computers that were both on, a sign he probably didn’t have much time before someone returned, so he turned towards the bench, his eyes glued to the devices in front of him. As he scanned the tools, a vial here and a vial there, and took in all the instruments he’d used a thousand times, more memories flooded him, reminding him why he was here, urging him on. He opened a drawer and then another.

  “Where is it?” He yanked at another and found test tubes, funnels, and droppers. “I’ve gotta get the hell out of here.” In another, he found the larger vials he sought, the same Malaki had made him study, so he’d know them the moment he saw them.

  “Yes.” He slid his fingers across the heavy, dusty vials that were slightly larger than the others laying side by side next to each other, then pulled two of them out and shoved them into his tall boots, squeezed tight next to his calf. It was a compact fit, but these particular vials were sturdy, strong. They had to be because they were meant for the disposal site. He straightened and smiled with relief, closing his eyes.

  But then footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  Ian spun around and then froze, rooted to the spot, and his breath caught. A keeper rounded the staircase and stopped short at the sight of him.

  ****

  “What are you talking about?” Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow lifted over his light blue eyes. “Come on, let’s walk out to the landing.”

  Malaki followed the two men out to the back of the building where the crafts were. The spacecraft weren’t out in the open. They had their own private spot situated down the landing strip, behind a large barrier.

  “How many spacecraft are here today?” Malaki asked.

  “Just one.” Lawrence’s gaze turned toward the partition hiding the spacecraft. “Oh and of course your Waitforit is always parked over there.” He pointed toward the barrier.

  Two other private jets were parked on the strip, not far from them. On this side of the building, their view consisted of monstrous trees and mountains. It was a beautiful sight, and Malaki often envied Benjamin and Lawrence spending their days here. So much more inviting than the dull, classified lab back at headquarters.

  The sun shone brightly upon the paved landing, and off to the left was a table with several lounge chairs around it. This was where Lawrence and Benjamin spent their days when there was no action in or out of this place. The sun beat down hot, but it was as comfortable as any backyard deck, and with sometimes one or two days in between take-offs and landings, what a better place to relax.

  “Ahhh, I do love visiting you guys out here, that’s for sure.” Malaki lifted his face toward the sun, closing his eyes, a slight wind lifting his hair off his forehead.

  “We love the company.” Benjamin spoke up. “I get so sick of Lawrence’s face over here.”

  “As if yours is worth looking at,” Lawrence replied. “I get so I can’t wait ’til a spacecraft is coming so I can have good conversation with one of the keepers.”

  “Yeah, I’d choose a fresh conversation with Wren any day.” Benjamin, age fifty-five with dark, messy hair, gave Lawrence a friendly shove.

  Malaki knew it wasn’t that bad. Benjamin and Lawrence got out of this place when they could. They just had to take it in turns. But when the time was right, they’d head into the nearby town of Pineland and hit the bars and hang out with friends. They were a couple of bachelors who loved their job and spent most of their time outdoors. Their continuously tanned skin in the summer proved it. They’d had girlfriends through the years, but they never revealed what their jobs were.

  “Speaking of which,” Malaki interjected. “When is the next flight coming in?”

  “Day after tomorrow.” Lawrence pulled out a lounge chair at the table and sat, and Malaki and Benjamin followed suit. “And what do you mean it’s time to send Waitforit up? I thought that was just a long-standing joke between you and… Ian.” His eyes grew dark and serious. “How is he by the way? Have you heard anything?”

  Malaki stared at the ground, a large ant catching his attention, then he fixed his gaze on Lawrence. “Ian’s doing as best as he can. He’s far away from here right now, and hopefully, he’ll be able to come back to us some day. When and if that day and time comes, you’ll be one of the first to know about it.”

  “You actually think he could rejoin us?” Benjamin leaned forward, squinting his brown eyes in the sunlight, stabbing his finger on the table.
“Here? He could come back to normal and be with us here… a part of The Circle? What about Jonathan?”

  “Hold on.” Malaki held his hand up in the air. “I doubt Ian will ever rejoin The Circle. But there’s always the hope he can come back here, back to D.C.… back home.”

