Ascent: (Book 1) The Ladder (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

            The same small, yellow bulbs that light the rest of the Junction as well as the Bunks surround the bottom of the tunnel. They are like rings of light bulbs along the stone and dirt wall that illuminate everything. One cable connects them all. It stretches up along the tunnel wall. The higher Joe tries to look up, the farther apart the lights appear to be.

             In his determination to get the cure from Scraggle, Joe fights back his own fears of what could happen on the Ladder. If he’s already got a different version of the Sick, getting it again won’t make much of a difference.

             He climbs as quickly as he can. The sound of Scraggle’s crazed laughter echoes off the rock walls. Joe tries to see how high up Scraggle is but only manages to catch a shadow, barely illuminated by a single bulb above him.

            “How’s he climb so fast?” Joe says aloud.

            “Come Dreamer. I have the cure.” Scraggle’s voice echoes
t
hroughout the tunnel.

            Joe looks back down. He’s high enough that the lights at the tunnel opening outshine those of the Junction. The bottom of the Ladder and the kids around it are barely discernible as anything more than distant shapes. Joe looks back up and thinks,
I’ve come this far,
before continuing to climb.

            The distance between each bulb lessens as Joe passes them one by one. For a few moments up, visibility is decent but it doesn’t take long before he finds himself surrounded by darkness.

            “It is a long way to destiny, Dreamer.”

            The words cause Joe to look up in time to see Scraggle’s feet disappear inside a green, swirling fog. The fog has an ominous appearance but that might just be the green light that spreads through it.

            “Slow down!” Joe yells up to Scraggle.

            “Speed up!” Scraggle yells down.

            Joe looks back down. The thought of dropping the chase and heading back to the Mines comes across his mind. At best, he’d be put in the Ban. At worst, whatever the old man injected him with would be more than he could handle. The Sick was bad enough but to be infected with a different version, a stronger version that the Doctor has no Remedy for—he could put the entire Mine at risk.

            “The itchy throat is where it starts. Soon, breathing will become impossible,” Scraggle calls down. “We cannot lose the Dreamer.”

            Joe scratches at his neck and swallows. He knows the only direction left is up so he picks up his pace and climbs toward the fog.

            Just below the green swirling cloud, Joe slows down his ascent. The feeling of uncertainty is almost overwhelming. If it wasn’t for the alternative, Joe would stop and probably even regret climbing this far up. But uncertainty is not enough. Especially, if Scraggle has the cure.

            Hand over hand, slow and steady, Joe climbs through the fog. It’s thick enough that he is unable to see above it or below it, but not so dense that he cannot see his own hands. Joe looks around inside of the fog and notices the farther away from the Ladder it is, the better visibility becomes. The fog is actually thickest just behind the Ladder. He squints his eyes, attempting to get a better view. He tries to wave the fog out of his face with little success. Any fog he manages to push aside is quickly replaced with more. Leaning in closer gives him a better look at something out of place. His eyes focus just behind the Ladder, finding a shallow cut-out in the wall.

            Inside the cut-out is a row of tubes pointing inside the tunnel. There is a constant spray of fog coming from the tubes. Some of the spray hits Joe in the eyes, forcing him to take one hand off the Ladder to rub his eyes, trying to get the fog out.

            “Teary eyes are next. Tarry not a while, Dreamer. The dizzy spells will be upon you soon.” Scraggle’s voice, again, echoes through the tunnel.

            Tears expel the spray out of Joe’s eyes. Once he has them open again, he resumes the upward chase. He reaches the top of the fog and pops his head out of it. The green light is no longer as prominent.

            “Where’s this coming from?” Joe yells up.

            “The surface awaits,” is the only reply Scraggle gives.

            Looking up into the sparsely lit black of the tunnel, Joe can no longer see Scraggle. Except for the old man’s voice, there is no indicator that Joe is climbing after anyone at all. Above the fog the lights stretch even thinner. A faint sound, though, hums several feet up.

What is that?
h
e thinks to himself as he climbs higher into the dark.

