by Cross, Amy
I try to get up, but my legs are too weak and I quickly realize that I'm going to have to wait a moment and try to get a grip.
“I'm coming, Dad,” I whisper, trying to stay focused on the whole reason that I'm here. “I'm going to find you. I know you're out there somewhere, I know you...”
My voice trails off, and slowly my eyes slip shut.
Thomas
“It's just up here,” Doctor Carter says as she hurries along the street, and as I – for some stupid reason – continue to follow her. “I need to know what they're doing.”
“You need help,” I tell her, unable to hide my irritation. “Listen, you're -”
“I know I'm losing my mind!” she snaps. “I don't need you to tell me that, Thomas. I'm managing my condition, but that's all it is. A managed decline. And my request from earlier still stands. When I get too bad, you're going to have to put a bullet in my head.”
“I'm not some kind of helper monkey,” I point out. “I can't just follow you around.”
“Relax, I'll find some peanuts for you later.” Reaching the next corner, she stops and looks along another street, and I see a faint smile cross her lips. “There it is,” she continues, with a hint of awe in her voice. “Now what could they possibly be doing with something like that, huh?”
Figuring that she's rambling, I don't bother to reply. When I catch up to her, however, I look along the street and realize what she's staring at. Just a few hundred feet away, there's what looks like a small train station, and I immediately notice several armed guards patrolling the area. I swear, there seem to be more people protecting this train station than I've seen in all the other parts of Boston combined.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“They're up to something, Thomas.”
“Sure, but -”
“We're in a ruined, bombed-out city,” she continues, interrupting me. “We have crises on several fronts. Fresh water, food, medical supplies, all of these things are in a precarious position, yet the people in charge are devoting almost all their resources to working on a train. Doesn't that strike you as being just a little odd?”
“Where are they planning to go on that thing?” I ask.
“Good question.”
“And how will it even run? Are they waiting for the power to come back on? That phone message must have reached them here, so maybe -”
“It's a steam train, Thomas.”
“It is?”
“It looks like some kind of history project,” she explains. “There were probably some steam enthusiasts who kept a stretch of line running, but I still don't understand the point of obsessing over it now.” She glances at me. “Focusing on a problem helps me keep my thoughts together,” she adds. “That, and being pissed off about something. And I'm pissed off about not knowing what's going on here.”
“I know that guy,” I say suddenly, spotting Charles Bloom and some soldiers making their way toward the station. “He's the creepy guy who wants to keep an eye on Elizabeth.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Bloom. Charles Bloom.”
“Never heard of him,” she replies, as we watch Bloom walking up some steps and entering the station. “He seems like he knows what's going on, though. You need to butter him up and get him to talk.”
“I heard someone mentioning a train to him yesterday,” I reply. “They said something else, too. Some kind of phrase I'd never heard before, they called it Project... Otherus? Otherius? Something like -”
“Project Atherius?” she asks suddenly.
“Yeah, that was -”
Before I can finish, she grabs the sides of my arms and spins me around, and then she slams me against the wall and stares at me with wide-eyed intensity.
“Think very carefully before you answer this next question, Thomas,” she says firmly. “Are you absolutely certain that you heard someone mention Project Atherius?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I mean, sure. That's all I heard, but someone definitely said that name.”
She stares at me for a moment longer, before turning to look back toward the station.
“Why would they need a train for Project Atherius?” she whispers, seemingly lost in thought. “None of this makes any sense.”
“So what is Project Atherius?” I ask.
I wait, but she's simply staring at the station, although finally she turns to me again.
“It's exactly the kind of thing that Bill Patterson would have been involved with,” she says cautiously.
“Maybe he still is,” I point out. “I told you I saw him as we were driving away from the hospital.”
“He's dead, Thomas.”
“I'm not so sure.”
“Project Atherius was something I only heard people whisper about,” she replies. “I first heard about it a decade ago, long before any of this madness started, and I assumed it was just a joke. Thinking about it now, though, it does seem like the kind of dumb-ass idea that a bunch of cowards and chicken-shits would cling to when the society is on the brink of collapse. It's all nonsense, of course, but I can see how it could appeal to a few powerful lunatics.”
“Do you mind telling me exactly what it's about?” I ask.
She lets go of my arms and takes a step back.
“There were lots of different forms,” she says cautiously. “Project Atherius was an umbrella term for various attempts to provide a safety net in the event of global disaster. The richest, most powerful people in the world started working together to find a way to make sure that, whatever else happened, they'd survive. Their motto was that everyone else could go get screwed, but that they'd do anything necessary to guarantee their own survival. I only heard about the whole thing sporadically, just a few times over the years, but I'm pretty sure that many billions of dollars were poured into the thing. Trillions, even. And now, with the human race teetering on the brink of extinction, maybe all that money has left a few powerful idiots with something they think they can use.”
