Scarcity

by Robert Calbeck

  She sighed and rolled over, wishing she slept on her bed in Aurora. The couch itself had seemed like a good idea, but in practice a half-meter wide bed just didn’t satisfy.

  The hinges of another door squeaked their protest in the lab. Tanya wished for the ten thousandth time that oil was cheap enough to properly lubricate them. Luthor must be having a rough night if he had decided to go out into the lab. Oh no. I hope he isn’t going to start playing with the chemistry set out there. She rolled over again, putting her back to the lab door, hoping to shut out a little of the noise she feared was coming.

  A rustling came from the floor where Michael was sleeping, accompanied by a muffled groan. She rolled over for a look. If he is a sleep talker I swear I—

  A man in all black restrained Michael, and had a hand over his mouth. She jerked to attention.

  “What—” A cold glove slapped over her own mouth. She tried to move, but she was being restrained against the back of the couch. In moments her face was mashed to the floor, hands duct taped together behind her back. Michael was next to her, struggling with all his might without success. Another length of duct tape adhered to her mouth. It all happened so fast. There was no time to think, to process or react. She wanted to scream just to vent the frustration and overwhelming fear boiling inside of her. She tried, but the men were thorough. All that came out was a muted gurgling behind the gag.

  Her captor shoved her hard in the back with his boot and she flopped to the ground. Trying to ignore the pain of the kick she rolled over on her side, giving her a chance to survey the room. Michael was similarly bound but they had taped his legs too. His thrashing continued despite the restraints along with a constant stream of mumbling yells that refused to travel far past the tape.

  A man wearing military-looking gear stood over Michael; his expression was immutable behind a black face-mask, but his shouldered machine gun spoke volumes. Tanya spotted another one, also clad all in black. He had a pistol hard against Eli’s head. Eli remained frozen obediently, his terror more obvious than the beard on his face.

  Tanya’s insides boiled. She wanted to do something, anything. None of this made any sense, but she could not bear to see that wonderful man harmed. Her heart thumped, she strained against the tape, but was powerless to escape. All she could do was watch in utmost horror as the second man shoved Eli to his knees in the middle of the room. He never let the gun slip for an instant.

  The other grabbed a fistful of Michael’s curly black hair and yanked him to his knees. He was frighteningly strong, manhandling Michael easily with only one hand. He pulled a pistol out as well, cruelly cramming it against Michael’s head. It was like something from one of Luthor’s dreams. But this was real and happening in the present. She had to alert Luthor, he was the only one who had any chance of doing anything. But he just sat there on the crapper while they all were about to be executed. There were too many thick industrial walls, meant to contain a chemical fire, insulating him from the meager noises she was able to produce. Tanya knew she had to act now or it would be too late.

  She jumped up and yelled against the tape, knowing she was being stupid, but it was all she could think of. Michael and Eli certainly couldn’t do anything with gun barrels affixed to their heads. Now was the time to act. She charged the man holding Eli. He moved dizzyingly fast and kicked her hard in the side of the knee. She crumpled, and without her hands to catch herself, she fell ingloriously on her face.

  Her knee hurt like hell. She hoped that he hadn’t broken anything. Who the hell cares? Bitter thoughts and resignation flooded in. We are all going to be shot in a minute and Luthor is going to die as soon as they find him!

  As if in answer to her screamed thought, the man next to Michael spoke. He had a French accent. “I am an impatient man. Do not play with me. Do not stall. Just tell me what I want to know.” He ripped the tape off Michael’s face drawing an expectedly painful yell from the bound man.

  “Son of a bitch! What the f—” The man next to Eli fired his pistol into the floor and Michael shut up mid-word. The gunshot echoed in the silence.

  With a wisp of smoke still issuing from the gun, he spoke. His English was clear but he slurred around words uncommon to his mouth, “Where is the device? We want it. Now.”

  “I think you are mis—”

  “Shut up fool and answer the question.” Eli was being pushed sideways with the force of the gun. “I will not ask again. The gravity machine. Where is it?”

