Kelson
02-14-2013, 05:35 AM
This was/is my first shot at a story over 1000 words. I've been assured that it's still a short story, sitting at just over 4000 words, but if many of you find it too long I apologise ^^
Any feedback would be wonderful, as I find it near impossible to critique my own work - for obvious reasons :D
Many thanks!
Kelson
Falling Out of Time
It was dark, down here beneath the city. This is where he kept coming, this incubator of endless stifling concrete pipelines, scratched by the clawed digits of vines and weeds that crept up out of the foetid and brackish water through which he splashed. The smack as each footstep hit the surface reverberated through the tunnels, echoing insanely from left to right like an alarm. A thick scum of rotting vegetation and milky metallic liquid sat stagnant upon the surface, unmoving, bucking gently up and down as the ripples of his disturbance collided with them.
Every hundred feet, he would cross into a coruscating disc of cold white sunlight, filtered down through tapering vents that punctured the charred earth like the openings of an insects’ hive. He tore his gaze away from the sunshine, moving resolutely forwards and deeper into the labyrinthine sewers. A yellow and black sign, chipped and rusted, was stapled to the wall up ahead of him. An arrow pointed down, and he felt himself drawn inexplicably towards the obsidian mouth of a round hole drilled through a raised stone slab. The dank water lapped hungrily about the edge of the stone overflow, not yet high enough to spill in.
Cautiously he leaned over, peering down into the inky blackness below. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. As he put his weight on it, there was a sharp crack, echoing like a gunshot in the confined space as the rung snapped and he fell. The warm yellow beam of his head lamp flickered spasmodically, running haphazardly over the stained concrete walls of the chute. They began to warm impossibly, contracting and expanding, moving back and forth as though disassembling themselves. Then they disappeared completely, replaced by a blanket of brilliant stars that filled his vision. He felt like he was floating. Below him, a ship hung in the orbit of a blue planet, its nuclear engines cold and silent. Its curved bridge gleamed dully like a carapace, spine-like masts and antennae thrusting out into space. As he watched, it became larger and larger, filling his vision. He struggled hopelessly, trying with desperate clinging fingers to grasp hold of the immaterial atmosphere through which he was spinning. He heard a scream, filled with terror and pain, and as he hit the surface of the ship there was a blinding flash followed by the beauty of nothingness.
∞ ∞ ∞
X lay motionless for a long time on the thick carpet of his floor, listening to his own harsh and ragged breathing as he tried thoughtfully to regulate it. His fingers were tightened around the edge of the rug, as though clinging onto reality, and he buried his face in the warm familiarity that it offered.
Finally he raised his head enough to glance at the clock projection on the far wall. 02:47. He closed his eyes again and rolled over, laying a hand on his chest to feel the reassuring rise and fall of life. Using the bed, he pulled himself slowly to his feet, brushing a thread off his jersey with a small fake laugh.
Then he sat back down, and did not sleep again before morning.
As the dying sun reached its apex, X stood by the window and gazed out at the metal and concrete towers that stretched into the steely grey sky. Below them, a lake of black water sat against the foundations, slowly eroding the inhabitant’s last refuge. The population of the world crouched in the shadows of these buildings, or roamed about the ruined planet, hiding in oxygen masks and biochemical suits from the apocalyptic result of nuclear warfare.
The sun lingered over the horizon for what seemed like an eternity, a halo of phosphorescence sending little shots of brilliant light streaking across grey walls and into dingy shadow-cloaked corners. Then it slipped out of sight and everything became grey. All that remained was a ruddy pink ring of light reflecting off the snow in the far distance. X began to see little black spots wherever he looked. His eyes ached, and his lips were dry. Slowly he sat back onto the plastic white mattress that filled most of the cubicle, resting his head and letting himself go limp as the room began to spin with the rising sense of nausea in his throat. Carefully he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of sky-blue pills which he cracked open.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory tried to push itself into his vision and he grasped hold of it, dragging it to the forefront of his muted consciousness. He was lying down, on his back. How long he had been here he didn’t know. A long time. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles: they were to stop him hurting himself. A bright white light, hanging above him: he stared into it, unable to move his head. Somewhere somebody was talking in a low voice, muffled and difficult to make out. He could feel nothing, just a numbness cloaking his whole body. His mouth was stuck closed, and he couldn’t open it. As a shadow fell across his face, he tried to focus his vision on the man leaning over him.
∞ ∞ ∞
The doctor’s bionic eye zoomed in on the man’s face where he lay, plugged through his chest into a breathing pump. The eyes were glassy, coated with a thin film of mucus. They were fixed staring straight ahead. The doctor didn’t know if he could see or not, didn’t know if he could hear, didn’t know if he could feel. A holographic data sheet hung behind the man’s head, giving the status of all the pieces of machinery and organic components that were keeping him alive and the doctor glanced over this before straightening up and turning to the dull eyed visitor standing beside him.
