Escape Room

by Brian Ullmann

  A thick tube ran from the top of capsule 28 to a knot of other tubes before ultimately connecting to the central tower, blinking with blue lights.

  “Give me a boost,” Chance said. Tahoe and Wolfie moved quickly to interlock their hands, and Chance stepped onto the makeshift ladder. They lifted him up perhaps three feet above the floor.

  A small, circular door was recessed in the top of the capsule. The thick tube was affixed right in the center of the door, beside a handle that Chance could see had been placed in the locked position. He gripped the frigid handle, turned it.

  The sudden hiss of escaping pressure startled him. A cloud of white smoke spewed from the narrow gap. He waited a moment for it to dissipate. And then he flung the door open on its hinges.

  Wisps of smoke clung to the interior of the capsule. Chance waved it away, peering into the clearing murk.

  There, in the swirling tendrils of white, was a naked human body.

  FORTY-NINE

  Chance stumbled backward from the perch, nearly falling to the ground.

  “We’ve got a big problem,” he said.

  Each of the others took turns looking at the naked figure.

  “What the hecking heck,” said Tahoe.

  “You think all of these pods are filled with bodies?” asked Kate.

  “I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Chance answered.

  “Who are these people?” Tahoe asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are they … alive?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Seems cold enough to be like a freezer in a morgue.”

  “Or maybe some cryogenic chamber,” offered Wolfie. When he saw the doubtful glares from the others, he added, “What? That is real.”

  “That boy in there,” said Tahoe. “He’s young. Like us.”

  Chance had noticed that, too. The boy in the pod was no older than 18. Skin smooth with the muscle tone of a high school athlete. A thin layer of grease seemed to coat his entire body.

  He did not know what to make of it. Richard Kaiser had told them they had been chosen for the escape room because they were young. Brains were still malleable, he had said. Could this boy somehow be related to the escape room, to the Picasso Project? Chance shuddered as a chill flared up his spine.

  Suddenly, Kate screamed, clamped a hand over her mouth, and pointed toward the top of the capsule.

  A hand reached up out of the pod.

  FIFTY

  “Help him down!” shouted Chance.

  They scrambled to hoist Wolfie up to the portal, then formed a human assembly line to assist the boy as he climbed down from the capsule. He wasn’t entirely naked; skin-colored shorts clung to his body. A series of probes had been affixed to his arms and chest, and both temples. They quickly pulled them loose. But even this minimal movement was too much for the boy. He collapsed into their hands, completely limp. They placed his greased body gently upon the floor. His eyes fluttered open momentarily, then closed again just as quickly.

  Kate felt for a pulse at the boy’s neck. “Slow,” she said. “Maybe because of the cold. Some kind of hyperbaric chamber. His body is freezing cold.”

  “That’s what I was saying,” said Wolfie. “About the batteries. That stuff is real.”

  “Let’s get him warmed up,” Kate ordered.

  They each took a limb and began vigorously rubbing their hands over his goose-pimpled flesh. After a few moments, his color started to return. Ghostly purple skin turned pale blue, then something resembling a more natural pink. The boy’s eyes cracked open.

  “Sit him up,” Chance said.

  The boy’s eyes may have been open but stared vacantly ahead. Unseeing. Then, blinking, he snapped back to consciousness like he was suddenly awakened from a nightmare.

  “What … happened?” he stuttered.

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” said Chance. His voice was barely a croak.

  “What’s your name?” Tahoe asked.

  The boy considered this a moment, as if he was struggling to remember. “Jackson,” he said. He said it again, this time lower, as if to confirm it even to himself.

  They quickly introduced themselves and helped him to his feet. His skin was still mottled and chilled. They needed to get him moving, get him warmed up. At the same time, they peppered him with questions.

  “What happened to you?”

  “What is this place?”

  “How did you get here?”

  Chance finally dammed the flood of questions with a raised hand. “Come on guys, give him some space.”

  Jackson stared vacantly for a moment, struggling to remember.

  “I don’t recognize this place,” he said.

  “What was the last thing you remember?” asked Kate. “Let’s start from there.”

  “I remember meeting with my writer’s group,” Jackson said slowly. “I had just finished reading from a chapter from a novel about a dystopian world where air was scarce and rationed out only to those who could afford it. Anyway, we were just wrapping up, and I was gathering the hand-written critiques. I excused myself to use the bathroom, and when I returned, everyone else had gone. The only thing left was-”

  “Let me guess,” interrupted Tahoe. “A gold envelope.”

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

  “Same with us,” Chance said. “We all got one. I suppose there was an invitation to an escape room inside that envelope?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you made it through.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get stranded on a beach in Colombia?” Wolfie asked.

  Jackson laughed, then realized that the question was serious. “What? No. But somewhere along the line — I still haven’t figured this part out yet — I ended up in some kind of jungle, with a Siberian tiger. I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out. I was in a small clearing, the tiger stalking me. And then I noticed something, something impossible. In a dirty puddle of water, I found a drain. A drain, in the middle of the jungle. That was when it clicked. The tiger was about to charge me, and —”

  “I think I see where this is going,” Chance said suddenly. “Let me guess: It was a virtual reality simulation.”