  Michael looked frantic. “Slow down. Please just don’t shoot. I will—”

  He pulled the trigger.

  The opposite side of Eli’s head exploded, tearing the air with the sound. Red chunks of flesh, brain, and skull splattered on the floor with the unmistakable exit wound of a close-range gunshot. His body slumped in the direction of the blast, falling into the pile of gore that was already soaking into the carpet.

  Michael shouted in disbelief, his cries quickly turning to tears as he watched a new friend transformed into a corpse before his eyes. Tanya echoed him behind her tape.

  “I told you I don’t play games. Thanks to you, Tenrel is dead.” The killer walked over to Tanya. She felt the hard barrel of imminent death pressed against her head. “If you delay again, I will kill his bitch next.” The man jabbed his gun at Tanya. “Now, where is the device?” Michael’s mouth opened and shut repeatedly. He couldn’t make the words come out.

  Even in the meager ambient light, she could see he was crying. “In the lab. It’s in the lab!”

  Something clicked in Tanya’s head. They thought Eli is Luthor! They don’t know he isn’t there. Maybe he will have a chance to escape! Her hope quickly died as she remembered the sort of man Luthor was. He was not a man who would leave her to save himself. He would try to save them and would die trying.

  They were all going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  #

  Luthor sneaked out of the stall, peering around the empty bathroom. None of this made any sense. Why would there be a gunshot in the lab? Worst case scenarios flashed in his mind, overlapping each other into one horrible montage of gunfire and gore, mingled with memories of war. After a quick glance in the dimly lit laboratory, he concluded that it must have come from the office.

  Another gunshot rang out, echoing off the steel and tile in the lab. He froze with fear, wondering if the shot was at Tanya. He could not let her die. The gun! Eli taped one under his desk! I have to get it and save her.

  He sneaked along the wall leading to the side door into the office. Voices were coming from inside; two of them he didn’t recognize, but one was clearly a very frightened Michael.

  “It’s in the lab!”

  Someone in there was dangerous enough to scare the smog out of Michael and probably was the source of the gunfire. He wanted Michael to give them something in the lab. Shit. They want the 126! How does anyone know about it? Damn it, this is all my fault! I brought them here!

  Luthor remembered his breathing exercises, pounded into him for years by army therapists. Breathe. Breathe. It helped. As frustrating as it was years ago to have something so simple taught to him like he had a learning disability, Luthor was glad for it now. It helped the adrenaline flooding his veins to give him the focus to be able to act rather than drive him to panic.

  He realized that this was his golden opportunity to get the gun. They would be entering the lab, thereby vacating the office and giving him one chance to get in through the side door undetected. He hadn’t made up a place to sleep, he had just dozed off on the floor. It was possible in the dark that they didn’t know he was here. Why would they expect another person sitting on the john? He might actually have the element of surprise so long as the door didn’t give him away.

  With his head next to the crack in the door he heard the rustling of people moving around and several ripping noises; it sounded like duct tape.

  “Over here,” Michael said. “By the far wall.” More ripping.

 
; “Walk,” said a commanding, cruel voice.

  Luthor mentally counted off a few seconds, knowing it would take a second to get all of them out of the office. The unnamed voice was probably not alone. If there is one of them still in there… He heard a boot on the cold floor and acted. He slipped inside the door, moving it as little as possible, and knelt behind the desk. The door obediently stayed silently in place.

  He remained with the desk between him in the lab entrance for a few long moments as he gathered himself. Not hearing anyone, he chanced a look. His eyes instantly affixed to a corpse on the floor. The graying beard, tanned skin, and bloodied sweater-vest, could only have belonged to Eli. He had been the target of the gunshot. He almost threw up in spite of himself.

  Why did it have to be Eli? Why him! Eli had been so alive just that night, hospitable, vivid, and creative, the best of humanity. Now, he was just an empty shell on the floor. Whatever had composed the person of Eli was gone as surely as the flesh above his right ear. He was dead. To make it through Antarctica, only to be assassinated in his office. It isn’t right. He thought, trying not to recall the own times in his life where he had yearned for death to find him. Voices in the lab shocked him back to the cold, dark, awful place called reality.