“I don’t know how much of a man he still is, sir.”
“You know your job. It’s been a year. He hasn’t recovered, so it’s your duty to switch him off. I don’t like it any more than you. But space is precious now.”
The doctor stayed silent, watching the man’s chest rise and fall rhythmically.
“I’ll send some of my people here later. To clear it up.” The visitor extended a black-gloved hand. “Many thanks for your time.”
The doctor sighed, took the hand, and shook.
“Consider it done.”
The door closed quietly behind the black figure, and the doctor slowly made his way over to the gently flashing control board. Then he powered everything down to zero and left the room.
X lay in the dark of his room. In his mind, he heard the hissing intake of air on the artificial lungs slowly fade into silence. The familiar beeping waned and was replaced by nothing. With a quiet click, the lamp above his head cut out, to be replaced by a dull incandescent afterglow that soon dwindled into utter darkness. He couldn’t breathe. A drape of dull blackness folded over his eyes. He felt he should be frightened, but he couldn’t remember how. He couldn’t remember anything. In his clenched fist he held the shattered remains of the small bottle, the pills scattered about the floor. His reality blurred, and he collapsed.
∞ ∞ ∞
It was dark, dark and cold, down here beneath the old city. This is where he kept coming, every night, this incubator of endless stifling concrete pipelines, scratched by the clawed digits of vines and weeds that crept up out of the foetid poisoned water through which he splashed.
He tore his gaze away from the sunshine, moving resolutely forwards and deeper into the labyrinthine sewers.
Cautiously he leaned over, peering down into the inky blackness below. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. Making contact with the rugged sole of his boot, he began slowly to descend into the dark.
Below him, gaseous nebulising clouds swirled about in the incandescent beam of the head lamp, and he squinted to see further down where the feeble torchlight could not penetrate. He focussed on what lay below him, climbing through the acrid metallic smoke. It grated against the back of his throat, contracting it, clinging to his lungs like a coating of molten lead.
There was a sharp crack, echoing like a gunshot in the confined space as a weakened rung snapped and he fell. The walls disappeared completely, and he was hanging like a fly against the ponderous backdrop of space. Below him, the ship sat in orbit of the blue planet, closer now than before. He struggled hopelessly, and as he hit the surface of the ship there was a scream, a blinding flash, and silence.
∞ ∞ ∞
X clawed his way exhaustedly to the window. Sweat dripped down his forehead, into his eyes, and off his nose. His arms and legs ached, the throbbing repetitive pain of overuse. His mouth was dry, the tongue clinging grimly to its parched roof. Climbing to his feet, he rested on the sill, deeply inhaling the recycled air being sprayed from ducts above the lintel. Raising his head, he looked out as his rapid breathing began to slow. The five misshapen towers reached like the mutilated fingers of a hand into the atmosphere.
The throbbing in his limbs transferred to his head, a pounding pain that centred behind his eyes, shifting up to his temple, as though his skull was contracting. Gasping for breath he fell back, one hand twisted into his hair, the other scrabbling blindly over the carpet and smooth plastic floor for the pills.
Placing them carefully in his mouth with a shaking hand, he collapsed heavily, sprawled out like a corpse by his bed.
∞ ∞ ∞
In the back of his mind a memory tried to push itself into his vision: a white-walled room, windowless. It was fitted only with a door and a pair of chairs, placed either side of a desk, screwed securely into cold concrete floor with steel brackets. It looked like the office of a prison psychologist. A slight creak caused him to swing around in his chair, the door swinging open slowly. The cold light of the room flooded out into the darkened passage, illuminating the dull-eyed man standing there silently. There was a minute’s silence, the breathing of the two men sounding like a carefully measured heartbeat.
“X.” The voice was careful, sickly welcoming: yet tinged with irritation. “I didn’t expect to see you here again.” He stepped into the room, the studded heels of his shoes clacking dully in the tepid air. Sitting down, he pulled out an engraved metal case, placing a stubby cigarette between his thin lips. As the man cupped his hands, X heard the soft click of a lighter.
“Y.” X’s voice was cautious; unsure. He was treading carefully.
Y inhaled deeply, blowing a diffuse film of vapour from his nose.
Then he smiled thinly, his face twisting unnaturally, ignoring X’s words. As he spoke, a slight wisp of smoke trickled from the corner of his mouth “At least, not so soon.” He leaned forwards over the metal table, dead grey eyes fixed straight ahead. “Let’s be realistic.” Bony fingers tapped the cigarette’s butt on the table, leaving a small pile of ash, and a scorch mark that joined the numerous others. “You should be dead.”
X frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The throbbing pain slammed into his head like a brick wall, causing him curl up, feeling physically sick. He drifted in and out of sleep and wakefulness, the room spinning kaleidoscopically. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, blindingly bright, unbearably hot.
