by Mark Ayre
Seconds later, she raised the gun, pointed it at Pandora’s head.
“Close it.”
“Excuse me?”
“The door. Close it, or I’ll kill you.”
With some apparent disappointment, Pandora shook her head. “Don’t you listen? I’ll be dead by day’s end. I was born little more than an hour ago. I exist only to open the doorway and bring forth our father. I don’t care if you kill me. Even if I did, the door can’t be closed. If it could, it would have slammed shut when dear sister Cassandra died. It’s too late. Please, do the sensible thing and give up hope.”
There was that smug smile again. Though Eve believed Pandora was not afraid to die, she did not lower her gun.
“The only thing that’s stopping me from blowing out your brains,” she said, “is that I don’t want you to die thinking you’ve won.”
“I have won,” said Pandora. “Oh come on, don’t you see it? Our father, the most glorious being in existence, will fall upon this world with his horde and tear humankind to shreds. He’ll make slaves of whatever pitiful society remains. He’ll—"
Eve pulled the trigger. Pandora dropped.
“Nope, couldn’t let her live,” said Eve to no one in particular. “Way too annoying.”
Seemingly in response to this comment, there was a howl, and a deformed, inhuman hand, pushed through the vortex to another world.
Adam lifted Ursula, put her arm around his shoulder, and helped her from the room. He left the sister he’d never known to die, surrounded by the pictures of all the faces she had worn or had wanted to wear during her vile existence.
“It’s okay to be upset, you know,” said Ursula, as they made for the lift. “We all make mistakes.”
He glanced at her. “You think I made a mistake?”
“Of course.”
Adam called the lift, listen to the bing as it made its way down.
He said, “You killed her.”
“Killed her? I mean the mistake where you said there were better-looking women out there than me.”
“Didn’t I already apologise for that?”
“You did. And I forgave you. That’s what I’m saying. There’s no need to be upset.”
The lift doors opened. Adam helped Ursula inside, helped her to lean against a wall. Standing opposite, he folded his arms. Stoic.
“It’s okay to smile,” said Ursula.
“Is it? The world might soon end.”
“In which case, you may not get another chance.”
Adam tried. Ursula tutted.
“Pathetic effort.”
This time he didn’t have to try.
“Much better.”
The doors opened. Ursula pushed from the wall and put an arm around Adam. Together, they made slow progress along the next corridor.
“What brought you here in the first place?” Adam asked.
“They were offering two grand,” she said. “I wanted shoes.”
This wasn’t true. Adam could tell in the way she spoke, the way she looked away. Something deeper, darker, had brought her to the red room. She didn’t want to talk about it. Adam was happy to respect her wishes.
Though he wasn’t a talker, he felt the need to speak again. As he took a breath, thinking, Ursula looked at him, smiled.
Before he could speak: footsteps, up ahead.
So far, they had seen no one. The monster on the bottom floor had murdered much of the building’s workforce. The remainder, having heard about the creature through the employee grapevine, had fled.
Ursula lifted her shotgun, preparing to fire the moment the footsteps became a moving target. Adam raised a hand to cool her; afraid she might do something she’d regret.
“Don’t,” he said, “unless they look like they’re about to.”
“What happened to better safe than sorry?”
Adam didn’t comment. Seconds later, a teenager and little girl burst around the corner, ran several steps towards Adam and Ursula, and stopped.
“Okay,” said Ursula. “You win.”
“Adam,” said Hattie, her face pale, miserable, afraid. “You need to come.”
Adam nodded. Mother and daughter turned and returned the way they had come. Still supporting Ursula, Adam followed.
A couple of minutes later, Hattie stopped outside a door which did not cover a prison cell. More likely an office or break room. It was ajar. Hattie pointed at the entryway but did not try to push it wider. For a few seconds, they stood in silence.
“Hattie, what is this? We need to get to the red room. What happened there? Why aren’t you with Eve?”
“A monster,” said Delilah in a breathy, frightened voice. “Eve made us run. We need to go back.”
“Yes,” said Adam, “we do.”
“Adam, I’m so sorry,” said Hattie.
“Well, be sorry later. Where’s the red room?”
Hattie pushed open the door. “I just hated her so much. Everything she’s done. She was going to kill Omi and me and imprison my daughter, and I just—”
“Stop,” said Adam, and Hattie did. He eased her back and looked through the door. He closed his eyes and sighed. “You shouldn’t have shown me.”
“I thought—”
“We don’t have time.”
“That’s okay,” said Ursula, who had also leaned forward to look through the door. “We can leave.”
“No,” said Adam. “We can’t.”
Leaving Ursula, he stepped through the door and pushed it to behind him. Ignoring the dead bodies on the sofa and by the desk, he lowered onto his haunches above his mother. She sat with her back against the wall, her hands wrapped around the hilt of the blade which Hattie had presumably plunged into her stomach. Her breathing was low and shallow, her legs and the floor around her covered in blood. Her skin was so pale she already looked like a ghost.