  “Here. It’s under this table,” said Michael.

  “The files.”

  “On the computer. In the bag.”

  Luthor slipped under the desk to grab the gun. Those sons of bitches are going to die. He thought. Then he realized that it was duct-taped to the desk. So much noise. Why did everything have to make noise?

  He heard a particularly loud creak from the side door as it settled back on its hinges and panicked. He knew they had heard that. He ripped off the tape, setting the sticky sidearm into his palm.

  “What was that?” said the cruel voice. “Go check.”

  Luthor heard no footsteps this time. Not a good sign, this was a professional. Now aware that someone else might be in the building, this person’s training had kicked in. Why can’t you just be a bumbling idiot? Luthor thought.

  “Is there anyone else in here?” said the voice again.

  “I… I don’t think so.” Michael replied. Remarkable that he was able to keep his composure enough to lie in the face of murderers.

  Luthor stayed under the desk. He flicked the safety off. He would have the advantage if the man checked under the desk. Soft muffled footfalls moved around the room as the man checked the dark office. Luthor’s heart pumped angrily. He wanted to jump out, guns blazing and shoot the murderer in the face. But that would be suicide. If the man saw him first, he was dead. Even if he managed to drop this one, there was at least one other man still in the lab with Michael and Tanya as potential hostages. The only way to have a chance was to get the jump on them both. With luck he wouldn’t be seen in the dim light.

  The footsteps moved around the desk to the side door and stopped. He didn’t move. Luthor didn’t breathe. His heart thumped like a drum in his own ears. That gun-toting bastard probably hears me already. He is just waiting for me to come out. Luthor did not relish the idea of waiting for his quarry to fire a round or two into the desk—just to be sure. All that protected him was a single panel of wood. It might not even stop a hollow-point. Luthor knew he couldn’t wait forever. Perhaps his best option was to shoot through the desk and hope to injure the man. If he aimed for the legs, he might be able to disable him. Luthor leveled his gun at the side of desk hoping he was aiming at the right place. He drew his breath, preparing to shoot three or four times to make sure one of them connected. He slowly began to pull back on the trigger.

  Suddenly the door creaked again, then repeatedly. Luthor froze, releasing the trigger.

  After a second he realized what the man was doing. He’s testing the hinges to see what made the noise. Luthor lowered his gun.

  “Goddamn hinges,” he said through the door. “Piece of shit.” The door thumped with the frustrated kick of a boot. It stayed open. The man exited the side door walking back to his partner.

  Luthor carefully climbed out from underneath the desk. He followed through the wide open entry, his socks making no noise on the floor. The man was short, muscular, wearing all black. He had the bulky torso of a man wearing a gelvar vest. Luthor cursed to himself as he realized he was going to need to put a round through the back of his balaclava to put this guy down. Any shots to the back would just make him angry. It was a tough shot, and he hadn’t shot a pistol in years.

  Both hands on the 9mm Walther, Luthor steadied his aim, and leaned into the shot. He breathed out. At the end of his breath he gently pulled the trigger.

  The recoil shoved his arms back into his shoulders, the bullet casing dropped out the side, and the bullet zoomed at 400 meters per second into the back of the man’s head. Just like riding a bike. He thought bitterly.

  Blood splattered. Tanya’s screams filled the lab. Luthor dashed next to the dead man crumpling to the laminate floor and flattened himself against the wall. He leaned around the corner and took aim again. Michael and Tanya were awkwardly sprawled on the ground in fear with their hands taped behind their backs. Michael had a thick strip of tape across his face and he thrashed silently against his bonds. Luthor didn’t have time to line up his second shot. He had to act quickly if wanted to keep any scrap of surprise.

  A black-clad man scanned the room for the shooter who had killed his partner. I’m right here, you bastard. You’re next. Luthor exhaled and pulled the trigger again. The bullet slammed into the side of his chest. A visible ripple spread from the hit as the gelvar vest absorbed the impact, diffusing the force of the bullet over its entire surface. Shit!

