“We should go find her,” I declare, picking up more pages from the diary leading in a scattered pattern toward the door. “She must have dropped these on her way out,” I explained, shuffling them together. “I think she’ll help us get out of here. The recording said something about being evacuated to the quarters. Perhaps that’s where she is? Maybe she rang out from there?”
“What are quarters?” my little brother asked.
“Like, bedrooms, I think. So, keep an eye out. If you see any signs for ‘The Quarters’, or Gate 13, let me know.”
“OK,” he replied, the tone of eagerness to help her not wavering.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I declared, approaching the door. “We’ll soon be home,” I paused, scanning the pages of the diary in my hands, “and all of this will be just another memory.” I stepped across the threshold. “We can have dinner and--” Feeling the floor beneath my foot fall away, I jumped back, throwing the pages of the diary from my grasp.
“What? What? What?” Michael asked, excitement and eagerness building, as he tried to squeeze past me to see.
I couldn’t reply, I was too afraid to move a muscle. Before me, or rather, under me, I could see the corridor leading to the men’s toilets.
“Get back,” I whimpered, my muscles tensing further, as I clung to the doorframe.
“Why?”
“Move!” I demanded, flicking around, repositioning my grasp.
“What are you doing?” my little brother asked.
“Get out of the way,” I shouted, releasing my grip, pushing him back, and slamming shut the door.
“What are you doing?” he repeated.
“We can’t go that way.”
“Why?”
“You ask me that one more time, and I swear I’m going to scream.”
“Why?”
Slumping my shoulders, I glared at my little brother.
“Damn it,” I muttered, realizing I’d tossed the pages of the diary. My frustration boiling over, I kicked out at the coat stand to my side, causing it to topple over. The collapsed bookcase didn’t put up much of a fight, as the top of the stand struck the splintered wood. The few books clinging to their shelf fell to the floor.
“Ah,” Michael gasped, as though I was about to be scolded by Mom and I rolled my eyes.
As the dust settled on top of the fallen books, the light from the next room revealed another rupture.
“This way,” I declared, bending down to inspect the state of the room on the other side, “I guess.”
Glass boxes, big enough to hold a man, sat on top of metal legs. There were holes on all sides, with rubber gloves attached, a metal box secured with a lock, and a dial. The glass on one had cracked, trapping the needle in the red portion of the face.
“Don’t touch anything,” I instructed, in the vain hope Michael could resist the urge.
At the far end, the doorframe for a set of double doors appeared to lead out to the corridor from the Dr.’s office, though the doors were missing. I edged closer for a better look.
There was enough room to step out and climb through a shattered window into the next room, but I didn’t know if this thin slither of the floor would hold our weight. I scanned around for other options. There weren’t any.
Stepping out, I applied the minimal pressure I could to the floor. There was no movement. I shifted my weight and the floor held. Throwing the duffle bag from my shoulders and into the next room, I paused to make sure it hadn’t fallen into another hole on the other side. It hit the floor with a thud, but the floor sounded stable.
“Come here,” I demanded, beckoning Michael toward me.
With his fingers tensed together, and his head bowed, he approached.
“Don’t struggle,” I instructed, placing my hands under my little brother’s arms, lifting him from the floor and passing him across to the window. “Can you get through?”
“Yeah.”
“Is the floor there?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Climb through.”
I dodged his foot to avoid being kicked in the face, but with a bit of effort, he climbed onto the window ledge and disappeared into the room.
“Are you OK?” I shouted.
“I think so.”
“OK. I’m coming.”
Taking a deep breath, I turned my back to the hole, stepped across to the window, and hauled myself through, flopping onto the floor with a relieved sighed.
“Look!” Michael exclaimed, pointing to the ceiling.
I scanned across the plaster, glancing at the drawn scribbles and images, reading the letters scrawled into walls, the ceiling, and every piece of wood. ‘THE OTHER CHILDREN ARE HERE’.
Chapter 19
Subject: A
“What does it mean?” Michael asked, scanning the words scratched into every surface.
“I don’t know,” I replied, dusting myself down.
“What children?” he asked, running his fingers across the words on the wall.
“I don’t know,” I reiterated, my tone cold and my patience waning further.
“Who did this?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, accompanied with a heavy sigh.
“Do you think--”
“No, I don’t think,” I barked, unable to contain my frustration.
“Oh,” he muttered, shuffling his feet, “OK.”
I knew he didn’t mean to be annoying, he was curious, but being stuck with him was starting to grate on me. I needed to get out.
“Wait here,” I instructed, approaching the single metal door. “I’ll go see if there’s a floor on the other side of this one first.”
As I had suspected, the floor on the other side was clinging on. I could see the Dr.’s office at the end of the corridor on the other side of the large hole, the toilets below, and two larger holes spreading under the wall opposite.
