by Adrian Smith
Sofia slammed the door shut and held the handle. It was barely two seconds before the Siphons smashed into the other side.
“Connors!” Sofia shouted, gesturing at the handle. It was shaking and turning. She was doing her best to stop its progress but failing. The Siphons weren’t so dumb after all.
“Guys! We got incoming,” Allie warned.
“How far?” Ryan shot back, clutching the handle with Sofia. A Siphon wrenched it hard, scraping his flesh. He gritted his teeth and held on, using his knee as extra resistance. His injured shoulder screamed at him with the added pressure.
“They’ve just started climbing the stairs,” Allie said.
Desperate, Ryan glanced around, going over the plans of the facility in his head. This escape route ran next to the elevator shaft. There must be maintenance doors so they could work, or rescue anyone trapped in the elevator. He scanned the stairwell. There. Next to the first and second step was a metal door. It had been painted the same gray as the surrounding concrete. The handle wrenched again, and the door shuddered on its hinges beneath the exertions of the Siphons.
“Allie, the maintenance cover.” He gestured with his head. “Keiko. Hogai, help her.”
“It’s locked,” Allie said.
“Does it need a key?”
“No. It’s some weird star-shaped screw holding a latch in place.”
Ryan looked up. Allie had pulled a clasp out, revealing a locking plate with four screws. Bugger. He growled in frustration. Tamper-proof screws. One needed the correct size to remove them. A lot of electronics, cars, and machinery had them now, all to stop people trying to fix the product themselves. Just another way companies made money.
“Here,” Hogai said, pulling a set of screwdrivers from the inside of his jacket. “I’m a robot nerd, remember.”
Sofia grunted with the effort of keeping the Siphons from entering, sweat dripping down her forehead and beading on her nose. She saw him looking and grinned. “Hey. Did you miss this?” She gasped as the door shook.
“Maybe.”
“Just maybe?” Sofia raised one finely styled eyebrow. “Harsh. Where’s Booth when we need him?”
“He said something earlier about Tahitians and margaritas.”
“Huh. Typical.” Sofia let out a small laugh from between clenched teeth. The Siphons were going to break through any second.
Despite the predicament they found themselves in, Sofia had time for banter. That was one of the reasons The Nameless had been so successful: serious, with a touch of silly to keep the morale up. When the job had to be done, everyone was ready, calm, and professional. During periods of downtime and at tense moments, they became a bunch of comedians.
“How are we doing with that door?”
“Nearly there!”
The Siphon’s screams echoed up the stairs.
“Got it,” Allie shouted, flinging open the maintenance door.
“Go! Climb! We’ll hold them off. Now!” Ryan said, putting as much urgency in his voice as he could muster.
Allie and Keiko disappeared. Hogai turned and looked at him.
“I hate heights.”
“Hogai, just go. We don’t have time.”
“It’s too high.”
Ryan cursed in both Japanese and English.
“I’ll help him,” Sofia said. “Get inside, Hogai, I’ll be there to help you.”
Hogai spent a few moments hesitating at the door, one hand on the open frame. Shrieks and the thumping of footsteps of the Siphons finally made up his mind. He pulled himself into the shaft.
“You ready?” Sofia asked, meeting Ryan’s eyes. He saw fear in that look. Fear he had never seen from Sofia before.
He gripped the handle and wedged his frame against the door, putting as much of his bodyweight against it as he could.
“On three,” Sofia said. “1 … 2 … 3.”
As Sofia let go, the handle twisted all the way down and the door opened a few millimeters. Ryan wedged his feet into the concrete with his backside pressed hard against the metal. The door opened a little more, allowing hands to pull on his clothing.
He glanced up. Sofia grunted and wriggled through the opening.
Ryan strained against all the weight behind the door.
He clenched his teeth as the door shuddered, sliding his feet along the floor a few more centimeters. Arms reached through and pulled on his hair, tugged at his clothes. He drew in a deep breath. He could hear the other Siphons clambering up the stairs. He wanted to give everyone as much of a head start as possible. Every second counted.