∞ ∞ ∞
It was dark and cold down here beneath the old city. Vines and weeds crept up out of the foetid poisoned water through which he splashed. He tore his gaze away from the sunshine. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. He began slowly to descend into the dark.
For a long time he climbed down in silence. A lukewarm breeze flitted in eddies about the confines of the borehole, carrying the metallic air in ever descending spirals. Finally, his foot touched solid stone, and he stepped down onto a small stepped plinth. He was in a tight passageway, its sides cut straight from the rugged stone. It was floored with duckboards and strips of dull metal, set over a surface of damp packed earth. Glancing up, his lamp illuminated rusted and discoloured halogen bulbs from a previous era, fixed on thick black wires that ran off into the dark. A thin wire mesh covered every inch of the stone wall, bolted securely to the surface, holding back cracked lumps of stone and bits of debris. Tentatively, he edged his way along the channel, making a pause every few steps to watch for movement. Occasionally small bits of rock and dust would seep out from between the mesh, skittering over the makeshift floor into the shadows.
Ahead, the shape of a door became distinguishable against the pressing gloom. A heavy wheel sat in the centre, and as he approached he reached out an arm and took hold if it. It was tarnished, layers of reddened metal chipping and flaking away, and as he tried to turn it, it groaned loudly. Four times he spun it before the door slipped open slightly. A breath of pure and fresh air fluttered out, and he inhaled deeply, breathing easily for the first time since his descent had begun. Stepping forwards resolutely, he extended both his arms and vigorously pushed open the heavy door.
∞ ∞ ∞
He was standing on the pinnacle of one of the great towers. A screeching wind filled with fine metal dust grated over his body, lacerating skin and clothing alike. It coated him with the speckled red mist of his own blood, which ran in scarlet rivulets along the corrugated roof. He teetered on the edge, looking down. The ground was obscured by the raging wind which grasped at the smoke of the city’s furnaces, catching it up in tornado-like funnels.
X turned around, glancing up towards the darkened sky. Above him hung the ship, sitting low in the atmosphere; a predator observing its prey. He stepped back quickly, crouching down protectively. His foot caught against the edge of the roof and he slipped backwards into the seething abyss, twisting in the air. A piercing scream rent the turbulence, cutting into his head, before silence enveloped everything and the world went black.
He awoke to find a man watching him carefully. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position, eying the stranger suspiciously. Then he carefully pulled himself to his feet, swaying gently from side to side: his vision focussed and unfocussed alternately, scoping in on the strangers face, before sliding crazily about the room. He felt dizzy and sick. His head hurt, and when he put a hand to his mouth it came away streaked red. He tried to take a step forwards, and saw the stranger lunge towards him, as he fell heavily to the floor.
∞ ∞ ∞
Everything was black. He could hear muffled voices about him, the voices of people: but he couldn’t see. He thought he heard his name, but the sound was caught up and cast aside by the flurry of murmuring whispers. There was a sudden pain in his neck, and he tried to react by extending a hand to touch it. He couldn’t move. Almost instantaneously, the voices began to blur even more, until they became indistinguishable from the hurried patter of his racing heart.
His name; who was shouting his name? It was not a pleasant voice, grating roughly and filled with anger. He was in a tight passageway cut straight from the rugged stone. It was floored with fresh duckboards and strips of bright metal; ahead of him on the threshold, illuminated as a dark shadow against a hectic backdrop of blue and white strobe light, stood a man. The heavy door was held open against the wall by a thick chain, bolted securely into the rock. The man’s arm gestured for him to approach, moving in slow motion, as he heard the voice again. “Soldier!”
X looked down. In his arms, he held a stubby carbine rifle. Behind him the passage was filled with people of all ages, pushing to move past, held back only by a handful of armoured men. A few of the mob held weapons, and as he watched, one of the soldiers fell back clutching his face and screaming. Slowly X backed along the corridor towards the door, keeping his rifle raised. The soldiers fell back in waves like a firing line, battering with steel rods and heavy riot shields at the oncoming rush of men. More of his unit fell beneath the trampling crowd, and he heard the echo of large-bore shotguns echoing in the confines of the tunnel. As he reached the door, he pulled his stick from his chest rig, resting it over his shoulder as he screamed at the soldiers and gestured wildly for them to move faster. Then he unclipped and armed a pair of chemical grenades, filled with nerve gas, lobbing them over his line of defence into the roaring crowd. At his call they turned as one and began running to safety, throwing their shields into the rabble. A blinding white flash lit up the passage, followed quickly by another, and black smoke rose up from the ground to envelop everything.
X read their names off their helmets as each man passed him, appearing out of the swirling haze one by one, heads down. The sound of the crowd had abated, and there was a deathly silence punctuated only by the distant clamour of the refugees already inside the bunker. Quickly he stretched out an arm and grabbed the last soldier, spinning him around and shouting into his face. “Where is he! Wasn’t he with you?” His voice was muffled inside the stifling gas mask, echoing back and forth in his head. The man shook his head slowly, pointing back down the tunnel into darkness’ obscurity.
