The keys were slippery with my mother's blood, and I almost dropped them as I contorted my fingers to unlock the handcuffs. My brain was largely numb by this point. Too much horror and insanity had flowed over it in the last week, smoothing out the ridges and contours of order and sanity that had been landmarks in my mind. All that was left was a base drive to survive. That, and the quiet complaining whisper that it was too late, everything was ruined and it was better to just give up now.
I ignored that voice. It was my father’s voice, the way he’d sounded the last time I saw him in the hospital. I’d been young, but I’d known it was the last time I’d talk to him. In some ways I’d understood why he was ready to go, but it hadn’t kept me from hating him a little. Hating the weakness in him. In me.
I stood up from the table on shaky legs and kept my eyes lifted as I stepped past my mother’s body. Now wasn’t the time to try and figure any of this out. I needed to escape if I could, and the next step was trying the second key.
The door opened easily, and when I looked out, I saw that I was in some sort of trailer. The hall and central rooms were empty, and through a nearby window I could lush green trees and tall grass stretching up and over a hill. None if it looked familiar, but my more immediate concerns were the three black cars parked out front.
Why were they just sitting and…
I stumbled as pain flared across my head and chest briefly, gone so quickly that I questioned if I’d felt it at all. Gritting my teeth, I made a decision. I was going to go out and confront them. Make them give me answers or go ahead and kill me. Either way, I was done with this crazy bullshit.
I flung open the door and caught it as it bounced back. Squinting against the sunlight, I braced for yelling or fists or gunshots. Instead, there was only the sound of car engines running and a distant animal cry that I didn’t recognize. I jumped past the folding metal steps going down and headed toward the nearest vehicle, only slowing when the tinted window scrolled down and I saw the doctor who’d been questioning me in the driver’s seat.
“You want the car over there, Mr. Jacobs.”
I stopped up short. “What? What the fuck are you talking about? My m…my mother just killed herself in front of me. What is this? What is going on?”
He took a sip from an aluminum soda can before waving it in a small circle. “Yes, yes. It’s all very strange and confusing. You’re the victim of forces you can’t understand or control. Blah blah blah. I’m sure this is all very interesting to you, but it isn’t to me. So go get in that car and drive away. Run while you can.”
I took a couple of steps forward and I saw the man’s drink had been replaced by a small pistol. Stopping again, I shook my head. “Just tell me why. Why me? And how are you able to do all this? Control people? My own fucking mom?”
The doctor shot me a sour look. “You’re making a mistake. You think all this weird shit means you’re special. That you’re entitled to answers. That you can demand satisfaction.” He coughed into his hand and studied it for a moment before looking up at me with fresh anger. “They sent me over because they think you’re a candidate.” He held up his hand and I could see a reddish black stain on his palm. “But the way we do it…it’s not so easy on the body. And the longer I’m here, the worse it will get. So you need to decide. Are you going to go get in the car and drive away, or am I going to empty this gun into you right fucking now?”
I felt another flash of pain across my chest and stomach, doubling me over with a gasp. I held up my hand as the pain passed, forcing the words out as I lurched toward the car he’d pointed out. “I’m going. I’m going.”
The doctor smirked. “Good call. You’ve got a two minute head start. Better make the most of it.”
I froze. “Head start? Before what?”
The man gestured with his gun toward the third car. “Before they come to kill you. Buckle up and drive fast.”
I was driving less than three minutes when I saw the other car approaching in my rearview mirror. I had found some kind of dirt access road, and I was driving on it as fast as I could and not wreck, but they were still catching up quickly. I looked around again for signs or some other indication of where I was or where I could go for help. So far there had been nothing—no buildings, no other cars or people. But there was a paved road up ahead, and just before it, a small white road sign with an arrow pointing right.
Glancing in the mirror, I saw they were less than fifty yards back now. I looked again at the approaching sign…what language was that? Russian maybe? And below that, it said “Pripyat 5km”.
What the fuck?