The door shook again, and he lost his grip. Using the forward momentum, he lunged for the open shaft, picking up speed. It was only three meters, but it felt like one hundred. As he got close, a lone Siphon sprang from the stairs. Ryan gripped the side of the open maintenance door and kicked it backward into the following mob. Pivoting, he unleashed another kick at the nearest Siphon. His kicks had the desired effect. Both Siphons went tumbling to the ground, tripping up the snarling packs and giving him the time he needed to slip into the shaft, grip the ladder, and pull his feet inside. He left the door open, as there was no way to latch it from the inside.
Ryan urged his tired legs to move and began to climb.
Twenty-Seven
Satellite Installation
Sierra Nevada Mountains
Victor Offenheim stood, turned, and raised his crystal-cut champagne glass. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black object that, to Zanzi, looked like a TV remote. But this one had only one red button on it.
Offenheim caressed it with his thumb. His ivory-colored skin glowed. He nodded to an armed guard to his right and the huge bank of screens flickered to life.
They displayed live feeds of cameras located around the world. On each screen was a scene of chaos. Cars, trucks, and buses burning and wrecked on every road, on bridges, buried in buildings. Trails of destruction left by passenger jets as they slammed back to Earth, disintegrating buildings into rubble and scattering debris in huge arcs. Derailed trains twisted and torn, lying at odd angles, flames licking from broken windows. It looked like a giant baby had thrown a tantrum, destroying everything.
Amongst all this destruction were piles of gray ash, in perfect form of the people they had once been. Some cameras showed shopping malls empty, save for the ash.
Others showed parks, such as Hyde Park in London, empty, except for pigeons and squirrels picking through the frozen forms of people.
Offenheim smiled and looked at the gathering.
“Chosen. Brothers and sisters. Guests.” Offenheim glanced at the armed men. “Willing servants. Today is the day we have all worked toward for so long. Our families dared question the status quo. They dared to think of the future. And what they saw horrified them. A world infested with impurity. Races mixing; breeding ignorance and stupidity. Companies that would pollute the Earth into an unlivable swamp. Men and women striving for power, pretending to uphold sacred beliefs in gods, all the while lining their pockets. They had wars over oil. Over politics. Over land. And especially over which faith was the right one. But!”
Zanzi shook her head. His word filtered through her mind like commentary as she watched the images.
“The Four Fathers had a solution,” Offenheim continued. “They saw as we did. Humanity was trapped in a cycle of war. Of famine and greed. Of corruption and sin. The rich get richer and powerful. The poor became sicker, downtrodden, disheartened. They would rise, overthrow the leaders, and the whole cycle started again.” Offenheim sipped his champagne.
“Eight billion people in this world and ninety-nine percent are worthless. You know what we needed. A reboot. A reset. Weed out the corrupt and replace them with strong, pure, intelligent people. People with purpose, to take humanity forward. There were simply too many people. We were doomed. At a crossroads of extinction cycles. Only the Four Fathers understood what had to be done. It was a bold plan. Mortifying to even think it.”
&nbs
p; Offenheim put his glass down and walked in front of the guests. “Did we dare?”
“Yes, we had to,” several voices answered.
“Exactly. We had to. No government or organization would dare. Only we cared enough to do it. We could have weaponized Ebola or smallpox. But no, we didn’t want pain and rotting corpses.”
He straightened himself to his full height and moved to stand in front of the screens before turning to face them. “As you can see, we have started in Europe, Asia, Oceania, and Africa a few hours ago.”
Victor nodded at the guard and the screens went blank for a second before flickering and bringing up pictures from cameras from around North and South America. Zanzi spotted New York. Chicago. Toronto. Santiago. Rio De Janeiro. Every major city, showing people going about their daily lives. People were holding up phones as if they’d lost their signal. Groups were huddled together, talking. She glanced at Victor.
“It is time.” He smiled and held up the black remote. The other guests began clapping and cheering. Offenheim silenced them with a wave and pushed the red button.
