Project Antichrist

by Pavel Kravchenko

  Paul hesitated, but soon nodded. “We’re talking him for a ride?”

  “We have to,” I said, rubbing the right temple. From the case on the floor, I removed a roll of tape.

  The train was about sixty feet long and consisted of a single passenger car, with drivers’ cabins on both ends. We dragged the guard inside, and I held the gun, while Paul helped him out of his suit. After Paul’s clothes had moved to reluctantly conceal — they were of approximately the same height, but Paul was a couple of sizes smaller — the guard’s under-suit, I taped his wrists, ankles and lips. We left him there on the white leather couch. These guys, whoever they were, clearly had a thing for white.

  While Paul dressed, I went to the cabin. The controls were pretty simple: ON, OFF, NEXT STOP, DOORS LOCK/UNLOCK, and a FAST-SLOW-STOP lever for manual drive. I pressed the ON button. CABIN ACTIVE sign lit up above my head. Shrugging, I almost sent us to the NEXT STOP, but froze midway to the button, realizing I had no idea what direction our next stop was. I tried to recollect the North by reversing our itinerary from the compound entrance, but there were so many turns and stairs, that it seemed impossible to be completely certain. I wished I had my phone. Staring into the curving tunnel, I considered waking the guard.

  Paul put his head in, zipping up the suit.

  “I’m keeping my shoes,” he announced. “What’s up?”

  “I think we have to guess which way to go. And if we guess wrong…”

  He stared forward, looked back over his shoulder and laughed.

  “See, I knew my tacky watch would come in handy.”

  “What?”

  “A gift. Long story.”

  He showed me his watch. A cheap, plastic monstrosity, but above the time dial it had the digital arrow of a compass. As he faced the tunnel, the arrow pointed towards his left ear. It took us a moment to figure it out.

  “The other cabin!” Paul was the first to declare. I pressed the OFF button with a sigh of relief and followed him into the car.

  Soon we sat on white benches facing each other across the aisle. The trip wouldn’t be long, I knew. It was about fifteen miles between Waukegan and Long Grove. The train glided on leisurely, but it couldn’t take more than twenty minutes.

  Paul’s new helmet sat on the seat on his left, the submachine gun on his right. He had returned my gun to me, and I placed it on the floor between my boots, and sat staring at it and scratching my face with both hands.

  “I was thinking,” Paul said, leaning forward.

  “Hmm?”

  “Some shit with that Antichrist on the same day, huh?” he said abruptly and chuckled.

  “Yeah.”

  “Right.” Here he leaned in even closer and lowered his voice. “We won’t be able to act our way through all of it, you know?”

  I kept staring at the gun on the floor.

  “I mean once we’re in there, we might actually have to shoot somebody. If it’s either us or them, I’d rather it were us.”

  He said nothing more for a while. I didn’t either. I knew he was right. This gun on the floor would take someone’s life before the day was over. I would take someone’s life. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

  “Judging from your performance back there,” I said, lifting my face to meet Paul’s troubled gaze, “you’re a much better actor than a shooter.”

  His face slowly regained its habitual grin. “So let’s at least try?”

  “So let’s at least try.”

  “Screw you, by the way,” he added after a pause. “Two bullets is too much? That was the first time I shot anything but breeze since that time we played BF. Be grateful I knew which way to point the thing.”

  “I am grateful,” I said, holding his gaze for a long time.

  “Don’t start with that.”

  “Seriously, man.”

  “What?”

  “What? Last time we saw each other was six years ago. when I treated you like crap. And now you’re risking your life for me.”

  “Remember our quartet?” he asked me. I didn’t suppose he really expected me to answer and I was right. He leaned back in his seat, shrugged, leaned forward again. “After you dumped me I landed in some unhappy shit. Wasn’t because I was heartbroken or anything. Just a bad stretch with no cash and a messed-up roommate. So I went to Brian to try and borrow some money. A lousy grand I needed for the rent. He’s still with his hot little wife, by the way; still up in Evanston. Look, I mighta showed up a little buzzed, but…”

  “He turned you away?”