“Soldier!” X span around, taking a step towards the captain. “Move faster and blow the charge. Get that door closed!” The words rang in his ears as he shook his head, drawing a finger across his neck with a cutting motion.
“The colour sergeant has the detonator, Sir.” The captain’s eyes narrowed as he snarled in response. “Then get him to move it along.”
“I can’t.”
“Why.”
“He’s dead, back there.”
“Then do it another way.”
“It was made to be blown with charges. It can’t be done any other way.”
The captain threw his head back, shouting angrily into the air. Turning quickly to one of the soldiers, he roughly pulled him forwards. “You! Get back out there, and find the detonator.” As he stepped past, the captain whispered in his ear. “When you find it, blow it. There’s no time to get back.” The man reacted violently, head-butting the captain forcefully in the face. There was a wet crunch as his helmet made contact, and the soldier stepped back as he fumbled for his rifle. Crimson blood flecked his armoured vest. There was a moment of silence before the sound of a single gunshot reverberated about the tunnel.
Slowly the captain pushed himself to his feet, a revolver clutched tightly in his trembling hand. He was a mess, the nose snapped backwards. One eye was forced back into its socket, covered with blood that ran down his face to mix with that from his ruined nose. Slowly he raised the weapon, pushing the stubby barrel up against the next man’s ear. He stepped closer to him, tilting his head up slightly. “Your chance. Go and get it.” As he spoke blood dribbled from his mouth, and he bent over to spit out some teeth onto the hard concrete floor.
Beside him, the man he had shot dropped to his knees, hands closed over his neck. Crimson fluid spurted from between his fingers, soaking the coarse black uniform and pooling on the floor like spilled paint. As they watched he fell forwards, collapsing onto his side, eyes wide and staring.
The captain prodded the soldier with the revolver. “I’m going to count to five.”
X stepped forwards behind him, raising butt of his rifle before hammering it into the side of the officer’s head with a sharp crack.
“I’ll find it. You stay here.”
Carefully he made his way back from where they had come, stepping out into the lingering chemical smoke from his grenades. Behind him, the klaxon continued to sound, louder than before. He didn’t have much time. Sporadic figures appeared in the haze, and he fired a couple of random rounds in their direction to warn them off. He struggled to find his footing on the piles of bodies that lay beneath his feet, clambering and edging his way forwards. Ahead he saw the gleaming ladder up to the sewers. The chemical gas was being sucked up the hole like water down a spout, and a couple of broken bodies lay at the ladder’s foot.
∞ ∞ ∞
Back in the man’s room, the medical officer stood at the foot of the bed, watching silently as his patient sweated and squirmed, tossing and turning spasmodically beneath the restraints.
‘Get the doctor in here’, he murmured to his aide. ‘He’s going into some kind of subconscious shock.
∞ ∞ ∞
The man stepped up out of the ladder’s well, pulling himself onto the large stone slab which it pierced. Above him, a yellow and black sign was stapled to the wall, an arrow pointing down. He began to run, breathing carefully. The warmth of filtered sunlight from the tapering vents above him flashed and skittered over his carapace of body armour, but he ignored its beauty, pushing his chin down. The bodies of civilians lay scattered through the tunnels, torn and broken by the bullets and lasers of his men, their crimson blood clouding the shallow bed of crystal water.
The slight splash of his footsteps echoed serenely through the tunnels. The calm and quiet jarred confusingly with the images of death on either side. It felt like the quiet before the storm. He stopped short: before him lay the trampled body of the colour sergeant, lying face down in the artificial tributary. The sound of his movement faded into silence, total and overpowering. It was quiet down here, beneath the city, devoid of life and lit only by occasional halogen bulbs.
Reaching down, he plucked the detonator from the cold grip of dead fingers. A few drops of water dripped delicately from the ceiling, pattering on the material of his clothes and skittering off the body. From a long way off, he heard a crash, as though the sky was being torn – a clamour that seemed to get nearer and nearer, growing louder and louder with every passing second. The concrete began to vibrate, dust and mortar trickling out of web-like veins that appeared in the walls.
He grasped the detonator and ran, back the way he had come. Stumbling down the ladder, the steel caps of his boots tapping against the metal rungs, the vibration began forcing its way inside his head, settling behind his eyes. He saw bright white flashed on the edges of his vision, and as he stepped off the ladder he tottered desperately, trying to maintain his balance.
Fifty metres away, the soldiers stood in the gateway, the light from the panic bunker beyond spilling out and casting insane shadows over the dim tunnel.
A small trickle of blood seeped from his nose, running over his chin and dripping onto the rough floor. In one motion, he made eye contact with his men, nodding towards them as he detonated the explosives. The heavy door swung closed with a dull clang as a rush of scalding air rushed down from the sewers above, reeking of a chemical that burned the back of the throat.