She turned his way. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from her brow.
“Adam?”
Nodding, at first not trusting himself to speak, he worked up to it. “Yep. It’s me, mum.”
It took some time for her to respond. Each word came in a gasp of quiet pain.
“See Lucy?”
“Yeah.”
“Kill her?”
He paused. “No, mum. She’s fine.”
“Liar.”
He looked away. Sandra didn’t. When he found the strength to look back, he saw she’d raised one hand from the hilt of the blade. It was wet with sweat and blood. He took it anyway.
“Don’t blame Hattie,” she said.
“I don’t. I blame you.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Much as he wanted to, Adam couldn’t hold the tears. He felt them come and could not resist. With the back of his free arm, he wiped his eyes. It did little good.
“You should have stayed with us,” he said. “Twelve years ago, you should have stayed.”
“Yes.”
They held hands. For a little while, they sat in silence. Then mum met his eye again.
“Bad mother,” she said. “But loved you always.”
“I loved you too. Love you.”
“Don’t deserve it.”
“No,” Adam said, crying freely now. “You don’t.”
Sandra closed her eyes. It seemed for a minute that would be it, then she opened them again, found Adam’s eye again. For a second, she appeared not to remember who he was, or why he was there. When it clicked, she smiled a sad smile.
“Tell Eve,” she said. “Love you. Love her. All my heart. Tell Eve.”
Adam nodded. Sandra was dying, but he couldn’t talk.
“Tell her,” she said.
Her eyes closed; this time, Adam knew they would not reopen.
Rising, he closed his own eyes, felt the tears burn. For over a minute, he stood in silence amongst the dead. Only when he had composed himself entirely did he step from the room and behind him close the door.
Hattie started right away. “Adam,
I—”
“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t hate you, I don’t blame you, but I don’t want to talk about it, so don’t. Okay?”
Perhaps not trusting herself to speak, Hattie nodded. Adam nodded back.
“Right. Let’s go save the world.”
Through the red doorway, the monstrous hand pushed. With each inch it passed, the howling increased. Roaring, Eve assumed, in triumph at winning the race to enter the human world.
A leg, shaped like no human limb, appeared. It was at first grey, muscled, powerful. The further into the world it passed, the clearer became this flaming door’s true nature. The vortex was not an open door but one covered by a barrier. As the beast passed through, that barrier began to incinerate, to flay the skin and tear free the muscle from the creature. As the howling grew louder still, Eve realised these were cries not of triumph, but pain.
Purple blood ran free. Eve could see the creature’s bone. This destruction of its form did not prevent it pushing on, moving ever closer to its goal while screaming more with each passing second.
At last, after ten minutes of trying, it collapsed into the red room. Squealing like a pig, it rose onto two legs and immediately collapsed. Rose again, took two steps and collapsed.
The longest, loudest squeal yet preceded its third rise. With grim determination, it began to stomp towards Eve. Refusing to retreat, she raised a hand.
An invisible force crashed into the beast, sent it flying through the red room into the doorway through which it had arrived. Immediately, the vortex finished the job it had started, shredding the creature. The beast returned to hell in pieces, and would not trouble them again.
Doc had managed to prop himself against a desk. Though he appeared to be in agony, he forced himself to speak.
“Wicked,” he said. “If they’re all going to be like that, we’ll have no trouble.”
“They won’t be,” said Eve. She had been to hell and seen plenty of her father’s demonic spawn. Many were the size of the creature she had just despatched. Countless were larger; a decent number monolithic.
“Well, what now then?” asked Doc.
Eve started to plot and plan, but what was the point? It was simple enough.
“Soon they’ll attack the barrier en masse. Plenty will die. An army big enough to destroy us and the world will no doubt survive. Our only bet is to get through the portal and find and kill my father.”
“And that will stop them?”
“Could do. Without their God, they’ll be lost.” The words sounded hollow. Eve did not believe them but could think of nothing else. “Doesn’t matter, it’s all we’ve got.”
Crossing the space, she stepped over Pandora’s body and into the red room. Ignoring the two dead, she stopped a couple of feet from the entrance to her father’s world. Here she could feel the incredible heat, the power of the thing. She could hear the roars from beyond.
“I have to go now.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Doc. “I—”
He tried to move; fell and screamed. Eve turned to see Omi was also trying to rise. Given his recently acquired advanced age, he’d never manage. For the first time, she noticed Michael the midwife had disappeared. Not that he would have been much use.
Only Graham was able-bodied. He entered the red room behind her.
“You can’t come,” she said.
He growled. Eve took this to mean why not.
“Because this is a suicide mission. I’m going to put a shield up and try to cross the barrier, but I fully expect to die. Even if I reach the other side, I’ll probably be hundreds of miles from where I need to be, surrounded by beings of incredible power. It’s a suicide mission. I’m doing it alone.”
“No, you’re not.”
Graham turned, Eve looked past the towering man to see Adam arrive, followed by Delilah, Hattie and a limping Ursula.