  Jackson stared at him. “Yeah, it was. How did you … You guys seem to have all the answers.”

  Chance quickly shared their story. The escape room, Colombia, the virtual simulation of the crumbling floor, the research on brain and behavior, the institute in D.C.

  “Wait a minute,” Jackson said. “D.C.? As in, Washington, D.C.?”

  “Yeah, that’s where we are. At least, that’s where we think we are.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Jackson said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I’ve never even been to Washington, D.C. I mean, I’ve never even been on the East Coast. I’m from California. My escape room was in Los Angeles.”

  This news shocked them into silence.

  “Do you recognized the name Richard Kaiser?”

  “No.”

  “Or Drake?”

  “Like, the singer?”

  “Or Madeline Levick?”

  “I’ve never heard of any of these people,” Jackson said, frustrated. “All I know is that this guy named Robert King said he was impressed with how I completed the escape room, how I had figured out the VR simulation. He invited me to join some kind of research study called the Picasso Project. Something about studying the origins of creativity.”

  “And you said no?”

  “No, I said yes. And that’s really the last thing I remember. Next thing I know, I’m crawling out of that capsule, naked and freezing cold.”

  Chance’s mind spun. Some of Jackson’s story made a certain amount of sense. Other parts just confused him more. Who was Robert King? And Los Angeles? Just how far did the tentacles of the Picasso Project reach?

  Suddenly, the enormity of their predicament sucked the air from his lun
gs. There were hundreds of capsules filled this hangar, hundreds of bodies. Real people. With real lives. With loved ones.

  Chance was trying to decide what to do next when one of the blue lights on the central tower suddenly started blinking red. A warning light, no doubt triggered when Jackson’s capsule opened. It would only be a matter of time before the men in the control room noticed. They didn’t have much time.

  Chance led them over to where the lights were blinking on the central tower.

  He quickly found a small monitor at the base. He tapped it, and it sprung to life. A drop-down menu appeared, and he quickly scrolled through the options. He found one that said RESET and double-tapped it. The red light blinked back to blue.

  “Nicely done,” said Tahoe.

  “Not sure how much time that buys us, but it’s something,” Chance said.

  The menu on the screen was replaced by a blinking prompt:

  NAME:

  A log-in screen.

  “Try Drake,” suggested Tahoe. “He seemed to be in charge.”

  “Is that a first name or last name?” asked Wolfie.

  “You got a better idea?”

  Chance tapped in the name and hit ENTER.

  NAME NOT RECOGNIZED

  “Kaiser,” Tahoe said quickly. “Try that one.”

  Chance typed it in, and this time he used different versions. Kaiser. Richard Kaiser. Kaiser, Richard. Each time: NAME NOT RECOGNIZED

  Chance looked at Jackson. “What’s your last name?”

  “Sloan.”

  He typed in the name. Hit ENTER.

  SLOAN, JACKSON

  STATUS: INITIALIZING

  POD: 28

  They crowded around the screen in silence.

  “It’s a database,” said Tahoe said. “For every person in every one of these pods.”

  Chance immediately started tapping in another name.

  MATTHEWS, CHANCE

  STATUS: PRE-TESTING

  POD: 405

  “Jesus, Chance,” breathed Kate. “One of these pod-things is for you.”

  He quickly tapped in Tahoe and Wolfie’s names. They were both in there too. “For all of us,” Chance said.

  “There are thousands of pods in here,” Tahoe said. “That’s a lot of people.”

  A lot of people, thought Chance.

  Testing adults too, going back years.

  Suddenly, a wave of nausea doubled Chance over. It felt like a rogue wave had lifted him, tossed him heels over head. He reached for the tower to steady himself.

  Kate placed a hand on his back. “Chance?”

  Chance barely registered her touch. An idea – a crazy idea – had lodged inside his brain. The thought felt utterly alien and impossible. And yet, it felt like a great truth had just been unearthed from his deep subconscious.

  With a trembling hand, Chance reached into his jeans. He removed the faded photograph from his pocket. For a moment, he gazed upon his mother’s radiant face. It was the same smiling and warm face that he had envisioned every day since that photo had been taken. The day before she left.

  Her face. The canvases. The swirling colors.

  His eyes were drawn to the paper on the desk. He had originally thought that spilled paint had stained the paper yellow. Now he saw more clearly. The paper itself was yellow, almost gold. And as he squinted closer, the words printed out in large block letters, swam into focus.

  CAN YOU ESCAPE?

  FIFTY-ONE

  Chance’s throat constricted. Then suddenly filled with the foul acidic taste of bile. He turned away from the others and vomited onto the concrete floor. Gagging, he struggled for breath. He coughed and dry-heaved as if the horror of it all could somehow be expelled from his gut. He felt the hands of his friends reach for him, their voices indistinguishable murmurs.

  The photograph. The memory. Both from the same moment, the last time he saw his mother.

  She had been summoned to the Escape Room. And she had never returned.

  Testing adults too. Going back years.