∞ ∞ ∞
In his room, the man lay still, curled up on his side. A single tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.
Any feedback would be wonderful, as I find it near impossible to critique my own work - for obvious reasons :D
Many thanks!
Kelson
Falling Out of Time
It was dark, down here beneath the city. This is where he kept coming, this incubator of endless stifling concrete pipelines, scratched by the clawed digits of vines and weeds that crept up out of the foetid and brackish water through which he splashed. The smack as each footstep hit the surface reverberated through the tunnels, echoing insanely from left to right like an alarm. A thick scum of rotting vegetation and milky metallic liquid sat stagnant upon the surface, unmoving, bucking gently up and down as the ripples of his disturbance collided with them.
Every hundred feet, he would cross into a coruscating disc of cold white sunlight, filtered down through tapering vents that punctured the charred earth like the openings of an insects’ hive. He tore his gaze away from the sunshine, moving resolutely forwards and deeper into the labyrinthine sewers. A yellow and black sign, chipped and rusted, was stapled to the wall up ahead of him. An arrow pointed down, and he felt himself drawn inexplicably towards the obsidian mouth of a round hole drilled through a raised stone slab. The dank water lapped hungrily about the edge of the stone overflow, not yet high enough to spill in.
Cautiously he leaned over, peering down into the inky blackness below. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. As he put his weight on it, there was a sharp crack, echoing like a gunshot in the confined space as the rung snapped and he fell. The warm yellow beam of his head lamp flickered spasmodically, running haphazardly over the stained concrete walls of the chute. They began to warm impossibly, contracting and expanding, moving back and forth as though disassembling themselves. Then they disappeared completely, replaced by a blanket of brilliant stars that filled his vision. He felt like he was floating. Below him, a ship hung in the orbit of a blue planet, its nuclear engines cold and silent. Its curved bridge gleamed dully like a carapace, spine-like masts and antennae thrusting out into space. As he watched, it became larger and larger, filling his vision. He struggled hopelessly, trying with desperate clinging fingers to grasp hold of the immaterial atmosphere through which he was spinning. He heard a scream, filled with terror and pain, and as he hit the surface of the ship there was a blinding flash followed by the beauty of nothingness.
∞ ∞ ∞
X lay motionless for a long time on the thick carpet of his floor, listening to his own harsh and ragged breathing as he tried thoughtfully to regulate it. His fingers were tightened around the edge of the rug, as though clinging onto reality, and he buried his face in the warm familiarity that it offered.
Finally he raised his head enough to glance at the clock projection on the far wall. 02:47. He closed his eyes again and rolled over, laying a hand on his chest to feel the reassuring rise and fall of life. Using the bed, he pulled himself slowly to his feet, brushing a thread off his jersey with a small fake laugh.
Then he sat back down, and did not sleep again before morning.
As the dying sun reached its apex, X stood by the window and gazed out at the metal and concrete towers that stretched into the steely grey sky. Below them, a lake of black water sat against the foundations, slowly eroding the inhabitant’s last refuge. The population of the world crouched in the shadows of these buildings, or roamed about the ruined planet, hiding in oxygen masks and biochemical suits from the apocalyptic result of nuclear warfare.
The sun lingered over the horizon for what seemed like an eternity, a halo of phosphorescence sending little shots of brilliant light streaking across grey walls and into dingy shadow-cloaked corners. Then it slipped out of sight and everything became grey. All that remained was a ruddy pink ring of light reflecting off the snow in the far distance. X began to see little black spots wherever he looked. His eyes ached, and his lips were dry. Slowly he sat back onto the plastic white mattress that filled most of the cubicle, resting his head and letting himself go limp as the room began to spin with the rising sense of nausea in his throat. Carefully he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of sky-blue pills which he cracked open.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory tried to push itself into his vision and he grasped hold of it, dragging it to the forefront of his muted consciousness. He was lying down, on his back. How long he had been here he didn’t know. A long time. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles: they were to stop him hurting himself. A bright white light, hanging above him: he stared into it, unable to move his head. Somewhere somebody was talking in a low voice, muffled and difficult to make out. He could feel nothing, just a numbness cloaking his whole body. His mouth was stuck closed, and he couldn’t open it. As a shadow fell across his face, he tried to focus his vision on the man leaning over him.
∞ ∞ ∞
The doctor’s bionic eye zoomed in on the man’s face where he lay, plugged through his chest into a breathing pump. The eyes were glassy, coated with a thin film of mucus. They were fixed staring straight ahead. The doctor didn’t know if he could see or not, didn’t know if he could hear, didn’t know if he could feel. A holographic data sheet hung behind the man’s head, giving the status of all the pieces of machinery and organic components that were keeping him alive and the doctor glanced over this before straightening up and turning to the dull eyed visitor standing beside him.
“I don’t know how much of a man he still is, sir.”
“You know your job. It’s been a year. He hasn’t recovered, so it’s your duty to switch him off. I don’t like it any more than you. But space is precious now.”
