All or Nothing (17 page)

The torturer smiled coyly. “Smart. So you know my name. You overheard John on the phone. Clever, Reverend. The thing is, I have a trump card. I know what will make you come for the weapons. And then we can have some fun.”

Gunnar bent down behind the table and picked up something. When he swung it into view, Rupert noticed the red leather bowling bag. Gunnar placed it on the table beside him. He smiled. “I gave you a chance, hell, I gave you a thousand chances to be a man and you failed at every opportunity. So let this be your punishment.”

He opened the bag’s zip, reached in and pulled out an object. Rupert’s mouth opened in shock. Was he really seeing this?

Gunnar tossed the item at the Rupert’s feet. It wasn’t a bowling ball. As the object hit the floor, blood and sinew splashed across Rupert’s chest. It smacked the floor making a wet ‘splat’ sound. As it rolled, then came to settle, Rupert saw what it was. He recognised the object by its shape. He recognised the liver spots on the forehead, the blue-rinsed hair, now matted with thick blood and maggots. Rupert felt the vomit rising in his throat. He held his hand over his mouth and backed away.

The thing in front of him was a human head, crudely severed at the neck. Flaps of skin hung off it, and maggots were crawling from the stump of the neck. The grisly thing rolled onto its side. The blank expression of pain and death in the cold, cruel eyes stared up at him.

A familiar look on a familiar face.

A face Rupert had known for years.

Rupert began to moan, deep down inside, his reaction beyond words.

The head was that of his mother.

***

Seven years. Seven long, expensive, crafted years. An agenda that transcended a decade but came to fruition in under a few hours.  Every penny he had spent was worth it.

Finally, Charlie was getting his revenge.

Sweet revenge.

Watching Rupert Shaw become stripped of his dignity, his life and his devoted mother.

Charlie smiled and sipped his drink.

“Take that, you fucker!”

Charlie watched in glee whilst Gunnar slowly tore down Rupert’s very existence. Saw his plan unfold: his meticulous strategy was working. He expected it to. He'd spent a small fortune on his revenge. Luckily he had been informed about The Game and, rather than let the revenge unravel in public, in front of prying eyes, he could do it here, in secret. The entrance fee was extortionate, but fair. No one would ever know. Charlie was paying for secrecy. It made the task that much more exciting and fulfilling. To be honest, Charlie didn’t care about winning, or coming first, or working for The Company. He had nothing to lose. Nothing, because Rupert had taken it all away. He had his millions. He no longer had a wife or his children or a job. He no longer had the home that had been in his family for three generations. He didn’t have his pension. He didn’t have his faith. However, he didn’t want these things. Life had taught him that looking after number one was his priority right now. He didn’t need anything dragging him down.

    From watching the show, Charlie felt it was clear Rupert didn’t quite understand the magnitude of the situation. He probably never would realise it before his slow, painful death. Charlie, or John, as he was formerly known, would ensure that Rupert suffered in the worst way possible. And he would be able to witness every horrendous, glorious moment of it. He smiled.

Gunnar had just revealed the fact of Rupert’s mother’s death. To be precise, he’d presented him with her rotting, severed head. Charlie was proud of that moment.

Decapitating Mrs. Shaw had been a pleasure. Stupid bitch. He had taken it upon himself to perform that deed: something he would have gladly done for free. She was dedicated to defending her infallible, wonderful son. A son who had all the traits of a genuine coward. Charlie could never remember a day when Rupert had been anything but cowardice defined. In all honesty, it had taken Charlie by surprise when he'd lost his job all those years ago. Handing someone in for any crime took balls, and it had always seemed that Rupert didn’t have any. It was only years later, when Charlie had hired someone to track down the person responsible for his banishment, that he realised how wrong he had been.

For once, Rupert had stood up and done the right thing: the right thing for the Church anyway. But it hadn’t done Charlie any favours. Luckily, Charlie was good at covering his tracks, so there were no further repercussions. He was banished, but he was still free to do what he wanted.

Then he had won the lottery.

Just a gamble, a quick flutter, a moment of weakness. He had laid a bet down and hit big: forty five million pounds! At first he had cursed himself for being so weak as to buy the lottery ticket. Then it dawned on him that God had deserted him long ago. If the Almighty had been on his side, Charlie would've never been discovered. If God had kept his promise, Charlie’s life would have rolled along smoothly.