  “He couldn’t even do that.” Paul shook his head. “He said he’d get the cash and call me the next day. When I called two days later, no one picked up on any of his numbers. Finally, after I called him for three straight days thereafter, his hot little wife picked up the phone and told me not to harass Brian anymore, or she would notify the police. I mean, what the hell do you make of that? If you don’t have the money, or you don’t feel like lending it to an old friend, just tell me straight up, right? Why waste my time, which I had none of, giving me false hopes. I mean, if I didn’t scramble to this prick I hate at the last minute, I’d be on the street. Shit, I’d probably be dead by now, you know?” Again, he didn’t wait for me to respond.

  “So that’s the Jokester. What about Orlando? Last time I saw him, Old Lando called me an ungrateful commie, when I tried to tell him not to enlist, and very nearly kicked my ass, when I said that if I got a notice, I’d send it back with a note that the president and his draft can both suck the same cock.” He glanced at me. “He actually shoved me. Had that same look in his eyes like… I only hope the poor bastard is still alive.”

  Paul fell silent, looked down at his hands and shrugged again. I spoke when it seemed like he was done.

  “So why—”

  “I didn’t make any new friends,” he cut me off. “In five years I haven’t made a single real friend. There were a couple of funny guys I hung out with when I worked for the network, but… Never learned to live like everyone else, without friends, either. Never married, maybe that’s why.

  “College was the best time of my life. I mean, it was the only time I really enjoyed my life. Now you understand why?”

  I did, because I remembered. I understood, but I doubted I would do the same thing if I were in his place and he in mine. I did learn to live without friends.

  “I am glad you’re here,” I said.

  “All right. Let’s not hug yet.”

  As we grinned at each other, a stern voice began to speak. I hoped it was too loud to be inside my head, but no speakers were visible. I stared at Paul, relieved to see him staring back.

  “This is White Command,” the voice said. “Identify yourself immediately.”

  We didn’t.

  “This is White Command. Your shuttle operation is unscheduled and unauthorized. You have one minute to identify yourself. I repeat. This is White Command. If you do not identify yourself in fifty seconds, the quarantine protocol will be engaged. I repeat…”

  The voice went on and on. We didn’t know what exactly the quarantine protocol involved around these parts, but the words sent us scrambling. At fifteen seconds Paul located a suspicious-looking contraption on the back wall of the cabin. By the count of seven he figured how to make it work and panted into small microphone.

  “WC, WC. Abort the quarantine. I repeat. Abort the quarantine.”

  “Who is this? Identify yourself immediately.” Frantically, I snatched the helmed from the couch and thrust it at Paul, pointing at the code on the inside padding. Paul’s eyes demanded affirmation. I shrugged and motioned for him to go ahead.

  “This is W-I-L-23 dash 1,” Paul said in a gruff voice.

  “WIL23? What’s your status? What happened down there? You did not respond to our attempts to reach you.”

  With a glance at me Paul continued. “There was a disturbance. I… managed to apprehend a suspected thief, who tried to escape through the shuttle system. The helmet radio
must have been damaged in the tussle.”

  “We saw some of it on camera. Who was the other one?”

  “Some Dr. Colin Wright. He helped with the guy. His ID’s check out fine.”

  “He wasn’t scheduled to be there. What did this supposed thief steal?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It’s a case. I didn’t open the case. Since my radio was out, I figured I’d take them down to base myself.”

  “That’s a negative,” the commander snapped. Paul looked over at me. I knew he was thinking the same thing. We could ignore the order and continue, but if the WC could remotely reverse the train… After a pause, the commander returned. “Not the base. Proceed to transfer them to the squad at the next stop. Then return to your post. Another squad will meet you there. And keep and eye on that doctor, too.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “White Command, out.”

  There was silence. Paul released the button and exhaled slowly. Ahead of us, the tunnel ran straight now and we saw a bright light no more than five hundred yards ahead. Our stop.