            The sound is muffled but does seem to get louder the higher Joe climbs. He’s near enough to another light that anything there should be visible but the wall looks no different than the rest of the stone and dirt tunnel. After climbing a few feet higher, Joe stops at the sound of metal grinding. It sounds as though it is covered by something.

            Against his own better judgment, Joe reaches out to place a hand on the stone wall. Dark, dirty stone seems to be all there is until he touches something softer. It’s definitely not stone. It feels like the same material his own clothes are made of. He pushes against it and finds the material gives. Still, in the dim light, it looks just like the surrounding walls of the vertical tunnel.

            Joe feels around, trying to find an edge. When he does, he lifts the cloth. Beneath it, just barely visible, are glimpses of the light reflecting on something metallic. Whatever it is, it looks like it is rotating.

            Joe starts to reach in but yanks his hand out immediately after something sharp pricks his finger. He looks at the blood running down his hand before wiping it off on his sleeve. It’s not a terrible wound. Nothing life threatening as far as he can tell. A bottle of the antiseptic would take care of it but he is too high up for that. Whatever is on the Surface will have to do.

            Joe looks up at the sound of more metal grinding against metal and old hinges squeaking as they are forced to move after prolonged lack of use. A faint shadow moves up past a light, still many feet above.

            “Scraggle? Hey old man!” Joe yells up into the silent tunnel.

            “The prophecy awaits,” Scraggle says loudly enough to be heard but not loudly enough to echo as much as before.

            The next sound Joe hears is that of a metal door slamming shut. That noise echoes explosively through the tunnel.

            “The Surface,” Joe says under his breath. He quickens his pace to reach the top. The sound of the rotating metal disappears from his mind and his ears as he climbs higher into the dark.

            The final light shines on the ceiling. The long climb up the Ladder is over. Joe takes a moment to close his eyes and re-imagine his dream. He sees the bright light shining through the doorway.

            Joe opens his eyes and sees a small rectangular panel with numbers on it. The panel is attached to the wall. Shrugging it off as nothing, Joe puts one hand on the ceiling. It’s much smoother than the rest of the surfaces in the tunnel. He pushes against it and nothing happens. He hits the ceiling and a metal banging reverberates through the tunnel.

            Joe pushes again and it just budges, enough that the same grinding sound from before signals he has reached the door. The same one Scraggle went through. The same one that appeared in his dream.

            Joe steps higher up the Ladder to put his shoulder against the hatch door. He puts his feet on rungs just high enough to give him the needed leverage to push with his legs. The bright light from his dream flashes in his mind as Joe gives one more, hard press. The metal grinds and the hinges squeak as the door finally opens.

Chapter Twelve

            The metal door flies open and floods the tunnel and Joe’s eyes with light. He shuts his eyes tightly to shield them from it. The brightness still manages to shine through his eyelids.

             He slowly eases the tension over his eyes so that they are gently closed. A furrow forms on his brow when he realizes there is no heat coming from the light. There is no breeze brushing by him. The air feels cool and slightly cleaner than compared to the Mines but it is not rushing past him.

            Joe’s eyes open slowly and the same white light from the Gear Hall and the Doctor’s office floods his vision.

            As his eyes adjust to the piercing light, Joe takes in his new surroundings. The room looks almost like the Doctor’s office, except there is no steel table in the center. The floor is a hard gray stone. Except for a few cracks in its surface, the floor looks as though it could have been one giant rock that was ground down to a smooth floor.

            On three sides of the room the walls are made up of different sized sections of white panels. Each panel has a dull shine. The fourth wall looks black. A deep, dense black. None of the lights in the ceiling reflect off of it. There is a dull buzzing sound in the room. The sound causes Joe to feel slightly disoriented. Or maybe it’s just the coming Sick.

            Scraggle stands in front of a small mirror. His appearance is completely different. Even his height has changed as he stands straighter. His clothes are no longer dirty and disheveled and his hair is now shorter. Joe watches him while he trims away at his long white beard.

            “Welcome. Make yourself at home, dear Dreamer.”