The doctor stayed silent, watching the man’s chest rise and fall rhythmically.
“I’ll send some of my people here later. To clear it up.” The visitor extended a black-gloved hand. “Many thanks for your time.”
The doctor sighed, took the hand, and shook.
“Consider it done.”
The door closed quietly behind the black figure, and the doctor slowly made his way over to the gently flashing control board. Then he powered everything down to zero and left the room.
X lay in the dark of his room. In his mind, he heard the hissing intake of air on the artificial lungs slowly fade into silence. The familiar beeping waned and was replaced by nothing. With a quiet click, the lamp above his head cut out, to be replaced by a dull incandescent afterglow that soon dwindled into utter darkness. He couldn’t breathe. A drape of dull blackness folded over his eyes. He felt he should be frightened, but he couldn’t remember how. He couldn’t remember anything. In his clenched fist he held the shattered remains of the small bottle, the pills scattered about the floor. His reality blurred, and he collapsed.
∞ ∞ ∞
It was dark, dark and cold, down here beneath the old city. This is where he kept coming, every night, this incubator of endless stifling concrete pipelines, scratched by the clawed digits of vines and weeds that crept up out of the foetid poisoned water through which he splashed.
He tore his gaze away from the sunshine, moving resolutely forwards and deeper into the labyrinthine sewers.
Cautiously he leaned over, peering down into the inky blackness below. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. Making contact with the rugged sole of his boot, he began slowly to descend into the dark.
Below him, gaseous nebulising clouds swirled about in the incandescent beam of the head lamp, and he squinted to see further down where the feeble torchlight could not penetrate. He focussed on what lay below him, climbing through the acrid metallic smoke. It grated against the back of his throat, contracting it, clinging to his lungs like a coating of molten lead.
There was a sharp crack, echoing like a gunshot in the confined space as a weakened rung snapped and he fell. The walls disappeared completely, and he was hanging like a fly against the ponderous backdrop of space. Below him, the ship sat in orbit of the blue planet, closer now than before. He struggled hopelessly, and as he hit the surface of the ship there was a scream, a blinding flash, and silence.
∞ ∞ ∞
X clawed his way exhaustedly to the window. Sweat dripped down his forehead, into his eyes, and off his nose. His arms and legs ached, the throbbing repetitive pain of overuse. His mouth was dry, the tongue clinging grimly to its parched roof. Climbing to his feet, he rested on the sill, deeply inhaling the recycled air being sprayed from ducts above the lintel. Raising his head, he looked out as his rapid breathing began to slow. The five misshapen towers reached like the mutilated fingers of a hand into the atmosphere.
The throbbing in his limbs transferred to his head, a pounding pain that centred behind his eyes, shifting up to his temple, as though his skull was contracting. Gasping for breath he fell back, one hand twisted into his hair, the other scrabbling blindly over the carpet and smooth plastic floor for the pills.
Placing them carefully in his mouth with a shaking hand, he collapsed heavily, sprawled out like a corpse by his bed.
∞ ∞ ∞
In the back of his mind a memory tried to push itself into his vision: a white-walled room, windowless. It was fitted only with a door and a pair of chairs, placed either side of a desk, screwed securely into cold concrete floor with steel brackets. It looked like the office of a prison psychologist. A slight creak caused him to swing around in his chair, the door swinging open slowly. The cold light of the room flooded out into the darkened passage, illuminating the dull-eyed man standing there silently. There was a minute’s silence, the breathing of the two men sounding like a carefully measured heartbeat.
“X.” The voice was careful, sickly welcoming: yet tinged with irritation. “I didn’t expect to see you here again.” He stepped into the room, the studded heels of his shoes clacking dully in the tepid air. Sitting down, he pulled out an engraved metal case, placing a stubby cigarette between his thin lips. As the man cupped his hands, X heard the soft click of a lighter.
“Y.” X’s voice was cautious; unsure. He was treading carefully.
Y inhaled deeply, blowing a diffuse film of vapour from his nose.
Then he smiled thinly, his face twisting unnaturally, ignoring X’s words. As he spoke, a slight wisp of smoke trickled from the corner of his mouth “At least, not so soon.” He leaned forwards over the metal table, dead grey eyes fixed straight ahead. “Let’s be realistic.” Bony fingers tapped the cigarette’s butt on the table, leaving a small pile of ash, and a scorch mark that joined the numerous others. “You should be dead.”
X frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The throbbing pain slammed into his head like a brick wall, causing him curl up, feeling physically sick. He drifted in and out of sleep and wakefulness, the room spinning kaleidoscopically. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, blindingly bright, unbearably hot.
∞ ∞ ∞
It was dark and cold down here beneath the old city. Vines and weeds crept up out of the foetid poisoned water through which he splashed. He tore his gaze away from the sunshine. The first few damp and rusted rungs of a ladder jutted from the dark, and he swung a leg into the hole, feeling for the foothold. He began slowly to descend into the dark.