  The man fired back at once, taking cover behind a steel lab table on the side of the room. He was shooting something very automatic. Luthor compressed his body back behind the corner. Bits of wall exploded around him. He knew that he was in a compromised position. The second man now had cover and Luthor had lost the element of surprise.

  He dove behind the nearest lab table, hoping it would protect him against whatever high tech rounds were likely to be fired. Luthor was too terrified to peek to get a fix on his foe. A moment later a torrent of bullets shattered the beakers above him, showering glass down on him like sadistic confetti.

  The weapon’s rapid shots reverberated in Luthor’s sternum. The steel surfaces and flat walls acted like the sides of a drum, magnifying the ear-splitting discharges to a deafening volume.

  Luthor cowered behind his cover. The odds of winning a gunfight with a guy with a sub-machine gun and gelvar were low. He had more firepower in one burst than Luthor did in his entire magazine. But if the soldier—or whatever the hell he was—killed Luthor, he would kill the others and steal his research. Images of Tanya lying next to Eli with a matching head wound filled Luthor’s mind, giving him purpose. He had to save her, had to avenge Eli.

  Tanya had contorted herself so her face was in the middle of Michael’s back, wriggling back and forth as she bit through Michael's tape cuffs. After a moment, Michael silently brought both his hands free of the tape in triumph. He turned toward the containers of elements as if he were looking for something. What is he up to? Luthor wondered. He must have some sort of plan. Luthor needed to keep the other man occupied.

  Luthor quickly looked up and fired. He ducked back down and moved away from his friends hoping to keep any stray bullets on the other side of the room.

  The man in black suddenly popped up in front of the sinks, flanking Luthor and releasing a hail of potential death. Luthor dove out of the way, ducking behind another table, just as the floor exploded where he had been crouching. Luthor fired back two rounds, just to keep him honest. He was running out of ammunition, and without knowing the precise size of the magazine, there was no way to tell how many he had left.

  Michael gestured urgently, he had something in his hand. There was a stick of some element resting on a scrap of foil. Luthor still had no idea what Michael was trying to do. Michael bolte
d up and threw whatever it was in his hand across the room towards the gunman. He drew fire, but was back down safely before any projectiles found a home in his flesh. The element sailed across the room, bounced off the wall, and dropped into the sink where the glassware was soaking. That was effective. Why don’t you throw a paper airplane at him next time? Maybe you can –

  Then the sink exploded.

  A plume of water arced up to the ceiling spraying the area with broken glass shards. The side of the sink exploded outward mingling fire and water, throwing the man from his cover. He landed in the center aisle.

  It took Luthor a moment to notice that their assailant lay dazed on the ground not three meters from him.

  “Shoot him!” Michael screamed.

  Luthor obliged. He pulled the trigger on the semi-automatic weapon until the firing pin clicked on the empty barrel. He didn’t hold back, this was the best chance to kill the man. He hoped at least one of the bullets missed the body armor. The body didn’t move. It stayed in the same contorted position as when it landed. A pool of red began growing underneath.

  Luthor cautiously approached the dead man. At least he looked dead. He feared the thunderous beating of his own heart might wake the guy back up. Luthor took off the gunman’s ski mask to reveal curly African hair and a hole right in the middle of his skull. He was very dead.

  Thankfully hair and blood covered most of the grisly details.

  In an odd, painful way, it was relieving to see the lifeless corpse. Luthor had never relished death in the way Jake had, counting kills as points in a grand, fatalistic game. This was different, these men had a malicious, personal intent. War always felt evil and gruesome with no purpose; nameless soldiers shot at other nameless soldiers because they were ordered to do so by more important people. Lives were spent and taken like currency and every death in war felt like a sin. Killing this man felt like justice. At the same time, it was surreal, two dead assassins in as many minutes. Both of them by his hand. Luthor didn’t even know what to feel. He hadn’t seen anyone killed since the war, let alone taken a life.