A gentle breeze fluttered the sail, and I took hold of the rudder handle. I pulled in the line and turned my back to Autonoma, the small boat picking up a steady speed as we pulled away toward the opening horizon.
“Look at that,” Michael remarked, his tone defeated, his eyes drenched, his chin resting on the side of the boat, and his head turned to look behind me.
I glanced back to the gigantic grey cube floating in the middle of the sea, one side blown apart and revealing some familiar décor of the exposed levels.
“Is that Autonoma?” my little brother asked.
“Yeah.”
“I thought it would be bigger.”
A smile broke through my lips as a chuckle turned into a snort of my nose.
“Where are we going?” he asked, sniffling.
I slackened the line, allowing the boat to slow a little, and, for lack of any other option, reached for the duffle bag.
“Well I never,” I remarked, withdrawing my head from the bag.
“What is it?” my little brother asked, wiping a tear from his eye.
“It’s Henri’s compass.”
“We were up there, weren’t we,” my little brother asked, his finger pointed to the clouds glowing in the sunrise.
“What do you mean?”
“We were up there, in the clouds, on those bird things.”
“No,” I replied.
“But the birds and the mountains and--”
“It wasn’t real,” I insisted, “none of it was real.”
“But--”
“None of it was real,” I snapped, bringing Henri’s compass up to the horizon, spotting a mark beneath the glass. Painted onto the surface of the compass face, a green arrow pointed East. I corrected our course as the wind picked up a little, spiriting us forward.
“Look!” Michael exclaimed, interrupting my thought, as he pointed with his arm at maximum stretch to something behind me.
With hesitation, I turned.
A triathic glared back, its blue feathers so close I could almost touch them. The creature released a contented gentle coo, beating its four wings to gain height and passing with grace over the boat’s mast.
“There’s so many of them,” my little brother gasped.
Disturbing the water with the tip of its wing, another followed the leader toward us, behind it more birds than I could count, of every color imaginable, trailed the flock, gliding across the calm waters. A mix of pinks, blues, yellows and greens filled the skies, clouding out the darkness left behind.
Michael raised his hand, eager to touch the feathers of each of the birds sailing over our tiny vessel.
“How did they all get out?” he asked.
“I guess they managed to fly out through the hole in the side,” I reasoned, the trail of pastel hues spreading across the sky, as each of the birds banked and turned North.
“Where are they going?” my little brother asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied, turning the rudder to adjust our course, “but I know the Vikings used to send birds up and follow them to land.”
The slack in the sail shifted and the boom swung across. I ducked underneath, and Michael followed suit, the wind again picking up. The sheet became taut and the boat lifted on the opposite side.
“I’ve got it,” Michael remarked, switching seats to the edge of the hull, leaning back, and stabilizing the boat.
Following the creatures, we sailed toward a gathering mist spread across the horizon. One by the one, the colorful birds disappeared into the murk as the wind too abandoned us. Our small vessel slowed to a gentle bob as the sound of the last of the triathic’s beating wings faded to silence.
Michael looked to me for more answers but had the sense to not waste his time asking.
The storm engulfed us, and I couldn’t see a thing. The bow was swallowed first as the thick soup of mist swam into the boat.
“Alex?” my little brother called out, concern rippling through his tone.
“It’s fine. It’s just a bit of mist.”
The bottom of the hull groaned and complained, scraping over rocks, as a stone wall broke through the shroud, passing behind my little brother. He leapt from the edge of the hull and forced himself onto the other side of my seat, leaning across to bury his face into my shoulder.
“Get off,” I protested, trying to wrestle control of the rudder back from under his arm as it scraped and trailed across whatever we were passing over.
The boat came to a halt, almost throwing us both from the seat and Michael looked to me.
“I have no idea,” I responded before he could ask, “stay here.”
I stood from my seat, and my little brother pulled me back down.
“I’m just going to the front of the boat to see,” I declared, releasing his grip on my A.M.I. pants. “It’s six feet from here, just wait.”
Allowed to stand, I edged forward.
“It’s a jetty,” I declared, sitting back down, lowering the sail.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied, frustrated. “Just help me tie the boat up.”
“OK,” he replied, trepidation breaking the syllables.
Stepping up onto the bow and with care, I tested my weight on the broken planks of the jetty.
“Throw me the line,” I instructed and through the mist, a bundled rope was hurled toward me.
“Thanks.”
I secured our small vessel to the nearest upright, and Michael appeared at the front of the boat.
“No,” I insisted, “wait here.”
“But--”
“No. I don’t know where we are, or whether this is safe. Stay here, and I will come back for you if it’s safe.”
“I don’t want to be left behind,” my little brother whimpered, his bottom lip trembling. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind.”
I sighed. Maybe having an extra pair of ears and eyes around here wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“OK,” I declared, “but you have to stick close, no running off and pressing buttons or messing with things. OK?”
“Yeah,” Michael replied, enthused, throwing the bag to me.
The broken planks of the jetty led us along a seafront of rusty anchors, tangled fishing nets and rotting boats, to a small opening in the living sea wall, the words ‘Welcome to Needshakha’, visible beneath the dense greenery.
