by Sharon Kleve
“No shit.” Burk shook his head. “And I thought you had to have brains to work in that place, doing what you did. Get in there. You need to get down.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, Sherlock. I won’t fit in.”
Doc Clarke took in Burk’s girth, then he considered his own, and finally sat down on the edge of the hole and dangled his feet through it.
“Okay, I’ll give it a try. But if I get wedged in there, no kicking me through. I’d rather you pulled me back out.”
“Trust me, if you get wedged in there, you’re on your own. I’ll find myself another way in.”
Burk turned on his heel and marched out of the cave to look for something—anything—he could use to chip at the rock if they needed to.
When he returned with the spent shell of a long-ago exploded missile, he found Doc Clarke on his knees, cursing and hitting randomly at the uneven edges with a small rock and making no progress at all.
“Here, Doc, use this.” He stretched the twisted metal toward the smaller man, but then drew it back in a flash. “Wait. Let me do it. If you drop this through the hole, I may have to mash you to pieces and stuff you through it right after it, and you wouldn’t like that, would you?”
A look of horror crossed Doc Clarke’s face and he shuffled back at speed. Burk began chipping at the rock in short bursts.
“You really think that slip of a girl is down there?” the doc asked after a few minutes.
“Yep.” The clipped answer didn’t even break Burk’s stride. Small chips of rock shot away with every strike.
“Good chance they’ve got her, you know.”
Burk didn’t answer.
“They need true redheads too much to let even one of them go.”
“They do? Why’s that?”
“Because of the gene. The faulty gene.” Oh, here came the science gobbledygook, Burk figured. He was just about to tune the doc out or threaten him with a gory death if he didn’t keep quiet when the nerd continued with, “The only consistent and naturally occurring genetic factor resistant to focused and persistent mental programing.”
Burk straightened up, current task forgotten. “You what?”
“Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured it out, wise boy. You, who know everything there is to know abou—”
Burk’s hand wrapped around his neck strangled the rest of the words out of him. Burk applied steady pressure until only a wisp of breath could wheeze through the scientist’s bluing lips.
“I’m gonna let you go in a little while,” Burk said. “I’ll do that only because I need something from you and killing you would mean I’d have to wait until I got an answer. Now, here is what I need: I want you to explain to me exactly what you know about redheads and this faulty gene, and I want you to do it in short, everyday words. Annoy me and I will make you suffer pain you never knew existed. Got it?” Doc Clarke nodded as much as Burk’s grip on his throat allowed. “Be very careful what you do or say now,” Burk said just before taking his hand away. He grabbed the metal shell and moved back to the edge of the opening. “Start talking. I’m waiting.”
Doc Clarke swallowed loudly a couple of times, his hands wrapped around his neck like a layer of protective fortification.
Burk’s strike’s stopped. “Doc?” His intent was unmistakable.
“Okay, okay. I will. I… You can have all I know because there’s no way I can go back, or you can go back. We’re both dead anyway. But you know I didn’t have that high a clearance, right? So all I know is what I worked out by myself.”
“Doc!”
“The gene, the gene. Okay. In the simplest terms, natural redheads host a gene that makes all the mental programming the rest of the population is subjected to useless. No matter in what form they are exposed to, be it gaseous, liquid or solid, or even the subconscious chatter we get fed via the clips”—he touched his earlobe, where his clip would have been if he hadn’t removed it back at the lab—”no matter what they try, natural redheads cannot be influenced that way.”
Burk stopped chipping rock for a while, thinking. “So…What you’re saying is that all natural redheads are aware of all this brainwashing? Why don’t I see more people doing something about this mess, then? Standing up to the administration? Breaking the crushing weight of all these pointless rules we must all abide by?”
“Well, firstly, there aren’t that many natural redheads in the world. Only about two percent.”
“Yeah, but I don’t see two out of a hundred people doing something about their current situation.”
“Secondly, there’s an active program in place to round up all these people and ‘lose’ them in various institutions, like the one we used to work in.”
“Clinical trials?”
“Yes, among others. Or the healthcare lottery. What, you think the government set up all these schemes to reward the lucky few for nothing in particular out of the goodness of their hearts?”
Burk resumed chipping rock with renewed vigor.
“Every week, the unlucky winner is chosen because he or she has something the government wants. Did you ever wonder why they’re all redheads?”
“Everyone’s a redhead these days.”
“Yes, they are, and that is the beauty of the scheme. You couldn’t tell them apart. No one knows real redheads disappear. You can only tell for sure after a blood sample, and for that you have to put them in a clinic. The really lucky ones get sent home. And lastly,” the doc continued, “just because someone is able to do something doesn’t mean they like risking their lives to do it. What for? The greater good?”
“What? You dim or something? Wouldn’t you want to change the world we live in? All this ignorance and apathy? The downright stupid excitement over some artifice no normal person could care about? Does this look normal to you?”
“Hey, I didn’t say I liked it. But why should I risk my skin for it? What’s in it for me?”
Burk gave him a scathing look.
“At least I know what to expect from you. Get in the hole.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Doc Clarke slipped through the gap in the floor easily. Burke stopped at chest level.