“A steam train?” I reply, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Or something that they need to reach,” she suggests. “And quickly, too. Suddenly all the petty squabbling about Boston seems rather foolish, doesn't it? The real prize must be somewhere else, but what is it? Some kind of gated community? But where? And how is it protected from everything else that's happening?”
I wait for her to continue, but she once again seems lost in thought, and it's clear that the discovery of this train – and its connection to Project Atherius – has captured her full attention.
“So does it matter?” I ask.
She turns to me.
“I mean,” I continue, “if a bunch of rich people want to go and live somewhere, why would anyone want to stop them? Rich people have always done that anyway.”
“Wouldn't you want to be one of those rich people, Thomas?”
“I guess, but I don't need to be.”
“You're content to just die with the rest of the rabble?”
“Why would that happen?” I ask.
“Because everyone's going to die,” she says, sounding exasperated now. “You're not clinging to the hope that we're all going to be saved, are you?”
“The message on the phone was -”
“That was probably some automated shit that somehow broke through,” she continues. “It doesn't mean the cavalry's going to come charging in and start putting everything right. The world's collapsing, Thomas, and things are only going to get worse. All we're doing now is squabbling over what order we all die in. And people like Charles Bloom, whoever he is, know that. That's why they're getting ready to leave this festering city behind and try to get into Project Atherius while they still can. It's a place, Thomas. Maybe a city, or just a town, but it's a place where the last survivors of humanity are going to try to survive. And if you've got any interest in staying alive, you need to get there too.”
“Me?” I ask. “How would I even begin to do that?”
“I think a good start,” she replies, “would be to make sure you're on that train when it sets off for wherever it's going.”
Elizabeth
“What?”
Suddenly opening my eyes, I sit up and find that I'm in a darkened room. Startled, I look around, and I quickly spot a human figure silhouetted against a distant window.
The figure turns.
“Ah, you're awake,” a man's voice says, and the figure starts limping toward me.
I look around for something I can use as a weapon, but the room seems mostly bare. Struggling to get up off the floor, I take a moment to steady myself against the wall and then I start trying to figure out where to find the nearest door.
“It's okay,” the man says as he comes closer, “you're safe. Well, as safe as anyone in this city right now. You're certainly a lot safer then you would have been if I'd left you out there on the street. There's not exactly less rape and murder than there used to be.”
“Who are you?” I stammer.
“Oh come on, don't be like that.” He comes even closer, and now I can just about make out a pale, scarred face smiling at me. “I quite possibly saved your life. You're welcome, by the way. And I don't know your name, but you can know mine. Call me Ringcroft.”
Staring at him, I can't help wondering whether he's another hallucination. Then again, if he is, how did I get here? Wherever here is, at least.
“I know,” he continues, “my face isn't exactly reassuring. Believe it or not, I used to be a very handsome man, before all of this shit happened. And obviously my name isn't really Ringcroft, my name's Kevin, but Ringcroft was the name I used online and, well, I figure no-one gives a shit anymore. Kevin doesn't sound very post-apocalyptic, does it? Whereas Ringcroft has a certain edge to it.”
He reaches out to shake my hand.
“And what's your name?” he asks. “Or, at least, what would you like me to call you?”
Still staring at him, I can't shake the feeling that there's something seriously wrong with this guy.
“It's okay,” he says with a sigh, “I wouldn't want to touch my hand either. There's not exactly a lot of soap and water around these days. Hand-shaking is probably a major route for disease transmission. You were wise not to accept that offer, and I should be careful to not go around touching people so much.” He pauses. “If you'd like, I can carry you right back outside and put you where I found you. You should know, however, that two women have been killed in this area in the past week alone. No-one even goes after their killers, either. There'll be more, that's for sure.”
“I...”
I swallow hard.
“Where am I?” I ask finally.
“Do you remember collapsing?”
“I... think so,” I say cautiously.
“I almost didn't want to pick you up,” he replies. “I wondered why you'd collapsed, whether maybe you were sick. I risked my health by carrying you to safety, and I think I wouldn't mind a little recognition of that fact. But, hey, I'm not going to get funny about it, so by all means continue on your way. Just try not to collapse again.”
He turns and starts shuffling over toward a door on the far side of the room.
“I'm sorry,” I say after a moment. “Thank you for bringing me inside. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, I just wasn't quite sure how I ended up here.”
“It's fine,” he replies, still walking away. “I try to help people when I can. There's not really much else to do around here.”
“I'm looking for my father,” I tell him. When he doesn't reply, I hurry after him, hoping that maybe he's heard something. “I'm looking for my father,” I say again as I get closer, “his name's John Marter and -”
“From the Council?”