  “I hope so.” Lawrence stood abruptly. “I want him to. It’s not the same without him.” He strode to the nearby refrigerator, moved aside a couple beers to reach a soda in the back. “I mean, I like Jonathan and all—I voted for him to join The Circle for Pete’s sake—but he’s not Ian. I miss Ian.”

  “I do, too.” Malaki clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “And I hope and pray he can join us again around this table. Like the old days.” He eyed the wall off in the distance, knowing Waitforit was parked on the other side. “But that’s not why I came here today. I came because Ian and I weren’t joking when we talked about sending Waitforit up one day. And now is the time.”

  Now, for the tricky part. Malaki stood and turned his back to the two pilots. “I heard from Ian recently, and between the two of us, we both decided the time was right. I promised Ian I would send her up, and I don’t want to break my promise to him. Not with him… being where he is and everything. And in such a fragile state of mind.”

  “But that spacecraft is old, Malaki.” Benjamin asserted. “Are you sure she can make it?”

  “I’m positive.” Malaki turned around. “Ian and I had her completely revamped. You know that. It’s somewhat sentimental to us… to Ian. His grandfather helped build that ship, even piloted her. And Ian said now is the time, and knowing Ian is… where he is right now and kind of suffering… I want to at least accomplish this for him.” He sat down again at the table. “All right? Can we make this happen for Ian? Can we send her up on the next flight?”

  Lawrence and Benjamin gazed at each other and shrugged.

  “It’s fine with me,” Lawrence said. “If you’re positive she can make it. And if it’ll help Ian. I mean”—he poked his finger to his temple—“in his head. If it’ll help him in his head, then I’m OK with it.”

  Malaki smiled. “Oh, it’ll help him. I promise you that.”

  CHAPTER thirteen

  “What are you doing down here?” The keeper took long strides toward Ian.

  “I-uh-um-I… stumbled across this room and… thought I’d, I’d… see what it was.” Ian licked his lips. “I’m, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done so.”

  “No.” The keeper gripped his hands in front of him, shaking his head in slow motion. “You shouldn’t have. And how do you happen to stumble across this room? And now what do I do with you?”

  “Um, whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you say.” Ian’s chest tightened. He couldn’t lose his job at the train; he couldn’t blow things up. Not now when he was so close.

  “Yes, I’m sure you will.” The keeper touched his fingers to the leather band on his left wrist.

  Ian sucked in his breath. He had to do his best job of acting ever, the best he’d done since arriving here. He lifted his chin and dropped his hands to his side. He stared directly into the keeper’s eyes. They were light blue, lighter than some of the other keepers’.

  “You’ll walk out of here the way you came and keep walking until I tell you to stop.” The keeper’s voice was low and steady.

  Ian immediately marched to the door leading outside.

  “Wait.” The keeper grabbed him by the shoulder. “You came down here from back here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ian nodded.

  The keeper narrowed his eyes at him then motioned for him to keep going.

  Ian went up the staircase and down the rocky pathway until he rounded the corner and found himself in the front of the building. A few prisoners headed into the building while others still dug in the mountainous rocks off in the distance.

  “Go inside.” The keeper’s voice sounded behind him.

  Ian stepped inside the building and kept moving forward, realizing this was his only option. The keeper believed to have full control over him, so Ian couldn’t turn left or right without the verbal direction from him.

  “Head to the end of the hallway.” The keeper moved in front of Ian. “Follow me.”

  Ian’s heart pounded. God, please don’t let them kill me or demote me. Don’t let me lose the train…

  The keeper reached the end of the hallway and put his fingers to the wall, which slid open, and Ian’s breath caught, but then he stiffened his posture again. He never knew there was a door, much less a room back here. He followed the keeper into the room who pushed the door closed. He spun around. “Sit.”

  Ian sat in the chair before him.

  The keeper grabbed his radio off his hip, held it to his lips, pressing a button down. “I’ve got one in the bunker. You’re needed immediately.” Then he hitched the radio back to his leather pants and approached Ian. “You will be dealt with as soon as Klaus gets here.”

  Klaus? Ian fought to not react by jumping up and attempting to escape. He forced himself to sit like a statue, but inside, his blood boiled. What had he gotten himself into? But he had to get those vials. If not in that moment, then he would’ve had to sneak back there some other time. It had to be done. And now the vials sat, tucked away in his boot, unbeknownst to the keeper in front of him.