            Even his voice and the way he now speaks is different. Scraggle places a hand on a panel and a large door slides down into the floor. From the opening extends a surface very different from anything Joe has seen before. It is rectangular and chair-shaped, covered in cloth along the top, back and sides of it.

            “Please. Sit. I assure you it is more comfortable than that dreadful Vocal Hall, or your Bunks for that matter.”

            Joe climbs out of the tunnel and steps onto the stone floor. He slowly approaches the seat.

            “Who did teach you manners, child?” Scraggle says in a calm but scolding way.

            “What?” Joe replies, not understanding.

            Scraggle points to the hatch door in the floor through which Joe climbed. Joe walks to the other side of it and pushes it closed. It falls to the floor with a clang, closing far more easily than it opened. Aside from being made of different materials, the door is the only part of the floor that is not even with the rest of the floor. It rises almost half a foot up. A large metal handle sticks out of its surface.

            Scraggle waves Joe to take seat. Joe sits down on the bench and he sinks into it. He quickly rises for fear of being sucked below.

            Scraggle chuckles. “It’s quite safe. It’s called a sofa. Or a couch. Really, either will do. If you would like a good night’s rest, a bed is better but you could do very well to lay down on a sofa.”

            “What’s a bed?” Joe sits back down on the couch and lets himself sink into it.

            Scraggle turns to Joe. “You poor children. Your bunk is a bed. Not an appropriate one but a bed nonetheless.”

            “Why would anyone want to sleep on that?” Joe asks, extremely confused.

            “Well most aren’t like yours. Most beds are like that sofa. How does that feel by the way?” Scraggle asks as if he knows the answer.

            Joe darts up from the sofa. “Give me the Remedy.”

            Scraggle chuckles again. “Remedy. There is no remedy.”

            “You said you injected me with—”

            “Vaccine, boy. I injected you with a vaccine.” Scraggle interrupts him as he turns around and admires his clothing. “What do you think? I am very pleased they left these here after so many years. It feels good to wear proper attire again. To feel civilized.”

            “What is vaccine?” Joe demands.

            Scraggle takes a moment to observe Joe’s mood. “Vaccine is what is given when one does not wish to get sick. Think of it as Remedy before the Sick infects you. The fog you passed through? That is where the Sick comes from. It is a toxic gas. You passed through it harmlessly because of the vaccine. Otherwise you would have never made it this far up the Ladder.”

            “So I don’t have the Sick?”

            “Better, my boy. You can no longer get the Sick.” Scraggle smiles. “Now, as to why you are here—”

            “Where is the Surface?” Joe asks as if suddenly remembering everything.

            “Yes. A fair question. If I may?” Scraggle asks.

            Joe stares at him silently.

            “We are on the second level of what is known, on the Surface, as the Column. A scientific facility of my own design…”

            Joe pays no attention as he walks to the black wall. He touches its surface and a light blinks. The blinking is accompanied by a whirring sound and more metal grinding against metal emanates from one side of the room. Scraggle and Joe watch as a door rises into the ceiling to reveal a hallway lit up by more tube lights.

            “I cannot tell you the joy I feel to know that it works,” Scraggle mutters to himself.

            Joe slowly approaches the hallway. He looks left and right at cut-outs made of metal. Inside the cut-outs stand what look like men made of a similar metal. They have all of the same features as people. Arms, legs, hands, feet and heads. They even seem to have eyes and mouths. The metal men stand silently in their cut-outs. A cable lies at the feet of each of them. Joe reaches in cautiously to rap his knuckle on one of them. It’s very solid.

            “Wardens. That is what they were called. The original jailers of the prison.” Scraggle walks behind Joe and looks at the metal men. “Of course they’re just robots.”

            “Robots?”

            “They look like men but they are neither living nor dead. They were never alive. Think of them like the carts of the Mine. Only these perform tasks independent of human help.”

            “What did they do?”

            “The Wardens were the stewards of the jail beneath our feet,” Scraggle explains.

            “Jail? You mean the Mines?”

            Scraggle walks out of the hall and back to the couch to sit.