After careful instructions for the doc, he levered himself back out to chip some more of the rock away.
For a few minutes, all he could hear from the doc were curses when he bumped into sharp edges in the dark, or moans about their current predicament.
Then, suddenly, “Here she is! I found her.” Silence. “But I think she’s dead. There’s an awful lot of blood.”
Burk hit the rock with so much force, a chunk the size of a small boulder cracked loose. Two more hits, and it, followed by Burke, fell right through to the chamber below.
The loose rubble made for an awkward landing, but Burk ignored his screaming ankles and rushed in the direction of the doc’s voice. Arra couldn’t be dead. He’d risked too much to get here. Not the job, or his personal safety. He didn’t care much about those. What he was in danger of losing was his heart. At this moment, no doubts were left in his mind—he was in love with the girl.
“Ow,” came the anguished voice of the doc. “Watch it, jerk.”
Burk removed his foot from the doc’s hand and began feeling Arra’s body for injuries. He could find nothing broken, but there was a sizeable puddle of blood under her cheek. Burk traced the trickle back to her damaged earlobe. Had she bled that much from a simple bite? Had he done more damage to her than he’d thought? If she died, he’d never forgive himself.
“We’re going to have to carry her the rest of the way,” Doc Clarke said, breaking through his gloom.
Burk grunted in agreement and slipped his hands under Arra’s shoulders and thighs.
“What do you think is wrong with her?”
“Other than sheer exhaustion and maybe shock from some moron tearing half her ear off?”
Burk sliced his foot through the air, landing a good kick to the doc’s ribs if the grunt he heard was anything to go
by. Then he turned away from the opening they’d just come through and walked purposefully forward. Behind him, the doc blundered on, moaning about the bruises and bumps along the way as they went.
Two hours later, it was clear they were completely lost.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Doc Clarke grumbled.
Burke didn’t deign him with an answer.
“S’pose it’ll be down to me to get us out, right?” the doc said again.
Burke just kept going. The floor of the cave had been relatively level, with a slight uphill gradient and no sizeable branches splitting off the main one. It looked to slice right through the mountain and come out the other side. A lucky find. The more he looked around, the more Burk thought they were on a man-made path. He could only hope those who’d made it were rogue survivors, like him now, and not in league with the militia.
What felt like ages later, Burk stopped abruptly. Though very faint, he was certain he’d heard steps approaching from in front. Soon, a feeble, diffuse light shone through the darkness, and even from that distance, it blinded him. He’d lost track of how long they’d been marching sightlessly through the dark.
Behind Burk, Doc Clarke exclaimed, “Finally! I thought the message didn’t get through.”
A gruff chuckle came from the light bearer.
“Got your message all right, Doc. Just had to dodge the stinky sky-rats.”
Burk’s head swiveled from the doc to the stranger and back again. “Wait. You called for help?”
“Yep,” the doc answered, a smug look on his face.
“You had the means to get us to safety right from the beginning, yet you put us through the struggle we went through in the last… however many hours…Why?”
“The transmitter is only sort-range, so don’t lay into me that hard, big boy. I am capable of logical thought.”
“Doubt it,” Burk snapped back at him. “Because if you had thought it through, you’d know by now that you’ve just brought the damn hovercrafts right back onto us.”
Doc Clarke’s face paled as the stranger stepped up to Burk and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Name’s Walt. You’re Burk, the guard, right?”
Burk nodded, eyes narrowed, examining Walt’s laidback demeanor with caution. The man was tall and rangy, with lots of reddish facial hair that was glinting in the dim light. Wherever he’d come from, he was well groomed. The clothes he wore were dark, his footwear solid and made for trekking. The light he carried was brighter at the center, probably swathed in moss, and then wrapped in a piece of cloth to further dampen the brightness.
“Walt is head scout at Dash Camp. I figured he’d be a good contact for just such an occasion.”
“And you want a gold star now, do you?” Burk said, irritated. How come the doc had even been able to get such contacts? Burk himself had been digging for months before he could find a place safe enough to escape to. Dash Camp was a well-guarded secret.
Walt laughed out loud. “Looks like you’ve crossed a line, Doc. What did you do? Chattered too much again?”
Doc Clarke grinned, and Burk shook his head. “He’s breathing,” he offered by way of explanation.
“Hah!” Walt laughed again. “We’d better get going. The hovers must be close now. I could hear them as I came up the ravine.”
“Lead the way,” Burk said, and rearranged Arra’s limp body in his arms for a better grip.
They walked back the way Walt had come in, and soon the dim light of a hazy dawn appeared in the distance.
Walt turned around to speak to Burk, walking backwards as he did so. “Close now. We just need to make it about fifty yards down the sheer rock face and slip into the tunnel that leads right into Dash.”
Burk saw it a split second before it hit the back of Walt’s head. The CS grenade made a sickening sound as it bounced off Walt’s skull and rolled down the slope, back toward the cave’s entrance. Walt went down like a sack of cement, light flying out of his hand. Burk set Arra down, then ran to the grenade and kicked it as hard as he could. The metal ball bounced twice before it rolled out through the wide gap.