  “You think he bought it?” Paul asked in a whisper as we slumped back to our couches.

  “Even if he did—” I started, but again didn’t have the chance to respond properly.

  We heard something like a rumble of an oncoming train. Only there was no train. The rumble must have been loud, considering no external sound had breached the car since we’d started moving.

  “Bogdan,” we both said at the same time. A moment later, the lights went out. Paul in his white suit, the white couches, the unconscious guard, the train — everything was swallowed by pitch black. I felt the train slowing, rolling to a gentle stop.

  In those moments of complete and utter darkness thoughts of Iris suddenly swarmed me. Only then did I realize that I’d been forcing myself not to think of her. Somehow it was easier to do when I could divert my attention to something else. But in the dark, it was just me and my fears, and no one there to help.

  It was hopeless. I had deluded myself into optimism with our progress, when in reality we hadn’t even started yet. Bogdan did his thing, but how could I possibly rescue anybody? Iris was dead, or taken away somewhere else, and I and Paul and probably even Brome would be dead soon enough. Dead, alone in complete darkness forever, because if there was no real God, then there was nothing afterwards. Just blindness. Maybe Dr. Wright had the truth of it. Maybe I was crazy and pitiful. Maybe someone was playing with my head. I’m too young, too successful to die, I suddenly thought.

  It was Paul’s voice again that came to my rescue. “Damn, this thing is sturdy.” His delighted words jumped at me out of the dark.

  “What?”

  “The helmet. I can see like it’s daylight. Freaky stuff. You got a scared mug, by the way. Afraid of the dark? I know this guy, he’s like forty, a decorated ex-marine and sleeps with a light on at night. Terrified of darkness. He’s on some pill, too. He says the pills help a lot, but he still keeps the light on out of habit. So I told him he needed a different pill for that now.”

  “You are one crazy son of a bitch,” I told him gratefully.

  “You better watch it. I got the magic helmet.”

  “All right, I’ll keep the payback for the dent in my head for later.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “So. Someone blew up the electricity. What do we do now?”

  “Walk. The station can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards away by now.”

  “What if the lights come back on when we’re still on tracks? Aside from the current, we’ll have an unmanned can of whoop-ass chasing us at fifty miles an hour. Did you notice how tight the pipe was? There are no sidewalks.”

  “What I noticed was there aren’t any tracks,” I told the darkness, which my eyes could not adjust to. “The rail is on top of the train. We’re hanging from the ceiling. But you’re right about the other part. You have to go alone.”

  “Why me?”

  “You got the magic helmet. I got the doc’s face.”

  “Then how are you going to see the controls you need to operate before I get squished?”

  “The lights will be on.”

  “Damn it,” he grumbled. I heard him move around. “You know, I coulda played the doctor just as well.”

  “Don’t think I could do the part with the hostage, though,” I replied. I could hear his grin.

  “That was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Just like on TV.”

  He chuckled. “So I bring a couple of guards back with me…”

  “Right.”

  “I hope they don’t have some secret handshake or something.”

  The rest was a mumble, and then I heard a hissing sound of a door being opened. “At least this still works.”

  “It’s a good omen,” I offered. He ignored it.

  “It’s really narrow here, man. And there are reinforced beams I’ll have to really squeeze by. What do you suppose they do with the passengers when there’s an outage?”

  I thought about it. He was right. With no sidewalks, they must have twenty-seven back-up systems for powering the trains. There was no way for him to make it walking even if it was only a hundred yards.

  Just as I thought it, without a hint of a warning, the train was blindingly back. Talk about a bulb going off in one’s head. That particular one brought my hand up to my eyes so hard I felt my skin burning. But then I had to force my eyes to open, because during the split second in between, my blurry vision revealed Paul hanging halfway out the door.

  “Paul!” I shouted and launched blindly towards him, groping for the nearest steel bar for support. “Get back.”