The steering wheel jumped in my hands as I was struck from behind. I gripped it tighter and steered into the blow as I pumped the gas and made a wide turn onto the paved road. Turning around to look, I saw that…
I shuddered as a wave of pain flashed through my left arm and both legs. I managed to stay on the road, but just barely, and the loss of speed cost me the little lead I’d gained. They were coming again, and they’d reach me before I got to whatever town this was up ahead.
But dim hope stirred in my chest as I saw the first silhouettes of buildings in the distance. Maybe I would make it after all. I glanced back in time to see them barreling toward me, a man hanging out of the back left window with a gun of some kind. Why the fuck did they turn me loose just to try and kill me? Is this all just some sick fucking joke to them?
No. I needed to stay calm. Think slow and act fast. They want me angry and scared. They want me to run. I had to stop giving them what they wanted.
So I stopped.
Slamming down on the brakes while popping the parking brake sent the car skidding a little, but I held it straight enough that when they slammed into the back, they hit head on. New pain flashed across my chest, but this time it was from the seatbelt cutting into me from the impact. It hurt, but looking in my sideview mirror, I could see I hadn’t gotten the worst of it. The gunman had been ejected and flung against some nearby trees like a ragdoll, and as I opened the door, I heard a wail of pain from somewhere in the car behind me.
I had the vague worry that I might be shot or run over as I walked away from the accident, but it was just that small, whispering voice again. Telling me that it was over. That it was okay to quit. It was the same breathy, tired voice that had once told me that I was the man of the house now. That I had to take care of my mom and Rocket. That I had to be strong.
I had to be strong while he gave up.
Wiping at my face with the back of my hand, I limped forward. I kept hoping for a car or some people, but there was no one. It was strange. Things weren’t dirty and didn’t look abandoned, not exactly, but as I entered the town I could tell that the buildings were old and hadn’t been lived in for years. I had two more shivers of ghost pain, but they faded fast, and I found I was growing used to them, strange as that seemed.
I considered exploring the buildings, searching for a phone or something, but instead I kept to the main road, followed it through town and to the woods on the other side. This road was better maintained, and I had already seen signs that let me know where I was headed. Chernobyl Nuclear Plant. There would be someone there, even if it was just a guard to keep tourists at bay.
My stomach lurched as I saw another black car rolling out from between the trees to my left. This would just never end, would it? I had died and gone to Hell or something. That was the only thing that made sense. This was all just endless insane punishment for something that I had done that I couldn’t rem…My phone, my real phone, buzzed in my left pocket. I had forgotten I even had it until then.
Cursing my own stupidity, I dug it out, intent on calling someone, anyone, for help before they took me again. I froze when I saw I had a new text notification.
Delivery complete.
I looked back up to see a young woman approaching me. She met my eyes without smiling and stuck out a small brown envelope. When I took it, she returned to the car and sat watching me.
I wanted to throw it away. Refuse to open it. But I was so tired and used up. Too tired to fight or rebel any longer. I just needed answers or for it to end. So I tore open the envelope and found a small digital recorder inside. When I hit play, a deep voice crackled out from its small speaker.
“Hello there. I know you have been through a lot. Lost a lot. And no doubt, you want answers. You want this over with. You want your life back, right?”
After a pause as though the recording expected a response, the voice continued. “Well, the good news is that if you are hearing this, you are special. And because you’re special, I’m willing to give you everything you want. Answers. Peace. Your happy, normal life back. How does that sound?”
Another pause, and then. “Crazy, right? I know, I know. But I assure you it’s true as well. All you need to do is go with the nice lady in the car. She’ll drive you to a place nearby that’s…well, it’s special too. You do what they tell you when they tell you to, and you’ll get sent to me. The keys are doing what they say and being willing to do them. For our methods to work, you have to be willing, understand?”
“And you may be asking yourself, what if I don’t want to go with the strange lady? What if I want to run or fight?”
“I say to you that those are fair and reasonable responses. Unfortunately, unlike the scenarios you’ve faced in the last few days, this one doesn’t have branching paths or built-in chances for your continued survival. There are currently two snipers trained on your position. If you do anything other than go and get into that car, your time in this little experiment…and your time on this planet…will be at an end. As will all things, the choice is yours. Hope to see you soon.”
