I lingered behind.
“Come on!” he insisted, waving his hand forward. “Before we lose them.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I replied, exercising my control over my little brother as I watched him run back to me each time I paused my step.
“Come on!” he repeated, getting ever more desperate to reunite my father with his key, following the sounds of the receptionist’s footsteps toward a stairwell, extending forward to call after them, “Dad--”
“Wait!” I interrupted, eager not to be marched back to the small office just yet. “If you shout, then they’ll know we left the office.”
“And?” he replied, confused.
“And you’ll get Daddy in trouble.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you remember what he said? No running off. Stay in the office. Don’t you think his boss will be really mad if he sees us running around the corridors unsupervised?”
Michael drew back, and I could have sworn I could see those cogs turning behind those grey eyes of his. “But--”
“We’ll take the card to him, but we have to do it quietly so he doesn’t get in trouble. OK?”
He remained unmoved, mulling over my proposal.
“Ok?” I repeated.
“OK,” he replied.
Following the flow of green arrows painted on the floor, holding Michael at bay, I kept Father in sight ahead as he turned another corner, stopping at a grey metal door at the end of the corridor, the receptionist slapping his hand away from his tie.
“It’s fine,” she insisted, “stop messing with it.”
A thin smile broke through my father’s lips and he mouthed a thank you.
She smiled and turned toward us.
I wasn’t ready to go back to the office yet. I hadn’t seen anything. This was a power plant, where’s the glowing stuff? The things we were not meant to see? Where was the radioactivity?
“Through here,” I declared, turning to the nearest door.
“What?” Michael asked, doubt spreading across his face in the form of a frown.
“They went this way,” I insisted, unlocking the door. “Go,” I demanded, pushing him through as I heard the heels of the receptionist drawing closer.
“Wh--”
“Just go!”
Chapter 31
AcceptA.N.C.E.
Pushing my little brother through the door, I sprinted inside, pulling it closed as the receptionist marched past, listening to her footsteps fade into the distance.
“Wow!” Michael gasped stepping forward as I turned to see what had him so enthused. “Look at all this neat stuff.”
“It’s just a bunch of dials,” I remarked, scanning over the tall cabinets forming a wall on one side, three desks filled with more dials and knobs, and one wooden desk at the back of the room with the chair positioned to watch over the others like a supervisor would.
“Look at this!” he exclaimed, running over to gawp at the buttons on the wall, turning his attention to the small television screens. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the glass.
“I dunno,” I replied, disinterested. “Looks like a room filled with big cylinders on their side, or something. How should I know?”
Michael tapped the glass on one of the dials and darted to the next, jarring open the zip on his backpack as it struggled to contain the overstuffed contents. Spinning on the spot, he raced around to the chair in front of one of the smaller control panels, and placing his elbows on top of the desk, rested his chin into the palms of his hands, watching the lights twinkle and flash.
“What does this do?” he asked, his hands repositioned, and his fingers poised over a dial.
“You probably,” I paused. Getting Mr. Can’t Do Wrong into trouble might have been the first amusing thing to happen all day. I mean, it wasn’t like letting him do one little thing was going to destroy the place, that’d be a pretty stupid and flawed system if one person, in an unoccupied room, could bring the whole thing down. Besides, once Dad’s finished shouting at him for a change, I could put it back how it was, everything would be fine and for once Dad’ll be proud of me. “You probably shouldn’t mess with it too much,” I replied, pretending to look away.
My little brother turned the dial around to the stop, smacking his fist down onto the blue button. I scoffed at his crude gestures and movements, noting the similarity to a chimpanzee I saw on a television once.
Bored, Michael moved his attention to the next desk, pushing past me. Henri, the cobbled together tin toy, was jostled from the bag. Catching it, I snatched the contraption away from the metal surface of the control desk.
He was clumsy, that was true, but if I was going to convince Dad I had no hand in this, I’d have to make it clear Michael was here, and I was not.
I scanned the room for somewhere to secrete this tin monstrosity, somewhere it could be found again, pinning the blame on my little brother. There weren’t many options. Short of throwing it over the top of the tall cabinets of dials and screens, which would create enough noise to even bring the receptionist back. I chose the ajar door underneath the first control desk. Checking Michael was distracted, I slid the monstrosity inside. A faint crackle and a pop spat from the desk as one bank of lights extinguished. Perfect.
The door to the corridor swung open and Father appeared.
A curse slipped my lips.
“Daddy!” Michael exclaimed, running to greet him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” he gasped, almost losing his grip on the clipboard in his hand.
Grasping his trouser leg, Michael stared upward. “You left your card and--”
“Get out!” Father demanded, looking more furious than I’d ever seen. “You shouldn’t be in here. Not at all. No. Get out!”
“But Daddy--”
“Go, get out, go back to my office and stay there. This isn’t a playground. I told you to stay,” he demanded, pushing Michael aside, almost staggering into the room. “Did you press anything?” he asked, spinning back to face Michael.
My little brother looked to me. Father turned to do the same.
“Did either of you press anything?” he demanded, “Anything at all? This is very important.”