  How was that possible?

  His stomach finally purged, Chance wiped away a thin line of bile that dripped from his gaping mouth with the back of his hand.

  Chance staggered to his feet and returned to the monitor. This time, he punched in a new name. The others watched in silence.

  MATTHEWS, SARAH

  “Chance,” said Kate tentatively. “What is happening? What is that name?”

  Two more lines appeared on the screen.

  STATUS: COMPLETE

  POD: 471

  Chance felt his throat start to constrict again. He swallowed hard.

  “Is that…your mother?” Kate asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” said Chance. “But she’s obviously part of this. Somehow.”

  He shoved the picture into Kate’s hand. Tahoe and Wolfie and Jackson huddled around the image.

  “Jesus,” murmured Tahoe. “That’s an invitation. The same one we all got.”

  “How is that even possible?” asked Kate.

  “And what does COMPLETE mean?” asked Tahoe.

  A LOCATE button illuminated on the screen beside his mother’s name. Chance pressed it. A three-dimensional graphic appeared, a wireframe schematic of the chamber. Each pod was shown in green, hundreds of them, as the image rotated and lifted. Then, four levels up, a single pod glowed red.

  “Let’s go,” said Chance.

  They found a freight elevator along the exterior wall, the kind found at construction sites. Open-roofed, with six-foot metal mesh doors surrounding a steel platform. Wolfie clanged the door shut and pressed the button for Level 4. The lift lumbered upwards.

  As it ascended, the facility was suddenly visible in a different angle. The vastness of the chamber opened up beneath them. They seemed to stretch out everywhere, connected by a web of wires and thick cables. There weren’t hundreds of pods here. There were thousands.

  The elevator lurched to a sudden stop. They emerged onto a steel skywalk that encircled the edge of the chamber. They quickly navigated along the platform, following the stenciled numbers on the pods. 402. 414. 458. Each one a person, a life.

  Pod 471.

  Wolfie and Jackson quickly interlocked hands and Chance placed a foot into their makeshift step ladder. At the top of the pod, he placed a hand on the cold handle of the portal door.

  And then he hesitated.

  His mind was still swimming with questions. If this was some kind of testing facility, what kind of testing was being done? Was his mother somehow involved in this? Is this why she had never returned home? And where was his mother now?

  For this last question, Chance feared the answer was just under his hand.

  “Chance?” Kate said. “You okay?”

  Chance inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose. Hold it together, he willed himself.

  “I’m okay,” he assured her. “Opening the door now.”

  The handle wouldn’t budge at first. He had to adjust his footing for leverage. He shoved his entire body weight into the steel handle until it finally gave way with a loud metallic squeal. His heart thumping, he threw open the portal door. A thick cloud of smoke escaped in a loud hiss. The next few moments felt like eternity. The smoke blinded him. And it seemed like it would never lift.

  And then it did. The smoke finally dissipated.

  Chance peered inside the pod.

  It was empty.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Tahoe said. “How can it be empty?”

  “Whatever they’re doing in here, my mom was already done with it. COMPLETE, remember? For the rest of us, somewhere in here, there are pods for each of us.”

  “You know what?” Wolfie said. “This is officially over our heads. Wherever we are, whatever this place is, we need to get out of here.”

  Chance took one more look inside the pod. Searching for anything that might provide a clue to what happened to his mom. But it was empty. Hopelessly, demoralizingly empt
y.

  He jumped back down to the ground.

  Something clanged behind them.

  They turned to see the freight elevator doors rumble open.

  Drake was standing there, flanked by four other men.

  “You shot one of my guards,” he said. “That was not so clever.”

  Drake stepped from the elevator, followed by the others, guns drawn.

  Chance, Tahoe, Wolfie, Kate and Jackson instinctively stepped backward in unison, until their backs were pinned to the railing. The metal piping was all that separated them from a four-story drop to the concrete floor below.

  “Please keep your hands where we can see them,” Drake commanded. “My men are all too eager to shoot if they sense any sudden movements.”

  The elevator door clanged shut behind them and the empty platform started to descend. There was no way off the skywalk now.

  “I see you have a new friend,” Drake said. “How noble of you to try to rescue him. Of course, it set off a silent alarm. It was impolite of you to interrupt Mr. Sloan’s procedure.”

  “What procedure?” Tahoe asked. “What the hell is this place?”

  “My mother was here,” Chance shouted. “What have you done with her?” He took a step towards Drake, but stopped when the man lifted his gun.

  “It is only reasonable that you have questions,” Drake said. “And perhaps you will have your answers. But they are not mine to provide.”

  Far below, the sound of elevator doors clanging shut echoed up to the catwalk. The lift started to ascend, chains rattling.

  Chance watched as the cage climbed up to the fourth level. The freight elevator banged to a stop, and the doors rumbled open.

  Richard Kaiser stepped from the elevator.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  “Jenny?” seethed Chance.

  Jenny Chen stood there, beside Kaiser. Her face was utterly expressionless.

  Kaiser grinned humorlessly and said, “Welcome to the Picasso Project.”

  FIFTY-TWO