As we climb the path up a steep incline, the mist dissipated, allowing a glimpse into the buildings around us. Small houses, their windows missing their panes and the doors taken from their hinges, lay empty behind a luscious thick, green ivy.
“What are you stopping for?” Michael groaned, as we reached a plateau.
“It’s a long way,” I paused to pant, “a long way up. I need,” another pause to catch my breath, “a break.”
Taking a seat on a mossy wall, I looked at the mist below burning away in the warmth of the rising sun, the swirls of haze retreating to the harbor. I could see our boat, the base of a tower nearby, and the green houses stretching across the bay, climbing up the mountain side. Trees, taller than the ones back in the spider’s web, extended into the crisp azure sky above us, while more green shells of houses were dotted up the mountain.
“Where is everyone?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” I sighed, as my little brother jumped down from the mossy wall, kicking at the vines tangled with the flagstones.
“Hey,” I remarked, standing to my feet, “wait, stop that.”
“Why? Who’s going to tell me off?” Michael retorted.
“No, I mean, look,” I replied, pointing to the stones beneath his feet.
Stepping back, my little brother crouched closer to the symbol cut into the path.
“It looks like,” he paused, picking the dirt out of the grooves. “Yeah, it looks like--”
“Autonoma,” I declared, interrupting him as the sickening feeling returned to the pit of my stomach.
“Yea
h,” Michael replied, “it looks like the Autonoma logo and an arrow. Pointing that way,” he explained, stopping and turning to face up the mountain path. “Let’s go.”
“Are you insane?” I screeched.
My little brother dropped his arm to his side and stared back at me, innocence plastered across his face. “What?”
“We fought like hell to get out of that place, I am not going back,” I insisted.
“Well, maybe it’s a different place, and you can ring Daddy and--”
“Ring Dad?” I asked, amazed at his apparent stupidity. “Dad’s dead!”
He did have a point about maybe being able to at least contact someone for help though. It looked like an old fishing village, perhaps this Autonoma place had a radio to send a distress call to any passing ships. We could look without going in, I guessed.
“Fine,” I sighed, “we will go and see what it is,” I declared, as my little brother jumped up and down on the spot.
“But, and that’s a big but, we are not going inside,” I insisted, “OK?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, bounding off like an excited toddler.
Following the narrow stone path further up the mountainside, spotting the occasional symbol carved in the flagstone, we climbed to a large plateau with tall buildings planted around the edges and one larger building in the center. The glass on all but the top floors were thick with green moss and grime, while the upper most floor was marked with the sea water whipped up from the harbor, carried by the wind up some 1,000 feet or so.
Michael bounded toward the doors.
“Wait,” I called out, frozen to the spot.
“Oh wow, look,” he remarked pointing to his visor. “It’s Henri, it’s Henri,” turning toward the building and racing for the doors, as I struggled to fight the apparent rigidity of my lips.
I wanted to run away, but I couldn’t move. I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t make a sound. Something had a hold on me and there was nothing I could do to fight it.
“He’s back,” my little brother exclaimed, reaching for the handles. “Henri!”
“No,” I squeaked, as the faces of Jolski and Sulloman flashed before me like the hauntings of a nightmare, as Michael pulled open the door with ease and sprinted inside. “Please,” I begged, as tears streamed down my face, “wait.”
The door slammed shut, and I was outside, alone.
Chapter 29
Autonoma - Needshakha Center for Energy
My knees gave way, and I slumped to the floor. The palms of my hands sank into the moss as the duffle bag slipped from my shoulders. The contents spilled across the green carpet and Henri’s compass rolled free. Finding the exposed smooth stone along the path, the metal contraption rattled toward the doors of the building.
I looked at the wound on my hand; created, dirtied and marked by the trials of escaping that awful place. What if this place led us back there? What if this was another warped trick of Autonoma?
I pulled my scarred hand into my chest. Did I go through all that to get Michael out, just to lose him now? I didn’t want to go in there, but I had to, I couldn’t leave without my little brother.
Leaving the duffle bag where it lay, the pressure building in my chest like a slow burn, I stumbled my way over to the building, collecting Henri’s compass from the floor. The journey to the ground and across the flagstones had not done the old thing any favors. Bent, scratched and hanging onto numerous loose panels, the odd array of wires and small circuit board beneath the broken glass face of the compass were more reminiscent of the innards of a mauled animal, or a pile of junk.
No wonder Henri was so heavy and slow, there were so many unnecessary circuits, wires and bits - and why was there another access card? I inspected the stamped letters inside. ‘PROPERTY OF THE AUTONOMA NEEDSHAKHA CENTER FOR ENERGY’, the inscription read.
My eyes were drawn to the letters on the plaque beside the door. With my sleeve, I wiped away the grime and dirt. ‘AUTONOMA NEEDSHAKHA CENTER FOR ENERGY’, read the inscription. Perhaps this was where Henri was made? I approached the door.