But it hadn’t. And as a result, Charlie had quit the Church and his faith.

Sinning had been a lot easier than he had expected.

It took him a week to gather the confidence to buy his first car. Two weeks later, and he had snorted cocaine for the first time. One day after that, he had fucked three whores, the sex was different, boring - not as innocent or forbidden as a ten year old boy - but different nonetheless. He would repeat the experience multiple times in the following months, sometimes with both at the same time. He’d killed and raped three mother-son combinations. On each occasion the mother watched, John enjoyed every sick perverse moment of it, before he turned his attention to her. On top of the world, he was. He really didn’t care.

He'd become addicted to bourbon. Charlie lived his life to the full, and every second he did it, he flipped the bird to God. His past life, his family, job, responsibilities were all gone. No longer an encumbrance to him. Charlie had effectively vanished off the face of the earth.

No longer would a nine-to-five occupation pin him down to a routine of early nights, Sunday sermons, and his wife’s terrible cooking. His life was his own, and, for the first time in forty four years, he was taking control of it. Never again was a deity going to have any control over him.

The irony was that, in The Game, he
was
a god of sorts. This was his way of taking back his life, his soul. No one could stop him, no one would deter him from his task.

Charlie picked up his phone and dialled. Watching his screen, he could see Gunnar pick up his phone and answer.

“Yep?”

“That’s enough. He has had enough time to mourn.”

“Yes, boss. Just say the word.”

Charlie smiled. He filled his glass. He sat back and got comfortable.

“Do it! Make it slow.”

“Yes, boss.”

TWENTY-SIX

The first two rooms were empty. They had the same décor, empty desks and lockers, and appeared to be interview rooms. In the third one, Kieran and Heather had discovered a locker full of jumpsuits. Kieran had taken two and stashed them in his rucksack. Other than that, the room was empty.

They moved to the fourth door. From this point, the only exit that remained was the double doors. Heather followed Kieran silently. She continued to release the string behind her. She figured that she was a quarter of the way through the ball now. As they stepped towards the fourth door, they heard a noise beyond the double doors. It was hardly audible at first, then there was a long drawn out crashing sound. Then multiple crashing sounds.

The couple remained still. Kieran opened the fourth door and they slipped inside slowly, making no sound. Kieran pushed the door shut and kept an ear to the wall. Whatever had caused the crashes was something they wanted to steer clear of. After a few moments, the noise ceased. Heather relaxed. They turned to face the room they’d just entered, Kieran stepping forward to investigate. There was a leather couch against the wall with a table beside it and a single armchair opposite. It reminded Heather of a psychiatrist’s office. An empty desk was in the corner. No pictures hung on the wall, and no rugs adorned the plain carpet on the floor.

Kieran sat on the couch. Heather remained standing.

Heather wondered if interviews and training sessions actually took place in these rooms. Maybe the clones came in here before being released? Did they volunteer for this or were they forced to participate? Did people volunteer their DNA or did they have other more forceful ways of getting it? Were these ‘donors’ interviewed to establish if their DNA qualified? Was this room used for that purpose?

Did people wait here nervously, as Heather and Kieran were waiting now?

A chill snaked down Heather’s spine. Kieran removed a bottle of water from his rucksack and drank. He was observing the room, taking in its sparse contents.

“I bet this place is full of rooms like this,” he said. “Big places normally have rooms that go unused for months on end. Who knows how many there are? We need to be careful. If the ones ahead of us are vast, these ‘things’ could be hiding anywhere. The last hallway was narrow, so it was easy to see what lay ahead. That might not be the case going forward.”

Heather nodded. “What do you think this place is for?” She rephrased her question from earlier. “I mean, these creatures seem to be everywhere. What’s their purpose? Surely they aren’t being bred for no reason.”

Kieran smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were being genetically modified for government use or something. You read stories all the time about the way they try to ‘modify’ soldiers for war. Creating super soldiers saves lives and keeps real people alive. I say real people. These are presumably real people and they are being turned into these – things. To be honest, I thought anything like this could only exist in science fiction. But the last few days have convinced me otherwise.”