Graham ran for his mother, lifted her into the air. Eve went to Adam.
They embraced, clung to each other. Both cried.
When they pulled apart, Adam looked into the red room. “We killed Lucy,” he said. “Guess we weren’t quick enough.”
“Not quite,” said Eve. “Our mother killed Cassandra and fled. That weren’t quick enough either.”
Adam nodded. She saw there was something she needed to know.
“What?”
He considered withholding. Knowing he would tell her, Eve didn’t push.
At last, he said, “mum’s dead.”
Eve had already lost her mother once. Time two should have been easier. Given she hated her mother, both occasions should have been fine. Still, she felt as though she’d been hit by a truck. She stumbled, only remained standing because Adam caught her, held her.
“Do you know what happened?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did you—”
“Yes. She blamed herself.”
“Well, yeah,” Eve nodded.
“She said she’d been a terrible mother.”
“Agreed.”
“Said she should never have left us.”
“Yup.”
“She said she loved you, with all of her heart. Me too, but she wanted you to know. She loved you.”
Eve opened her mouth but did not speak. She closed her eyes and was beset by memories of her mum which she could neither fight nor push back. Unable to stop the tears, she pulled free of Adam and turned to the red room.
“I have to go.”
“We have to go,” said Adam.
“No, no, you can’t.”
She had stormed into the red room. In a mad state of grief, she might have thrown herself into the barrier, forgetting even to raise her shield. Before she could leap, Adam caught her wrist, yanked her back.
“Why do you get to be the hero?”
“It has to be me,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because of course it does,” she said, almost screaming. “Because you’ve spent your life dreaming of a post-organisation world. Well, here it is. There’s no organisation, so go find the one thing you’ve always wanted: a normal life. That was never my dream. Let me do the right thing. Let me go.”
She turned for the vortex. Adam caught her again.
“No.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
She raised a hand.
“I could send you across that room.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But you won’t. Because you know you’re talking rubbish. You know a normal life wasn’t your dream not because you don’t desperately want it, but because you were too pessimistic ever to believe it was possible. You know my life is meaningless without you, even if I could have normal, which I can’t because some horrifying army is about to crush humanity. You can’t stop it alone. You haven’t a hope in hell.”
“And I’m the pessimist.”
“You don’t get it. Eve, you’ve always said I’m your hope. You’ve always kept us going by saving our lives. I’ve kept us going by keeping faith that things could be better one day. Now here we are, standing at the end. We know this is only going one way but, whatever happens, you’ve can’t honestly believe you’re going through that doorway alone. I’ve always been your hope. Now let me be your hope in hell.”
Eve shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, she was overwhelmed with emotion.
“I love you, little brother.”
“It’s less than half an hour’s difference. We’re twins. You’ve got to stop saying that.”
“Never will.”
“Whatever, fine. Either way, with me you won’t need a shield.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can walk through doors now. Don’t see why this would be any different.”
“Even if you can,” said Eve. “Doesn’t help us on the other side. We could come out in one of millions of locations. We’ve no way of finding the guy we got to kill.”
They glanced at each other, then into the swirling red. Neither could thi
nk of a way around the issue; they knew they would go regardless.
The twins took each other’s hands. Before they could move, someone cleared their throat.
All eyes turned to Delilah, who looked afraid but determined.
“Yes?” said Eve.
“You need to find someone?” replied Delilah. “I think I can help with that.”
“You’re not going with them.”
Ignoring her mother, Delilah dropped to her knees. One hand she placed on Omi’s frail chest, the other took one of his. She was crying.
“What happened?”
“Another monster,” said Eve. “Guess she made people old. In most cases old to the point where they’re nothing but falling apart skeletons. We stopped her before she could do that to Omi; we didn’t stop her soon enough.”
Delilah placed her head on Omi’s chest, moving her hand to do so. Her mother paced back and forth, bursting with things to say. Feeling unable to speak while her daughter shared a moment with this man she so loved, she fought to keep hold of herself.
“You’ve always been my protector,” she whispered to the old man. “Now it’s time for me to protect you.”
There were tears in both sets of eyes. These words were enough to bust open Hattie’s diatribe lockbox.
“You can’t go. You are staying in this world with me. I’ve been a crap mum. I won’t lose you again.”
Delilah squeezed Omi’s hand, then rose. As she got to her feet, she gave her mum a sad, apologetic look before turning to the twins.
“I’m the tracker,” she said. “If I lead you through the doorway, I can guide you to whoever you need to find.”
Adam watched the little girl, saw the determination in her eyes. An eight-month-old in the body of an eight-year-old with the experience of a thirty-eight-year-old. He respected her, was amazed by her, but did not know how he could let her give her life for this cause.
As ever, Eve was more practical.
“Don’t you need something to be able to track him?”
“She doesn’t need anything. She’s not coming.”
“Usually a photograph,” Delilah said, pushing on. “But I don’t think so in this case. He’s our father, isn’t he?”
“You don’t have a father,” said Hattie.