I shrugged my shoulders, closing shut the control panel door with my foot.
“Oh this is very bad,” Father muttered, scanning over the controls, as I used the opportunity to edge closer to the door. I’d never seen him this worked up.
“I’ll have to postpone the test until I know everything is OK. I’ll have to reset the parameters before the engineers come on shift. Mr. Sulloman is going to be furious. This could cost me my job,” he scorned, working his way across the control desks. Pausing, he turned to face us, his face red and flustered. “Why are you still here? Go before someone sees you. Go wait in my office. We’ll discuss this later, at home.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” Michael replied, slinking out of the door.
In Dad’s office, I made myself comfortable on the swivel chair, prodding at the keys of the keyboard, as Michael settled down on a pile of paperwork. The hands of the clock ticked around to noon as I sat twirling Dad’s pen between my fingers.
“I’m so bored,” Michael lamented.
“Ha!” I scoffed, “I was bored before you were even born.”
“You know, you could try being nice to me once in a while,” my little brother replied, “it wouldn’t kill you, you know--”
The shrill tone of a bell shattered the air.
“What is it?” Michael screamed, covering his ears.
“It’s probably the bell for lunch,” I shouted back, with a smirk plastered across my face.
An explosion, loud and powerful enough to shake the walls around us, tumbling the piles of paperwork to the floor like stacks of dominos, rippled through the floor. The clock fell from its position as the cabinet behind my chair tipped forward.
I braced against the desk as everything around us was shaken and toppled.
“
What the hell was that?” I asked, as the ground steadied and the bulb of the small desk lamp faded, the door swinging open.
“We have to get out,” Father panted, beckoning us forward, torch in hand, the receptionist hovering behind, pass card poised, and terror plastered across her face. “Now,” he demanded.
Maybe it was the panic in their eyes, maybe it was the enormous and unexplained explosion, I didn’t know, but whatever it was I felt in no mood to argue.
“Come on,” Father declared, reaching for Michael’s shoulder, my little brother ducking clear of his grasp.
“I need my backpack,” he replied, bending down, pawing at the fallen piles of paperwork.
“We don’t have time,” Dad responded, grabbing me by the scruff of my jacket and launching me through the doorway. “Get out,” he bellowed, clamping Michael’s top with such force the fabric crinkled and twisted around his fingers.
“Got it,” my little brother declared, as he was pulled backward through the door, clinging to the strap.
Men and women piled out of the side rooms of desks and computers; their reels stilled and silenced, as Father, close to our heels, marched us into the flow of people. We were shuffled into the reception and whisked to the courtyard outside.
We join the throng of people gathering as more filed from the building. The fruit and fish sellers, no longer harassing people for a sale, any sale, instead, trained their eyes upward toward the sky. With bony, well-tanned fingers, they pointed to the smoke rising from the grey concrete cube.
“Henri!” Michael gasped, bringing his head out of his backpack.
“What?” Father asked, breaking his gaze from the shifted chimney stack.
“I left Henri behind,” he declared, breaking into a sprint for the building.
“What? No!” Dad screamed stumbling forward to stop him, tussled aside by the gathered crowd.
My little brother ducked under the throng of arms, crawling between the high heeled shoes of the receptionist, as a curse slipped my lips. Snatching the torch from Dad’s hands, I gave chase.
“No!” Father screamed, trying to push his way through, swallowed in the crowd.
With determination, I fought my way through as Michael broke the front line, charging into the path of the men in blue boiler suits running away from the smoke following them out of the door.
“Wait up!” I shouted ahead, “Stop running. Wait for me.”
Darting through the doorway, my little brother disappeared into the darkness.
With all but a few failing lights, the air thick with smoke, the dim glow of the torch, and my little brother’s footsteps to guide me, I chased after him.
“Michael?” I called out, the smoke biting at my throat. “Michael!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face as the air grated like needles against my eyes. I wiped at them, but it did nothing to relieve the pain, as placing my hand across my mouth did little to quell the burn in my throat. Dipping the heavy torch, I followed the sound of footsteps toward the stairwell.
The door to the control room was sealed tight. I reached for Father’s pass card but found it absent from my pocket. Another curse slipped my lips as a metal door around the corner latched against the doorframe, snatching my attention.
“Michael?” I called out.
With no better option, I approached the grey metal door at the end of the corridor.
‘INTI’, the sign read. I had no idea what it meant, but I pulled open the door and stepped inside the enormous room.
Michael’s footsteps pounded against the metal walkway above me, as steam ebbed through the cracks in the cylindrical walls at the center of the room.
“Wait up!” I called, spotting my little brother above me, as I was forced to cough the metallic taste carried in the air from my mouth.
“Your stupid toy isn’t even in here,” I called out, pausing to spit the foul liquid from my lips.
Michael stopped at a thick door, which looked like it belonged in a maximum-security bank. He scanned the metal bench, large dial and the clock, looking through to the sealed door on the other side, as I stumbled onto the floor behind him.
“Stop!” I cried. “I hid your stupid toy in that other room, not in here. We have to get out.”