“We can’t go that way,” I declared, returning to the room. “We’ll have to go through that hole in the wall.”
Michael didn’t reply, instead he stood reading through a collection of papers.
“What’s that?” I asked, drawing nearer.
“I don’t know,” he replied with heavy sarcasm, mocking me.
“Very funny. Can I see?”
“OK,” he responded, handing me the pages.
“It’s part of doctor Hartwick’s diary,” I explained, scanning through the papers. “Where did you find them?”
“They’re everywhere,” he replied, throwing his arms out wide.
“She must have dropped them as she ran for it,” I suggested, “either that, or whatever tore this place apart also scattered the pages around.”
“Do you think she’ll help us?” he asked.
“I hope so,” I responded, focusing on the first of the entries in my hand.
July 5th - Tuesday, AM
Mr. Sulloman bought in more animals for my tests. Am I right to support S’s latest scheme? Or will this all end up like his last grand idea, the one which lies buried beneath our feet? Seems to be his way of doing things around here. Elaborate dog and pony shows until the investors get wise, then he buries it and builds something new on top of the ruins. Not like I have a lot of choice. Not exactly drowning in job offers after what happened. Better stay on my toes, I don’t fancy being buried in here with the others. Talking of others - the new guy S brought in last week, the one who’s meant to be running the new plant, the guy I’m meant to be mentoring, though I hardly call exchanging messages here and there ‘mentoring’, well anyway, he keeps going on about getting a Western wife. Told him I’m flattered but not interested. He was talking of changing his name to something more suiting for a Western man. I think he is losing his mind in here.
“Well?” Michael asked, pulling my hand closer so he could read the page too.
“Well, what?”
“Well, do you think she’ll help us?”
“I’m not sure. Sounds like she might, though I’m
not sure her motives are entirely honorable.”
“What does that mean?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied, handing him the page so he could read it.
He turned the page over and offered it back to me.
“We should take these to her,” he declared, handing me more pages. “She’ll probably want them.”
“Fair enough. Can’t hurt I guess,” I replied, folding the pages together. “As long as there aren’t too many of them.”
Collecting up the duffle bag, I stuffed the pages of the diary inside, tucking them down under Henri.
“She’ll be really happy to get these back,” Michael declared with a joyous tone. “She’s probably been looking for them.”
“Yeah,” I replied, a smile spreading from the corner of my mouth. We’d come close to being set on fire, drowned, and electrocuted, but he was thinking about helping a total stranger. I felt guilty all I wanted to do was go home and sit in a nice dark room for a while, alone.
I approached the hole in the wall and crouched to get a better view of the other side. The floor looked stable enough. Squeezing into the gap, I tested my weight on the floor with my hands and crawled through. Michael passed the duffle bag through and followed me out into the corridor.
“Just be careful,” I instructed, throwing the duffle bag over my shoulder. “Take your time and don’t go running off.”
My little brother stared at me, and I could almost see the cogs whirring around inside his head like he was trying to work out if running off would in fact be the best thing to do.
I glared back, raising my eyebrow. “Just stick close, OK?”
“OK,” he replied with a defeated sigh.
Following the corridor, turning the corner, the narrow passage stretched out ahead of us about a quarter of a mile at best guest. It was bland. If it wasn’t for the doors leading off it, I’d have called it blank. White walls, off-colored tiles, painted ceiling, there wasn’t much more to say about it. For some reason, I don’t know why though, it seemed familiar.
“At least there’s no holes or stuff in the way here,” Michael declared, sprinting off down the corridor, disregarding my request.
He was right though, whatever damaged the other rooms seemed to have spared this area.
My little brother raced past the first door, but I hesitated, my feet glued to the green arrow painted on the floor, pointing toward the door.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked, slowing.
I looked at my hand resting on the handle. “Nothing,” I replied, turning the knob, “just looking.”
“But--”
“Wait here,” I instructed, crossing the threshold, “I won’t be long.”
“But--”
The pendent of a lamp, suspended from the ceiling, illuminated a small section of the corner and the desk positioned there. A large box, much like a large suitcase, sat next to a small pile of paperwork. The single chair was turned to face the otherwise unlit room.
I scanned the wall and found a switch, flicking it upward.
A series of powerful lights flooded the chamber. It was a big room, longer than the corridor and twice as high. White cubes, similar to those in the Autonoma Amusement Park, were dotted about with what looked like gravel, sand, and plastic scattered between them in a deliberate fashion.
In the center of the room, a strange looking structure drew my curiosity. I moved closer, hearing the gravel crunch under foot, as the jagged edges dug into the flimsy soles of my A.M.I. shoes. Lines in the sand traced around the room, leading to the wheels of the contraption.