For a long time he climbed down in silence. A lukewarm breeze flitted in eddies about the confines of the borehole, carrying the metallic air in ever descending spirals. Finally, his foot touched solid stone, and he stepped down onto a small stepped plinth. He was in a tight passageway, its sides cut straight from the rugged stone. It was floored with duckboards and strips of dull metal, set over a surface of damp packed earth. Glancing up, his lamp illuminated rusted and discoloured halogen bulbs from a previous era, fixed on thick black wires that ran off into the dark. A thin wire mesh covered every inch of the stone wall, bolted securely to the surface, holding back cracked lumps of stone and bits of debris. Tentatively, he edged his way along the channel, making a pause every few steps to watch for movement. Occasionally small bits of rock and dust would seep out from between the mesh, skittering over the makeshift floor into the shadows.
Ahead, the shape of a door became distinguishable against the pressing gloom. A heavy wheel sat in the centre, and as he approached he reached out an arm and took hold if it. It was tarnished, layers of reddened metal chipping and flaking away, and as he tried to turn it, it groaned loudly. Four times he spun it before the door slipped open slightly. A breath of pure and fresh air fluttered out, and he inhaled deeply, breathing easily for the first time since his descent had begun. Stepping forwards resolutely, he extended both his arms and vigorously pushed open the heavy door.
∞ ∞ ∞
He was standing on the pinnacle of one of the great towers. A screeching wind filled with fine metal dust grated over his body, lacerating skin and clothing alike. It coated him with the speckled red mist of his own blood, which ran in scarlet rivulets along the corrugated roof. He teetered on the edge, looking down. The ground was obscured by the raging wind which grasped at the smoke of the city’s furnaces, catching it up in tornado-like funnels.
X turned around, glancing up towards the darkened sky. Above him hung the ship, sitting low in the atmosphere; a predator observing its prey. He stepped back quickly, crouching down protectively. His foot caught against the edge of the roof and he slipped backwards into the seething abyss, twisting in the air. A piercing scream rent the turbulence, cutting into his head, before silence enveloped everything and the world went black.
He awoke to find a man watching him carefully. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position, eying the stranger suspiciously. Then he carefully pulled himself to his feet, swaying gently from side to side: his vision focussed and unfocussed alternately, scoping in on the strangers face, before sliding crazily about the room. He felt dizzy and sick. His head hurt, and when he put a hand to his mouth it came away streaked red. He tried to take a step forwards, and saw the stranger lunge towards him, as he fell heavily to the floor.
∞ ∞ ∞
Everything was black. He could hear muffled voices about him, the voices of people: but he couldn’t see. He thought he heard his name, but the sound was caught up and cast aside by the flurry of murmuring whispers. There was a sudden pain in his neck, and he tried to react by extending a hand to touch it. He couldn’t move. Almost instantaneously, the voices began to blur even more, until they became indistinguishable from the hurried patter of his racing heart.
His name; who was shouting his name? It was not a pleasant voice, grating roughly and filled with anger. He was in a tight passageway cut straight from the rugged stone. It was floored with fresh duckboards and strips of bright metal; ahead of him on the threshold, illuminated as a dark shadow against a hectic backdrop of blue and white strobe light, stood a man. The heavy door was held open against the wall by a thick chain, bolted securely into the rock. The man’s arm gestured for him to approach, moving in slow motion, as he heard the voice again. “Soldier!”
X looked down. In his arms, he held a stubby carbine rifle. Behind him the passage was filled with people of all ages, pushing to move past, held back only by a handful of armoured men. A few of the mob held weapons, and as he watched, one of the soldiers fell back clutching his face and screaming. Slowly X backed along the corridor towards the door, keeping his rifle raised. The soldiers fell back in waves like a firing line, battering with steel rods and heavy riot shields at the oncoming rush of men. More of his unit fell beneath the trampling crowd, and he heard the echo of large-bore shotguns echoing in the confines of the tunnel. As he reached the door, he pulled his stick from his chest rig, resting it over his shoulder as he screamed at the soldiers and gestured wildly for them to move faster. Then he unclipped and armed a pair of chemical grenades, filled with nerve gas, lobbing them over his line of defence into the roaring crowd. At his call they turned as one and began running to safety, throwing their shields into the rabble. A blinding white flash lit up the passage, followed quickly by another, and black smoke rose up from the ground to envelop everything.
X read their names off their helmets as each man passed him, appearing out of the swirling haze one by one, heads down. The sound of the crowd had abated, and there was a deathly silence punctuated only by the distant clamour of the refugees already inside the bunker. Quickly he stretched out an arm and grabbed the last soldier, spinning him around and shouting into his face. “Where is he! Wasn’t he with you?” His voice was muffled inside the stifling gas mask, echoing back and forth in his head. The man shook his head slowly, pointing back down the tunnel into darkness’ obscurity.