“You've heard of him?”
“I keep my ear to the ground,” he replies, still not turning to me. “Marter was high up, wasn't he? Before the battle, I mean.”
“Were you here before the battle?”
“I've lived in Boston my whole life,” he says, stopping at the door and reaching for the handle. “One hundred and seventeen days ago, I was a software engineer and my life was vaguely okay. One hundred and sixteen days ago, the world turned to crap.” He pauses, and then he turns to me and I see – for the first time – the full extent of his scarring. “Ninety-eight days ago, I tried to save a man who was burning to death. I failed, and I almost died in the process.”
“I'm sorry,” I stammer, horrified by the blistered flesh around his left eye socket. “It's... not that bad.”
“Of course it is,” he replies, with a faint smile, “but thank you for trying to make me feel better. And to be honest, I don't hide anymore.”
With that, he pulls the door open, and I'm momentarily blinded by the bright light that floods into the room. Once my eyes are accustomed to the brightness, however, I follow this Ringcroft guy out into a street that I've never seen before, and I take a moment to steady myself against the door-frame as I feel a flicker of pain in the stump that marks the point where my right foot was cut away.
“Most of the Council fled during the final hours of the battle,” Ringcroft says.
I turn to him.
“Were you here?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Are you one of the invaders?” he continues. “It's okay, I won't get funny about it. I know how things are.”
“I came here a few weeks ago,” I tell him, “but then my father tricked me into leaving just before the battle. It's a long story, but he wanted to protect me. I didn't get far before I realized what he'd done.”
“And now you've come back to find him?”
“Have you heard anything at all?”
“I know there are no prisoners,” he replies. “At least, that's what they're saying. There are rumors that the Council fractured right at the end. Some of the members stayed to fight, some fled. Some escaped, some were caught. The ones who were caught...”
His voice trails off.
“What happened to them?” I ask, feeling a growing sense of dread in my heart.
“I don't know if you want to find out.”
“What happened to them?” I ask again.
“Well, I didn't see it,” he replies, “but my understanding is that while most Boston fighters were allowed to live, a few captured leaders were executed in one of the main squares. Some people went to witness it, but not me. I don't like to see that kind of thing. I heard the shots, though. They were -”
“Where?” I ask.
“I don't -”
“What square?” I ask again, clenching my fists in an attempt to keep the tears from my eyes. “Where are the bodies?”
“I have no -”
“Someone must know!” I say firmly, before taking a step back. “But you said that some of them escaped, right? Some members of the Council got away.”
“They ran.”
“My father wouldn't run.”
“I believe you,” he replies, “but if he didn't run, then...”
Again, his voice trails off.
“I know you might be right,” I say, still struggling to keep from crying, “but I won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes. So please, take me to the square. Take me to someone who knows exactly what happened on that day.”
“I can take you,” he says, “but first there's something else that you should know. The people who were executed that day... From what I've heard, their bodies were used to make a statement. The corpses are still on display.”
Thomas
“Hey there, good looking,” Carter says as a soldier wanders past us. “Up to anything interesting?”
Stopping, with his gun slung over his shoulder, the soldier stares at us.
“Don't mind me,” Carter continues, “I'm just wondering if I can find someone who's up for a good time. I mean, we all still have certain basic urges, don't we? Even in troubling times.”
The soldier stares at her for a moment, then looks at me, then turns
and walks away.
“Come back if you change your mind!” Carter calls after him.
“Seriously?” I say once the soldier is gone. “That was your best attempt to get some information out of someone?”
“I'll just keep trying until one of them falls for my charms.”
“You might be a genius at some things,” I reply, “but you are not good at any of this. No soldier is going to get seduced into giving out information, no matter how hard you try. You're just never going to get what you're after, not this way.”
“Fine,” she replies, “I'll try not to take offense. And I suppose you have a better idea?”
Sighing, I look back around the corner and see that there are still lots of soldiers guarding the station. It's been about an hour since Charles Bloom went in there, and if anything there seem to be even more soldiers now. I can't even begin to count them, but there must be at least fifty of them milling around. I watch them for a moment, wondering whether there's any chance that we could slip through undetected, but I quickly realize that we don't have a hope. And then, just as I'm about to give up hope, I see that one of the soldiers has a familiar face.
“What the...”
I pause for a moment, before stepping away from the corner.
“Where are you going?” Carter hisses.
“Wait there,” I say, as I make my way toward the station. “I have a plan.”
***
“I can't believe I found you!” I say to Toad as he leads me away from the station. “What are the odds?”
“Most of the city's been abandoned,” he replies, stopping and turning to me once we're around the next corner. “There are only a few thousand people left, at most. It's not that unlikely, but... What are you doing here, Thomas? After the battle, I just assumed...”
His voice trails off.