Positioned on top of four caster wheels, the curious structure had three walls, painted black and angled in to create an overall sort of ‘A’, shape. Small television screens were positioned on each wall with their backs protruding outside. Speakers were dotted about almost every available surface, and a thick cable ran from the structure to a rig on the ceiling, running across and down the wall toward the desk in the corner.
Grasping the handle to the side, I pushed. The structure didn’t move.
I was sure I’d seen this thing before. There was something about it. It was almost as if I knew what the screens were going to show me. I stepped inside and ran my hand along the painted plywood, drawing dust from one of the screens with my fingertips. The memory I seemed to have of this device featured no dust or rusty caster wheels though. This thing hadn’t moved in years. I must have been mistaken.
At the desk, the paperwork appeared to be more of doctor Hartwick’s reports. The pages were torn and tattered as though they had been ripped out of a notepad. Some of the words were missing, but I could make out most of it.
… subject has taken well to the introduction of surface textures. Routing the course through the sections in sequence to the visual therapy shows great potential…
… effect would be greater if subject was not aware of the structure in which they are contained. Impossible to eliminate. It’s not as if we can strap a television set to subject’s face….
The suitcase on the desk contained a device with two reels and a large silver cylinder with the cable to the curious structure leading into the back of this reeled contraption. There were a few buttons, a dial, knobs, but it was the lever set to ‘stop’, drawing my hand near. I flicked it to ‘play’. Hesitating as nothing happened, I scanned over the other controls, reading the labels on the knobs. As instructed, I pulled one upward and the reels turned.
The speakers in the curious structure rang out with birdsong reminiscent of the beach in the amusement park. The screens flickered as I stepped onto the gravel, drawn like a moth to a naked flame. I placed my hand on the handle of the curious structure and leaned inside, the birdsongs bringing a flurry of memories of boats to the forefront of my mind.
“What are you doing in here?” Michael shouted from the doorway.
I bolted upright, banging my head on a speaker inside the curious structure.
“What’s that? What are you doing?” he asked, bounding into the room.
I turned to face him, rubbing the top of my head.
“What’s this for?” he shouted, approaching the desk.
“It’s a video player,” I replied, “or something like that.”
“What’s it playing?” he asked.
“This,” I shouted back, pointing to the screens.
“I can’t see from here,” he replied, prodding at the controls of the device in the briefcase.
The palms trees on the screen faded away and the birdsong skipped back.
“Great,” I shouted, turning toward him and throwing my hands up, “now you’ve broken it.”
“Broken what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I sighed, looking back to the screens, my handprint evident in the dust.
“What’s in this one?” Michael asked, hovering by the next door.
He’d already got the door open by the time I’d finished shrugging my shoulders.
“Oh cool,” he gasped, disappearing inside.
Inside, the room was taken up by a large, two story high, metal box shaped structure in the middle. Where the desk had been in the other room, here there were screens lining a wall.
“Look at this,” my little brother enthused, opening the door of the large metal box, poking his head inside.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, stepping inside.
Inside the metal box, a chair attached to a series of metal bars rested on a frame about two feet from the floor. Above it, a tunnel ran from one end of the chamber to the other with a cutout positioned above the seat. The restraints on the chair made me think involvement here might not have been optional.
“What is it?” my little brother asked.
“Some kind of torture device, I think,” I reasoned, with a chuckle.
“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, as I followed him back out and toward the wall of screens.
“Another box like the last one,”
my little brother declared with excitement, extending his index finger.
“Hang on,” I demanded, pulling his hand back by his wrist. “Let’s find out what’s on here before you break it, hey?”
“Oh, OK,” he replied, dejected.
I started up the machine and the screens came to life.
“It’s a video!” Michael exclaimed. “But, of what?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, confused. It seemed to be a video of a black screen, with a fan spinning in the distance.
“Hey, look!” my little brother shouted, pointing.
Someone about my age, their face obscured by a mask, was raised before the camera. I could see their body from the shoulders up, as their skin was distorted by the wind being thrust toward their face. Seconds later, they were lowered down and out of shot.
“It’s a wind tunnel,” I explained, as the sequence played again. “They strapped people into that chair and lifted them up into the wind tunnel.”
“Why?”
“How should I know?” I replied, spotting more notes from doctor Hartwick.
…adding the elements at the right moment yields very positive responses in the therapy session…. …Subject aware of the source… …solutions required to fully immerse Subject in the moment… Mr. Sulloman will be most thrilled with my work I am sure…. Though it’s going to be tough to tear him away from that power plant of his now it’s operational…
I wasn’t sure if it was the word ‘therapy’, getting my back up, or the feelings of familiarity. Either way, the sooner we got out of there, the better.
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