My little brother darted toward me and I reached forward to grab him, the burn in my eyes seeing me misjudge the distance. The strap of his backpack slipped through my fingers as he raced up another set of metal stairs. Struggling to breathe, see or hear, I staggered after him.
Sprinting through a red metal door, Michael’s backpack was jostled to the side as he made the sharp turn into the corridor.
“Where are you going?” I called out, forced to cough again by the convulsions crippling my body as pipes fallen from their brackets sprayed water across the fracturing concrete floor.
Michael skidded to a halt; his path blocked by a fallen metal beam.
“Wait,” I pleaded, struggling to catch my breath. “Wait!”
My little brother looked to me, his eyes filled with terror and fear, and ducked under the fractured metal.
“No!” I screeched.
I crawled into the narrow opening as my little brother sprinted on ahead, not once looking behind, bursting through the doors held ajar at the end of the corridor by a chunk of twisted metal, engulfed by the smoke building inside.
“Michael!” I yelled, wafting the smoke from my face as I crossed the threshold.
An orange glow, bright enough to be carried through the blackened air and so hot I could feel the burn building on my skin, flickered and danced far ahead of me. The smoke drawn out by the open door afforded me a brief opportunity to scan my immediate surroundings. Giant cylinders lay on their sides, riddled with pipes and metal plates, while a large crane hung overhead, suspended from the ceiling. The blackened hook rocked like a pendulum as the girder above creaked and groaned.
A man in a blue boiler suit charged from the smoke ahead, racing toward me with horror etched into every inch of the skin on his face. He stretched out both hands, clamping them to my shoulders. With enough force to almost take me from my feet, the man pushed me back into the corridor.
“Turbine Hall,” he declared in broken English, “Bad. Go.”
“No!” I protested, resisting, as undeterred, the man pushed harder, forcing me back toward the wall of the corridor.
“Get off me,” I insisted, struggling free.
His eyes flashed over me, and he released his grasp. He stared for a moment longer and turned, sprinting up the corridor, sliding under the fallen beam, his footsteps fading fast.
“Alex!” my little brother screamed, as he raced back toward the door.
“Michael?” I asked, almost in disbelief.
“Alex, help me!”
A second explosion rippled through space around me, and I was thrown backward from my feet, tossed like a rag doll against the metal beam. Smoke and flames charged the air, spiriting overhead as a cloud of hot gas with enough force to shunt the metal beam to the floor.
Rolling onto my side, as my vision remained bleached of sight, I tried to listen for his footsteps, the ringing in my ears blocking all other sound. I tried to stand but found the weight on my chest forcing me into the floor.
“Michael!” I gasped, devoid of the power to shout his name.
Spitting blood onto the shattered concrete beside me, I used the remains of a twisted lattice of pipes and wiring to pull myself up, and slumped to my knees, the corridor filled with the warm water of the ruptured pipes. I looked up toward the door as the magnitude of the light around me quenched the surfaces, turning to a smoky hue.
“Alex!” Michael screamed, as the ringing subsided to a droning hum. “Help me, Alex!” my little brother cried, his voice penetrating the wall of rubble thrown between us.
I placed my hands on the largest chunk of concrete separating us and with all my might, I pulled, twisted, iron rods resisting my efforts. Through a slither of light, I saw my little brother’s te
ary eyes staring back at me.
The concrete landed with a splash in the pooling water as I discarded it from my grasp, and I reached into the hole. Michael strained his fingers to reach me, his nails bloodied as were mine.
“Don’t leave me behind,” he pleaded.
“I won’t,” I replied with the deepest sincerity. “I’m right here.”
Behind me, the corridor filled with the sound of direct and deliberate shouts. Three men in blue boiler suits emerged from the smoke, their faces blackened.
The first approached me, grabbing at my shoulders.
“No!” I protested, struggling free. “My little brother,” I pleaded, pointing to the rubble beside me.
The three men looked to one another and two reached forward. With a grip tight enough to twist and distort the leather of my jacket, the two men pulled me to my feet, my wailing undeterred as my focus remained on the small gap in the rubble. Against my will, I was dragged away.
43 Years Later
I looked to the shadowy figure of my father as his smoldering black eyes stared into mine. I glanced to the door.
“It was my fault,” I declared, focusing on the floor, as the breeze swayed the broken branches and vines hanging from the shattered window frame, though my father remained unmoved.
“Everything that happened here was my fault,” I replied, my eyes filling with tears as I looked to him. “The control room, Michael, everything. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for me. He’s gone, isn’t he?” I asked, stepping closer, as my father broke his stare, his face dropping to look away. “This was all my fault. He’s gone and it’s because of me.”
“Yes,” he replied, his voice broken by sorrow.
Like the explosion which had torn our lives apart, the ground beneath me was whisked away like a leaf carried in a typhoon. The walls retracted and folded like pages of a book, as the light from the window flooded into the void left behind. Burning to a blinding light, everything bleached to a brilliant white.
“Simulation complete. Welcome back to the Autonoma Project, Subject A,” the disembodied voice chanted.
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