“Shit!” Burk cursed as he bent over Walt’s lifeless form. He pulled the man’s jacket out from beneath him and twisted it into a lump he could use soak up some of the blood flowing copiously from the back of his head. He applied pressure on the wound, still cursing under his breath.
“Surrender.” The tin voice reverberated along the tunnel walls. “We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands above your heads. Mr. Clarke first, then Mr. Ward—”
“Not everyone can walk, you bastards,” yelled the doc.
A moment of silence preceded the next command.
“Mr. Clarke, your position at the clinic will be reinstated if you come out with the girl.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Burk stared at the doc, frozen in horror. He knew what the scientist would do. The man was only after one thing—saving his skin.
His eyes skimmed to the left, where Arra lay unconscious, then to the right, where the thrum of hovercraft promised punishment for some, salvation for others.
Doc Clarke’s head moved along the same lines as he considered his options. To Arra, to the cave’s entrance. Arra. Entrance. Arra. Entrance.
Nothing could stop the doc from walking out with the girl, Burk realized that. He wanted to save Arra, and maybe he could throw his own body over hers, or kill the doc before he could do something stupid, but the small hovercraft unit outside was unlikely to wait much longer. And when the time ran out, there would be retribution.
“Doc…” Burk whispered.
Clarke’s gaze found Burk’s, and then fell to the cave floor, breaking eye contact.
Walt’s dropped light cast a narrow beam between two jagged rocks, halfway to the entrance. It cut right across the path, almost as if it, too, was begging the scientist to reconsider, to stay on the righteous side.
Doc Clarke walked to Arra, bent down, touched her shoulder.
Burk tensed, ready to launch himself at them. The lessened pressure on Walt’s wound allowed more blood to gush out, soaking his coat and making Burk take his eyes off the doc.
And then the doc did the right thing.
“No!” he shouted. “Never in a million years!”
Burk stared at him, and the doc stared back, eyes clear, a vague smile on his face.
Why? Burk wanted to ask him. Why give up his status, his freedom, when he would get nothing in return, maybe even lose his life over saving the girl?
Before he could formulate the first question, the tin voice answered, “So be it.”
Four mini-missiles shot into the cave, and Burk’s eyes widened with recognition. These were firebombs. On impact, each one opened up in a tongue of flame. Soon, the whole of the cave’s inside would be blazing hot, cooking them alive. When spent, the missiles would continue to spew out smoke so thick no one could hope to live through breathing it in.
There was no choice—they’d have to run out the only way possible. Through the flames. Carrying their wounded. Then, once outside, they’d have to traverse fifty yards of terrain under certain fire, and find the entrance to the tunnel leading to Dash Camp without endangering everyone inside through their recklessness.
“Grab Arra!” Burk shouted. “We have to go now.”
He pulled Walt over his shoulder and sprinted for the exit. Four steps, six, eight, and out into blissful fresh air. Behind him, he could hear the doc howling in pain. Had the imbecile taken one careful step at a time hoping to dodge the fire? Had he dropped Arra?
Head full of questions, one more terrifying than the next, Burk guided his feet into a controlled slip down the rock face. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Two well-camouflaged men signaled for him to approach, so he steered their way. Once close enough, they grabbed him and pulled him into a thicket, and then through to the inside of a man-made tunnel.
They pulled Walt off his shoulders. Burk turned to
go back for Arra and the doc, but before he could get out, he found another group of people carrying them both into the tunnel. Grateful for the help, Burk allowed his knees to bend, and he slid down a wall to the tunnel floor, welcoming the coolness of concrete behind his back.
People milled around him, some carrying first aid kits, some gurneys, some just shouting whispered orders. These were the free. Burk watched, eyes wide open, the willful deliberation with which mankind looked after its own. This was what the world should be like. Free, kind, helpful, working together.
A smile stretched on his lips, and he allowed a young woman with bright red hair to check him for injuries. As she worked, she filled him in on the status of his friends. Walt was concussed but would be fine. The doc had suffered minor burns. Arra was simply dehydrated and exhausted.
Everyone would be fine.
The hovercraft outside shelled the forest and mountainside in a frenzy, but could do no harm to the humans. Finally, Burk could relax.
A feeling of peace stole over Burk, and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the fatigue. A few hours’ sleep would set him right. That and a good meal.
Incensed, raised voices burned through his torpor. Grudgingly, Burk opened his eyes. Before him, men and women with dread in their eyes stood pointing at his face. No, not his face. His head. His neck. Why?
As if in a trance, his fingers alighted on his ear. The lobe was warm, hot even. Realization froze the blood in his veins. This was not good. The sleep would have to wait. The meal would have to wait. Freedom for some, punishment for the others. Burk staggered to his feet, knowing what had to come next.
Though it had been silent and cold for days, Burk’s clip was strobing again.
ABOUT ELLA MEDLER
“Daddyyyyyyy!”
I watched my 4-year-old girl launch herself at her father from half-way across the room. My husband fell back dramatically into a chair a fraction of a second before she landed on his lap knees-first.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed. “Mighty sharp knees you have there, baby girl.” Our younger daughter giggled at the well-rehearsed scene, watching her dad and her sister with glee.