Heather grimaced. “So why are we here? Are we being tested or something?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were. You know, like guinea pigs? We're obviously being watched. Did you see the camera in the reception area? It moved as we left. We can’t be sure which rooms have cameras, but we should progress carefully. Those things don’t seem to respond to our voices or mannerisms, so I'm hoping the same applies to the person who’s watching us. If our watcher contacts the things, surely that would be a pretty unreliable way of controlling them. How long we can evade them, I don’t know. Genetics is a dangerous game. It’s scary because anything is possible.”

Heather nodded. She grabbed the bottle of water and gulped a mouthful down. She twisted her neck slowly, savouring the drink. It felt good. “Don’t take this as a come on – because it’s not – but I could kill for a massage right now.”

Kieran smiled. “Maybe we can arrange something when we get out of here.”

Heather ignored the comment and looked at him, frowning. “Do you think there
is
actually a way out? I mean, logically, of course there must be. We got here somehow, after all. But whoever put us here obviously did it for a reason. They probably don’t want us to leave.”

Kieran stood up and flexed his arms. “They can’t stop us. As long as we progress carefully we should be fine. Now, stay behind me. Check your corners, let’s not get split up and, whatever you do, don’t make any noise. The rooms ahead could be big and vast, so we need to be vigilant, otherwise we might get caught out. If you see a camera, don’t acknowledge it. Just move past as quickly as you can. If you see one of those ‘things’, don’t try to engage with it. If it’s blocking our path, you let me deal with it. Understand?”

Heather nodded. “I didn’t like those crashes.”

“Don’t worry about those. Wherever there is noise, normally there's a human presence. Or in this case, a clone presence. Let’s hope it’s the former.”

Heather stood up. She sipped from the bottle of water again and handed it back to Kieran. He finished the bottle and put it in his bag. They stood up silently, without saying anything more. Together, they moved to the door. Kieran took the lead and opened it silently. They edged out into the corridor and moved towards the double doors. As they stood outside them, they listened intently. They waited for a sound, anything to indicate presence in the next room.

Nothing.

Silence.

Kieran opened the door. He checked behind him and made sure Heather stayed close. Heather nodded as they moved forward. They slid through the door and closed it behind them.

The room appeared to curve round to the left, around a steep corner. Ahead of them lay an alcove that was shrouded in shadow. They went straight into it and waited there. After a few moments, Kieran peered out and surveyed his surroundings.

They were in a huge white room. Once again, the décor was the same as everywhere else. This ceiling, however, was about thirty feet high, pure white, and had two huge skylights. Sunlight streamed downwards through these, letting them know that it was daylight outside. Their whereabouts remained unknown. Sunlight glare bounced from the white walls, and Kieran was aware of reflected heat coming from the wall closest to him. Heather looked up, realisation hitting her in a flash.

“You realise that we haven’t seen daylight in days?” she asked. “Isn’t that strange?”

Kieran looked thoughtful. “I suppose that’s true. Well it’s good to know that all is normal outside these walls. If we get out, I will never take daylight for granted again. I just hope the sunlight is real.”

Around them were hundreds of wooden boxes. They varied from parcel size to some as big as coffins, and a few were as big as storage containers. From their position, the pair’s view of anything beyond was blocked by them. Kieran whistled.

“Someone has a lot of possessions.”

Kieran left the security of the alcove and started to walk into the room. He couldn’t hear anything. He’d expected the hum of a generator, or even the familiar buzz of electronic appliances. Yet he heard nothing, and this room was totally silent, as if separate from the entire facility.

Heather emerged from cover behind him, and Kieran slowly edged to the closest wooden box. It was long and narrow, about the size of a sofa. Once he was close enough, Kieran put his hand on it and bent down. He checked for a shipping label, but found none. Piled next to this box were a series of smaller ones, approximately shoebox size, or suitable for storing personal photographs. He turned around and noticed several more of these smaller-sized boxes, as if they’d been abandoned. Kieran ran his finger along the top of one of them. There was no dust: meaning they’d been moved or cleaned recently, so maybe they hadn’t been abandoned after all. Kieran looked around. Still, he heard nothing.