Zanzi watched the people who were walking dogs, shopping, working, enjoying a cup of coffee in the sunshine. There were kids desperately licking ice creams before they dripped over their fingers, and teenagers skateboarding or smoking and trying to look cool, but within seconds they all froze before holding their heads and screaming in silent agony. Most fell to their knees, others collapsed on the ground. Their bodies convulsed and darkened.
Their skin blackened like an invisible blow torch was cooking them before they died in whatever agonizing pose they ended up in. A few recovered and stood back up to look around, dazed and confused.
Traffic went haywire as the combusting spread. Cars collided. Trucks drifted over lanes and slammed into overpass bridges. Motorbikes rode down roads, riderless, before crashing through shop windows.
For Zanzi, it started with a slight pressure change just behind her ears. It built slowly, like a migraine when you’ve been in the sun too long. The pain increased as if her brain was encased in invisible hands that squeezed all her nerves at once. Her vision blurred. Spots of red and yellow strobed in front of her eyes.
She fell to the floor, clutching her head, and screamed for the pain to stop. As quickly as it started, the pain vanished. She stayed on her knees, waiting for her senses to return. Slowly her hearing came back. The sound of crystal being knocked together. Excited murmurs from the guests. But above the chatter, a gasp of pain and pleading. A male voice, begging for it to stop. A couple of high-pitched laughs.
Zanzi stood up and scanned the room.
Milo had his hand on the back of a slender woman dressed in a flowing silk dress. The woman was on the floor, back arched, hands locked into claws, scratching at the floor as the virus took hold. The other guests stood observing, their faces emotionless.
“Please!” Milo shouted. “Why?”
Offenheim shook his head. “She proved herself unworthy.”
“Unworthy? How?” Milo said, doing his best to comfort the woman.
“She helped the child escape! We had to move up plans and divert resources because of her. As I said, unworthy. That’s the end of the matter. Control yourself, or you’ll be joining her.”
Offenheim snapped his heels together and, moving toward the other guests, accepted a fresh glass of champagne.
Milo held the woman’s hand as she suddenly went still. First her skin turned gray, then black. It lost its density and began to crumble before it fell through his fingers.
Zanzi took a few steps forward. Her scientific mind was astounded.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. Be at peace,” Milo murmured.
Zanzi left him to his grief and looked back at the screens. Everywhere she looked, there were piles of ash. Ash that had just moments ago been living, breathing humans. Humans who had loved and cried. Humans who had created and listened, watched and wondered at nature. Humans who had experienced everything that life meant, destroyed in mere minutes.
Her stomach clenched and tightened. She looked at the marbled people standing around the room. They were chatting and drinking as they watched the screens, as though it was some boring form of entertainment. Offenheim was surrounded by men and women, all slapping him on the back and bowing to him.
Zanzi had watched videos on YouTube of former dictators, people in power, both political and religious. The scene before her reminded her of those. She clenched her fists at her side and ground her teeth.
Before she thought, she dived toward Offenheim. Unseen hands, strong and vise-like, grabbed her before she got farther than two feet. “You’re a monster!” she screamed, struggling against her captors. “How could you do this to the world?”
Offenheim’s smile was smug. “To save us all. Silly girl. You’re just like your father. Filled with misguided ideals. Take her below. She’s witnessed enough.”
Zanzi struggled with every bit of her strength. All she wanted was to weep at what she had witnessed. The world had died and burned in front of her, and she was helpless. They all were. All the survivors—if there were any. Zanzi prayed that her father had somehow escaped the virus. She was surrounded by madmen in castles.
Milo and two guards dragged her away. Alba caught her eye as she entered the elevator. “See you soon, my dear.”
Milo left her with the two guards and turned back to his sick celebration. She remained silent as the guards marched her from the elevator and into a shower room. They laughed before turning on the water, soaking her through. The cold made her shiver after the warmth of the penthouse.