  There was a gentle hum and the train jerked forward. I felt my hand close over the collar of Paul’s excruciatingly white suit, and I pulled him back into the car, my one open and watery eye noting a white reinforcing beam darting past an inch or two from his helmet’s visor.

  Back on the floor I pushed him off and once again hid my eyes in the blissful reddish darkness of my palm.

  “Magic helmet, man.” Paul was panting. “I swear, makes no difference inside the thing if it’s light or not. Did you see that? That beam almost took my head off.”

  Little by little, I was able to remove the cover from my eyes.

  “I saw some of it,” I said, sitting up.

  “Maybe we should just start from plans B from now on? Or is it plan Bs?”

  Yet again, there was no time for an answer. As I rose to my feet, I saw the darkened, tile-covered station, which looked like — although it had admittedly been a while since I’d seen one — a subway station in the city, only smaller. Two guards in white suits floated from left to right slower and slower outside the window. We were arriving.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As soon as they confirmed the radio was dead, Sono took half the squad up into the building, leaving him with Lietbarsky. Which was all right by him, even if Lietbarsky was an ex-cop. It was better to stay down there at the quiet train station with an ex-cop, than go chasing bombers in the company of bored, trigger-happy, pure-bred mercs. It seemed Lietbarsky shared the sentiment, although he probably wouldn’t be inviting his ex-mil co-worker to a donut-eating contest any time soon. Face hidden by helmet, Lietbarsky shrugged and walked away towards the guard lounge.

  Fuck him, Pare thought. We don’t have to talk.

  Four seconds later lights appeared in the tunnel, and then a train pulled in and rolled to a stop with a hiss. Inside were one of the guards and some guy in civvies. Lietbarsky returned and, having met Pare’s visored look, shrugged again.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” the guard in the train called out when the doors slid open. Pare couldn’t tell by voice who it was, but that didn’t really surprise him. Most of them knew each other from the barracks, but mercs came in and out often, and assignments were shuffled constantly. Friendship was not encouraged. As if. Probably one of the ex-cops, Pare
thought.

  “Something popped. We don’t know,” Pare replied. He pointed with the barrel of his gun. “What’s this?”

  “A cargo I’m dropping off. Didn’t the orders come in from WC?”

  “The radio is dead,” Lietbarsky said. “No one’s allowed into the building until further notice.”

  “Keep him here, then. I don’t care,” the guard motioned for the passenger to get off. “Go on, Doc. This is your new home.”

  “Doc” didn’t seem happy. He was probably around fifty and looked like one of those guys who’d charge you five hundred bucks for looking into your mouth. Or worse, a shrink. Must have been a good one at that. He’d started getting on Pare’s nerves even before he stepped out on the platform.

  “No. You keep him until Sono shows up,” Pare said. “Stay inside the train.”

  “Sono in charge here? Listen, buddy,” the guard started. Buddy, Pare thought. A goddamn ex-cop, for sure. “My orders are to drop these fruits off and head back to Waukegan. I’m sure as peanuts not getting in trouble with WC because of you. All right? Now get your ass in here and unload this heavy bastard. That’s an order.”

  “Fuck you, pig,” Pare said. “You can stuff your orders where the sun don’t shine.” The fucker had the nerve. As though a career of chasing bums around and booking whores gave him the right to bark orders at a war-tested marine. But he had forgotten about the goddamn Lietbarsky. Who presently bristled. You could see it right through the suit.

  “Those aren’t his orders, I’m guessing,” the Polack hissed out of his helmet. “Sono will be sure to hear about your attitude when he gets back. I’ll tell him you’re bored with being an ex-mil. That you’d rather be a regular mil again, than follow Command’s orders. I hear they need people out there in the sands.”

  That’s why everyone hated ex-cops. Sure, pure-breds were crazy, but at least you could talk to them. Cops, though, cops were rats. To a man. Although Pare didn’t buy the active duty threat for one second, he knew there would be trouble enough without it. He would get back at Lietbarsky for this. Before long.