Heather started to count the boxes. She gave up after thirty, noting their different shapes and sizes. They were stacked in such a way as to hide more, meaning that it would be impossible to accurately gauge how many of them there were. She followed Kieran’s lead. She began to wonder what was inside them, or indeed if they were empty. She saw Kieran run his finger along the top of one. Was he checking for dust again? Heather unwound the next length of string behind her and stopped a few feet short of Kieran. He looked at her and smiled, placing a finger to his lips, gesturing her to remain silent. Heather nodded.

Kieran knocked on one of the boxes, using just a light tap. Then again, using two raps of his knuckles.

The tapping sounded horrendously loud in the silent room. Heather realised that the contrasting silence exacerbated the stark sound. A dubious look crossed Kieran’s face. Heather moved closer. He was looking at the boxes, frowning with concern.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“These boxes have been used recently. There isn’t any dust on them and they’re empty. They sound hollow. Which is weird because there are so many.”

Heather placed the ball of string on top of the nearest box. “Maybe these contained components for all those glass canisters. We’ve seen an awful lot of electronic gadgetry on our travels. Maybe these boxes originally contained that hardware?”

Kieran turned to Heather. “That’s just it. If they contained components they’ve assembled and are using, why keep the boxes? Presumably they aren’t sending anything back. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe they haven’t had a chance to get rid of them?”

Kieran shook his head. “You’ve seen this place, Heather, it's spick and span, tidy as a nut, clean as a baby’s bum. Whoever runs this place wouldn’t leave these boxes around if they weren’t needed for something. Which is another thing. If they aren’t needed, and haven’t been disposed of yet, that means that all this set-up is a fairly recent endeavour. You know what that means?”

Heather’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me this place was built specifically for us? That can’t be true.”

Kieran rubbed his face. “If it
is
true, that’s only one mystery. If this place was only recently built, how quickly can one of those clone things be created? There were hundreds of them earlier on. A small army. Dust settles in a couple of days, and these boxes are dust-free. Which means that this is quite an extreme operation.”

“Remember the room earlier with hundreds of glass tubes? Setting those up in position couldn’t be done in a few days, unless they had a huge number of workers. Even with plenty of manpower, it’s still a massive undertaking.”

“This might be bigger then we first thought,” Kieran concluded. “Heather, I think we could be in serious trouble here. Now, there’s no point panicking just because we’ve found a few hundred boxes, but if we continue, we need to find some weapons and fast.”

Heather sighed. “Where do we start?”

Kieran pulled one of the boxes open, finding that its lid came off effortlessly. It was empty. He pushed it aside and opened another. Also empty. Heather realised she had to help, and moved to another pile of boxes and started looking, removing box lids and searching inside them.

“
Who's there?
” a voice called out.

The voice stunned Kieran into inactivity, and Heather did the same. Unsure of what to do, they both crouched down.

“
Who's out there? I can hear you
.”

Whoever the voice belonged to, they were not afraid to shout. Kieran winced at every syllable. Heather felt the onset of a rising tide of fear. Knowing they could be in trouble, Kieran took the knives from his rucksack, handing one of them to Heather. Once again, he gestured for her to stay silent. “Stay here,” he whispered.

Heather grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you fucking dare! You said we shouldn’t split up.”

Kieran pushed her hand away. “I know. But if this guy keeps shouting, our cover’s blown anyway, so we might as well alert everyone to our presence. Stay close, but stay hidden, okay?”

Heather knew Kieran was right. She gripped her knife tightly.

Kieran stood up. He moved around the boxes. Heather stayed behind him, crouched and alert, knife in hand.

“
I can hear you. Come out!
” came the loud announcement

Kieran swallowed. “I’m over here. Will you
stop
shouting?”

“
What?
”

“Stop shouting! I’m over here.”

Heather heard shuffling footsteps. Was someone coming closer? Searching for Kieran?

“
I hear you. I'm coming over!
”

Kieran could see a man coming towards them. He placed the knife in his waistband and pulled his shirt down to conceal it.

The man was wearing white overalls. He had a bald head, and his face and the front of his clothes were covered in blood. Kieran noticed that, beyond the nearest stack of boxes, was a clearing. The room’s wide white floor spread out before him. A pile of upended boxes was at the far side: their recent disturbance explained the crashes. The boxes were open, and white packaging material had spewed across the floor, peanut-shaped pieces of polystyrene were moving in the slight breeze. Kieran was keen to investigate these boxes as soon as possible.