  Just then, the keeper touched his fingers to his wristband, and Ian allowed the tenseness in his shoulders and back to release. He didn’t have to fake it anymore. The keeper paced in front of him, his hands clasped together behind him. His hair was long like most of the other keepers and piled in a small ball in the back of his head. His skin was fair and lightly freckled.

  “You do realize this might be it for you, don’t you?” The keeper came to an abrupt halt, his fists on his hips. “How dare you go somewhere you are not allowed to? What gave you the right to take even one step behind that building in the first place, and how were you able to do it?” The keeper rubbed his forehead, as if he was genuinely stumped as to how Ian was able to do what he’d done.

  Then it dawned on Ian. Had he just gone somewhere that no other prisoner would have been physically able to? He squeezed his eyes shut, wracking his brain trying to remember something he should’ve remembered. Was he not supposed to be able to enter that room? He didn’t have a memory of that. Had he just inadvertently revealed he was different from the other prisoners, that he couldn’t be controlled? That he was innocent? He gripped the sides of his chair.

  If this was the end for him, there was nothing he could do. Malaki would be on Earth setting in motion his part of the plan, but Ian would not be able to accomplish the rest on his end. He stared painfully at the door, knowing any second Klaus would barge in and probably shoot him dead like he’d done to Jack. A sour taste filled his mouth along with an ache in the back of his throat.

  “No matter, we’ll get to the bottom of this, number 4158. We’ll get to the bottom—”

  The door slid open, and Klaus burst inside.

  “What the devil are you calling me in here for in the middle of the day?” Klaus’s jaw was firmly set, his eyes darting from the keeper to Ian, then back to the keeper. “And what the devil is he doing in here?” He nodded towards Ian.

  The keeper stood in front of Klaus, puffing his chest out. “Sir, I discovered the prisoner in the surveillance room. Alone.”

  Klaus spun around and moved closer to Ian. He put his fingers to his wristband. “Stand.”

  Ian stood and stared at Klaus, taking slow, difficult breaths.

  “How did you get into that room?” Klaus’s eyes squinted, his stare piercing.

  “I walked behind the building because I’d never been back there before and saw the staircase. I became curious and went inside.” Ian concentrated on his breathing and staying calm.

  “You just walked behind the building and entered the room because you were… curious?” Klaus’s voice shook.

  “Yes, sir.” Ian kept his eyes glued to Klaus’s.

 
Klaus took a step backwards and brought his hands to his head. “How can that be?” He gaped at the keeper. “How can that be?”

  Ian had failed. He wasn’t supposed to be able to get back there, or at least not into that room. But he couldn’t show his reaction. He continued standing at attention.

  “That’s why I brought him here and called you right away,” the keeper replied. “It makes no sense to me either. What would you like me to do?”

  “I suppose it’s not a complete impossibility he was back there.” Klaus ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. “But he’ll have to be punished.”

  “Just punished, sir?” The keeper raised his eyebrows at Klaus.

  “That’s correct.” Klaus stared at Ian again. “Pay no attention to us, prisoner. Don’t listen to us.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ian spoke like a robot.

  When these guards legitimately took control of prisoners, could they really order them to not hear them? To not pay attention or listen to a conversation that was happening right in front of them? Ian tried to remember. The drug he and Malaki created was potent. Maybe it was meant to do that. After all, it attached to brain receptors and did its job better than any narcotic drug back on Earth ever could.

  “I need this prisoner.” Klaus pointed at Ian but fixed his eyes on the keeper, lowering his voice. “He’s like no other who’s worked at the train. The train’s moved swifter and more smoothly than ever since he started working there with Jack before he died. I thought maybe things would go downhill after he started tending to the train alone, but no, it’s never run better. It rarely breaks down. It never stops partway to the disposal site, like it used to, and I don’t know why.” Klaus strolled around Ian, who felt him pegging him with his eyes up and down, but Ian continued staring straight ahead. “He’s intelligent. I think he might’ve worked on computers or something. He’s smart.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that, sir,” the keeper replied.

  “You know how dangerous it is when the train stops partway to the disposal site? I’ve finally found someone who’s conquered that problem. I can’t lose him.” Klaus let out a growl and rubbed his face.