I had started looking around as I listened to the recording, trying to see if I saw the glint of glass or metal from a nearby shadow, but of course I saw none. I didn’t doubt what the voice said anyway. After all I had seen, a couple of marksman ready to kill me seemed almost mundane. Clutching the recorder, I walked to the car and got in.
“Do you know what the date is?”
“Um, not really. July 22nd maybe? I’ve been drugged and chased and then they put me in that thing and well…I don’t know what I know any more.”
The woman frowned at me. “That’s the point of these initial assessment questions. Travel via the Bowl can lead to disorientation and confusion, even dementia. We need to see how well you’re able to function before starting any orientation.”
I shrugged. “Okay. July 22nd. Maybe.”
“Very well. Mother’s name?”
I felt anger flare up in my chest. “You fucking know her name. You fucking murdered her…or caused her to murder herself or…” I felt tears burning in my eyes. “You know what you fucking did, even if I don’t.”
“Sir, I had nothing to do with the death of your mother. Please tell me her name if you remember.”
“Theresa, ok? Theresa Jacobs.”
“Good. And your father?”
“Freddy Calhoun.”
The woman raised her eyebrow. “But you go by Jacobs?”
I nodded. “My stepfather’s name. He adopted me when I was ten. My dad was already dead by then.”
She nodded. “I see. Name the first American president.”
“John Hancock.”
A pause before nodding and holding up three fingers. “Okay. How many fingers?”
“Three. Look, I’m fine. Just tell me what…”
“Sir, we’re almost finished. Count backwards from ten please.”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”
“Good. Have you had any strange mental lapses in the last few weeks or months?”
“Mental lapses?”
“Yes. Blackouts. Amnesia. Inability to recall how to do a particular task or specific words. Anything like that?”
I frowned. “Um…no. Wait, I thought this was just checking if I was okay from whatever that big bowl thing was…”
The woman sniffed. “This is an initial assessment of all relevant matters. Have you had any strange sensations in the past few weeks or months? Unexplained tingling or hallucinations or phantom pains?”
Leaning forward in my chair, I resisted the urge to grab her. I was unrestrained for the moment, but the austere and vaguely medical feel of the plain room we were in gave me the impression that restraints were available if I decided to act out. Gripping my hands together tightly, I tried to sound calm. “Yes. I’ve had weird unexplained pains. It started yesterday. Before you people put me in the Bowl.”
She nodded. “I see. What is your name?”
I clenched my hands tighter. “Lady, I’m not fucking crazy. I just want answers or for this to stop. Something. Not this bullshit.”
Her expression didn’t change as she waited.
“Fuck. My name is Wally. Wallace Thomas Jacobs. Or Wallace Thomas Calhoun. You pick.”
Making a final note on her chart, the woman stood and headed for the door. “Thank you for your cooperation. Someone will be with you shortly.”
It was another hour before the door reopened and a tall, solemn-looking man entered the room. He brought in a tray with cups of what looked like coffee and a plate piled up with doughnuts. Offering me a wan smile, he sat them down on the nearby table.
“Sorry, I know you must be hungry, but this is all I could scrounge up for the moment. We’ll have you a proper meal soon though.”
I shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry. I just want to know what the fuck is going on. I keep seeing this parade of people and no one tells me anything.” That’s when something struck me. “Wait, you’re the guy on the recording, aren’t you? The one that threatened to have my head blown off if I ran?”
The man’s smile widened as he looked at me. “Guilty as charged. But please don’t hold it against me. I was just giving you a little push toward making the right choice, which you did. But rest assured, those theatrics aside, I’m very honest and easy to get along with, and I think in time you’ll find we have a lot to offer each other.”
I went to say something sarcastic, but the man had stepped closer and was holding out his hand. “But I’m being rude. Coming in and running my mouth without even introducing myself.” I put out my hand uncertainly and the man gripped it tightly, his skin cool and faintly greasy to the touch.
“You can call me Mr. Solomon.”
---
Credits
Comments