With my free hand, I pulled the handle but the door didn’t budge. I tried again, pressing my foot against the doorframe and pulling with my full weight. The door remained sealed. I looked at the box, not much bigger than a playing card, hidden in part beneath the green blanket of leaves and grime. It looked a lot like the control panels back in the Autonoma prison, though it was absent its light. I pressed it and waited a moment. Nothing happened.
An idea struck me, and sweeping away some of the moss, I presented Henri’s compass to the box. The echo of the door unlatching spread about the abandoned plateau.
Cast in a green hue tinged with the browns and greys of the plant life re-claiming the glass on the front of the building, the room ahead was long and narrow. On one side, leather sofas with their skins cracked and peeling were lined up along the wall. Opposite, husks of dead plants drooped from their pots onto the dirtied and displaced tiles. At the far end, a single reception desk was blanketed by a thick coating of dust and a selection of the ceiling tiles which had fallen from the ceiling. What remained of the false ceiling clung to the metal lattice suspended beneath the concrete of the floor above. Lights, their tubes smashed and broken, hung idle. Paperwork, singed and suffused with a yellow tint, lay scattered about the floor.
I knew this place, but not like this. Though I remembered being here, I was not afraid. There was a familiarity to it I welcomed. I was here before, but because I wanted to be.
A warm and inviting glow emanated into the room as the air became charged with the memories of the people walking along its polished floors. Men in white lab coats, black trousers and black shoes, greeted visitors waiting on the sofas. A smile, a handshake, and a nod to the receptionist. She smiled back, and the control panel on the double doors turned green. Standing from her chair, she leaned onto the desk, getting a better look at me.
Her smile radiated outward, casting the room in a brilliant glow. “You can take them through Mr. Jolski,” she chimed, addressing the man beside me.
I turned to see who it was, as he reached for my hand. Like the channel of a television being switched, the room returned to the decayed and forgotten shell in an instant. I was alone.
Hanging from the wall, the control panel’s glass was smashed and the bulb inside broken. The double doors, however, were ajar, propped open by a small pile of rubble and concrete.
“Michael,” I called, turning to face the center of the room, “are you in here?”
The corridor was in a worse condition than the reception. Almost all the false ceiling tiles lay scattered on the floor, while the floor itself had been broken into large plates dipping and rising as though something had rippled through their foundations with tremendous force.
“Michael? Where are you?” I called.
My voice echoed along the corridor, fading away.
“This isn’t funny. Game’s over. Come back,” I paused to listen for a giggle, a laugh, a breath, anything, “please.”
With no reply, I worked my way along the corridor, stepping with care over the large cracks and broken floor. The warm glow of my memories here formed the echoes of footsteps resounding down the corridor, as men in white lab coats chatted to one another, while men with blue hard hats and blue boiler suits marched past in pairs.
I approached the nearest door and inside were a series of desks in rows and columns. Each contained and separated from the next by three panels. Five foot by five foot and covered in a grey fabric, these small cells were almost identical bar the personal belongings stationed there. Blanketed by dust, pictures faded by time, trinkets, and stationery sat idle on the desks alongside typewriters and notepads.
“Michael? Are you in here?”
Nothing.
I walked the lines of cells, crouching down in the hope of spotting my little brother hiding under one of them, reaching the last of the lines. The desks here were larger with more room a
s the memory of a phone ringing here drew my attention to the one with a phone. I raced toward it, grasping the dusty handset. I lifted the earpiece to my ear with my fingers poised to dial a number. Any number, I didn’t know, any would do. The line was dead. I dropped the handset back onto the receiver as my shoulders slumped.
“Michael, if you’re in here, please come out.”
Pulling shut the door, I made my way back into the corridor. With few other options, I turned the corner as the light around me faded to a dim glow, lit by the light ebbing in from under a door ahead. A cold breeze swirled underneath, scattering the paper further along the floor. I tried the door, but it was sealed shut. I remembered the men in blue hard hats marching through here, but I couldn’t remember how they unlocked the door.
A single sheet of paper fluttered nearby as the rest were blown back toward the reception. Trapped by its corner, the page folded over, lying flat once more against the concrete. A green arrow, sketched by pen, pointed me further into the darkness of the unlit corridor.
“Very funny, Michael,” I shouted into the darkness. “You can come out now.”
Nothing.
Eager to find my little brother and get out of here, I followed the arrow to the end of the corridor. A plain metal door blocked my path. ‘Senior Engineer’s Office’, the plaque on the door read. I didn’t remember it ever being this dark in here.
“This isn’t a game,” I shouted through the door, “come out, Michael.”
Trying the door handle, I offered Henri’s compass to the control panel. The door unlocked and with caution, I made my way inside.
The light switch yielded nothing.
“Michael? If you’re in here, you better come out.”
I reached around for the door handle but found my hand resting on something cold, metal, and cone shaped. With both hands, I patted the mysterious object with its smooth glass, handle, and a box underneath. I picked up the torch and flicked the switch as a small circle of light was projected onto the remains of the ceiling tiles above me.
“Michael?” I called, panning the dim light across the room.
Autonoma- Gate 13 Page 24