“Soldier!” X span around, taking a step towards the captain. “Move faster and blow the charge. Get that door closed!” The words rang in his ears as he shook his head, drawing a finger across his neck with a cutting motion.
“The colour sergeant has the detonator, Sir.” The captain’s eyes narrowed as he snarled in response. “Then get him to move it along.”
“I can’t.”
“Why.”
“He’s dead, back there.”
“Then do it another way.”
“It was made to be blown with charges. It can’t be done any other way.”
The captain threw his head back, shouting angrily into the air. Turning quickly to one of the soldiers, he roughly pulled him forwards. “You! Get back out there, and find the detonator.” As he stepped past, the captain whispered in his ear. “When you find it, blow it. There’s no time to get back.” The man reacted violently, head-butting the captain forcefully in the face. There was a wet crunch as his helmet made contact, and the soldier stepped back as he fumbled for his rifle. Crimson blood flecked his armoured vest. There was a moment of silence before the sound of a single gunshot reverberated about the tunnel.
Slowly the captain pushed himself to his feet, a revolver clutched tightly in his trembling hand. He was a mess, the nose snapped backwards. One eye was forced back into its socket, covered with blood that ran down his face to mix with that from his ruined nose. Slowly he raised the weapon, pushing the stubby barrel up against the next man’s ear. He stepped closer to him, tilting his head up slightly. “Your chance. Go and get it.” As he spoke blood dribbled from his mouth, and he bent over to spit out some teeth onto the hard concrete floor.
Beside him, the man he had shot dropped to his knees, hands closed over his neck. Crimson fluid spurted from between his fingers, soaking the coarse black uniform and pooling on the floor like spilled paint. As they watched he fell forwards, collapsing onto his side, eyes wide and staring.
The captain prodded the soldier with the revolver. “I’m going to count to five.”
X stepped forwards behind him, raising butt of his rifle before hammering it into the side of the officer’s head with a sharp crack.
“I’ll find it. You stay here.”
Carefully he made his way back from where they had come, stepping out into the lingering chemical smoke from his grenades. Behind him, the klaxon continued to sound, louder than before. He didn’t have much time. Sporadic figures appeared in the haze, and he fired a couple of random rounds in their direction to warn them off. He struggled to find his footing on the piles of bodies that lay beneath his feet, clambering and edging his way forwards. Ahead he saw the gleaming ladder up to the sewers. The chemical gas was being sucked up the hole like water down a spout, and a couple of broken bodies lay at the ladder’s foot.
∞ ∞ ∞
Back in the man’s room, the medical officer stood at the foot of the bed, watching silently as his patient sweated and squirmed, tossing and turning spasmodically beneath the restraints.
‘Get the doctor in here’, he murmured to his aide. ‘He’s going into some kind of subconscious shock.
∞ ∞ ∞
The man stepped up out of the ladder’s well, pulling himself onto the large stone slab which it pierced. Above him, a yellow and black sign was stapled to the wall, an arrow pointing down. He began to run, breathing carefully. The warmth of filtered sunlight from the tapering vents above him flashed and skittered over his carapace of body armour, but he ignored its beauty, pushing his chin down. The bodies of civilians lay scattered through the tunnels, torn and broken by the bullets and lasers of his men, their crimson blood clouding the shallow bed of crystal water.
The slight splash of his footsteps echoed serenely through the tunnels. The calm and quiet jarred confusingly with the images of death on either side. It felt like the quiet before the storm. He stopped short: before him lay the trampled body of the colour sergeant, lying face down in the artificial tributary. The sound of his movement faded into silence, total and overpowering. It was quiet down here, beneath the city, devoid of life and lit only by occasional halogen bulbs.
Reaching down, he plucked the detonator from the cold grip of dead fingers. A few drops of water dripped delicately from the ceiling, pattering on the material of his clothes and skittering off the body. From a long way off, he heard a crash, as though the sky was being torn – a clamour that seemed to get nearer and nearer, growing louder and louder with every passing second. The concrete began to vibrate, dust and mortar trickling out of web-like veins that appeared in the walls.
He grasped the detonator and ran, back the way he had come. Stumbling down the ladder, the steel caps of his boots tapping against the metal rungs, the vibration began forcing its way inside his head, settling behind his eyes. He saw bright white flashed on the edges of his vision, and as he stepped off the ladder he tottered desperately, trying to maintain his balance.
Fifty metres away, the soldiers stood in the gateway, the light from the panic bunker beyond spilling out and casting insane shadows over the dim tunnel.
A small trickle of blood seeped from his nose, running over his chin and dripping onto the rough floor. In one motion, he made eye contact with his men, nodding towards them as he detonated the explosives. The heavy door swung closed with a dull clang as a rush of scalding air rushed down from the sewers above, reeking of a chemical that burned the back of the throat.
∞ ∞ ∞
In his room, the man lay still, curled up on his side. A single tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.