“Clean yourself up. Sleeping quarters are down the hall. Five minutes. If we have to come back and take you in there, we might just forget our oaths and have you good and hard. Tag team-style.”
“Piss off!” Zanzi screamed. She needed to be alone. She needed to calm her racing mind and figure out a way to escape.
“Oh, a feisty one. I’m going to enjoy you.” The guard with a scar on his chin grabbed his crotch.
They chuckled and high-fived each other, their muscles rippling under their tight black T-shirts.
Zanzi hugged her knees to her chest as the water poured over her. Was what she’d just seen real? Or was it just some sick joke? Some form of torture?
Deep down, in the back of her mind, she knew it was true. HQ had been attacked. Phones and internet had dropped. A virus had spread in other parts of the world. She was certain it was all connected to what she had just seen.
Zanzi didn’t recall washing or drying herself. Her mind snapped back to the present and she found herself sitting on a steel-framed single bed, wearing a gray jumpsuit. The mattress was squishy and sprang back as she shifted her weight. The guards appeared in the doorway, blocking the light.
“Pity. I wanted you to misbehave,” the guard with the scar said. He banged his fist against the frame. “Offenheim says you can move around anywhere on this floor. But go anywhere else and…” He chuckled, leaving the consequences unsaid.
“You get used to it,” a quiet voice whispered.
Zanzi turned, searching for the voice. A girl dressed in a similar gray jumpsuit watched her from the open toilet door.
“I’m Tilly,” she said, walking toward Zanzi before sitting down at the end of the bed. “We’re just rats in a cage to them. Did you know that was a song back in the ’90s? One of those grunge bands my father loved. Back when he was alive. After he died, and then my mother, I was in foster care for years. Then I came here. Another rat in a cage. Like you.”
Zanzi blinked and stared at Tilly. She was about eighteen, maybe twenty, with freckles and frizzy brown hair that she had tried to tie into a bun. Her hair poked out at all angles.
“Did they cut your tongue out too? They did that to Rebecca. She used to scream and say naughty words to them. Like bitch and asshole. Not that they’re naughty, but my mother said cussing is for the uneducated. Do you swear? I guess not. How could you? No bloody tongue. That’s another
swear word. Let me show you around.”
Tilly stood and waved her hands around. “Clothes. Toilet. Beds. Mealtimes are 6 a.m., 12 noon and 6 p.m. Don’t be late or else no food.”
Tilly gawked at her and sat down.
Zanzi rubbed her hands through her hair. “What did you mean by, ‘You get used to it’?”
“The pain. They experiment on us like rats. Testing the pain. Giving us injections. Watch out for Alba. She’s a nasty one, like this girl I knew in Georgia. She always teased me about my hair.”
“I’ve met Alba,” Zanzi said. She pulled up her shirt and showed Tilly the bruises from the taser.
“Ouch. You sure have. I really don’t like that woman. Most of the scientists were nice. They’ve all gone now. Them and the others. I’m the only one left.”
“Only one?”
“There used to be other children here too. Some as old as me. Most were quite young. Fourth graders. Now that I’m too old, they said they had to find a job for me.”
The lights in the room flashed three times.
“Lights out,” Tilly said. She skipped across the room and jumped into the other bed.
Zanzi waited for her to go into another monologue, but Tilly had shut her eyes. The lights went out, plunging the bedroom into complete darkness. She held up a hand in front of her face and waved it. The air moved across her cheeks, but she couldn’t see a thing. With nothing left to do, she climbed under the covers and stared at the ceiling. Her analytical mind turned over the strange events of the last few days.
HQ attacked…
No phones or internet…
Black Skull commandos…
A virus that turns people to ash in minutes…
Twenty-Eight
Satellite Installation
Sierra Nevada Mountains
The mattress Zanzi slept on moved as someone sat down on the end of her bed. She guessed Tilly but couldn’t be bothered opening her eyes. She was exhausted. The strangeness, and the physical challenges, of the last few days had caught up with her and she needed rest. The mattress moved again, and a hand tapped her leg, shaking her.