            “The Mines. They were not always so. There was a time when what lies beneath our feet was a prison. A jail. A place for criminals and, sadly for them, laboratory patients, to be held in captivity. The Wardens saw to it that everyone remained obedient and orderly. A task difficult for anyone. The Wardens, though, have no capacity for reason and are, of course, far stronger and more resilient than any human. Making them perfect to guard the jail,” Scraggle explains as Joe walks further into the hallway.

“One is missing,” Joe calls out from the hallway.

“I’d forgotten about that. After the shutdown of the jail, before it became the Mines, all of the Wardens were called back for shutdown. We couldn’t have them running around in the Mines with children down there. One of them never came back. Perhaps it ran out of battery life. A mystery never solved,” Scraggle explains to Joe who walks back into the room. “Would you be so kind as to close the door to the Warden Hall?”

            “How would I do that?” Joe asks.

            “The same way you opened it,” Scraggle says with a smile.

            Joe looks back at the door and then at the black wall. The light is still on. He approaches it and places his hand in the same spot as before. The same sound occurs as before, repeats and then the door slowly falls back to the floor.

            “It is truly a relief to see that it works. After all these years I wasn’t sure it would.”

            “What, the door?” Joe responds, unclear as to what Scraggle is talking about.

            Rising from the couch and walking to the edge of the black wall, Scraggle begins to explain. “Let me show you.” He looks around at the wall, searching for something. “Ah, yes. Here we are. Please, join me.”

            Joe walks to Scraggle.

            “Now if you’ll just stand here.” Scraggle positions Joe two feet in front of the wall. “Excellent. Now, place your right hand—this one.” The old man lifts Joe’s right hand. “Place it on the wall and hold it there.”

            Joe does as Scraggle requests. At first nothing happens. Joe looks at Scraggle for an explanation.

            “One more moment,” Scraggle tells him.

            A faint light grows in the black. Its height and width are exactly that of Joe. An image starts to form.

            “It can sometimes be a slow process. Especially if you are new,” Scraggle says before a perfect image of Joe appears on the wall.

            Joe jerks his hand back and steps away. The image starts to fade but Scraggle grabs Joe’s hand and places it back on the wall.

            “Dear boy, I never considered the idea that you’d never seen yourself before. I suppose there aren’t many reflective surfaces in the Mines…”

            “That’s me?” Joe asks. He stares at his own reflection. He touches his own face and looks down at the clothes he wears. Without removing his hand, he sways back and forth watching the image of himself move at the same time. Joe kicks his feet forwards and back and the image does the same. He smiles and lets out a laugh. The image mimics him, only without sound.

            “This is what is known as a reflection. Of course this is more like a scan. A digital reflection if you will,” Scraggle explains. “It was used to catalogue each prisoner and worker in the Column.”

            “Lauren would love this,” Joe muses.

             “If you think that is incredible, place only your fingers on the wall.” Scraggle smiles as though he has a secret.

            Joe pushes his fingers up so that the palm of his hand is pushed off of the wall. The image of Joe changes to one of just a skeleton.

            “This is your skeletal system. Your bones are what keep you standing,” Scraggle explains in a summarized way.

            Joe continues moving around, watching his skeleton mimic his movements exactly.

            “Raise your thumb from the wall,” Scraggle says.

            Joe does as instructed and another image appears over the skeleton. This one is red and full of lines and striations. Almost like a webbing, moving throughout arms and legs. Joe cranes his head back. It’s fairly unnerving sight but he does not remove his hand.

            “The musculature system. What you see is how you are able to move and perform your tasks. Each piece is capable of growing and stretching. A most glorious working.”

            Scraggle gives Joe a moment to take in the sight a little longer.

            As Joe moves his limbs around he notices the movement of his muscles. The stretching and the turning that they do depend on what movements he makes.

            “One more layer. This is the one that allows the musculature system to work. It is the life of all of us. Leave only your three fingers on the wall.”

            Joe places his little finger under his thumb and the image of fibrous muscle disappears, leaving only red lines from the top of Joe’s head to the bottoms of his feet. All indications that Joe is looking at a person have disappeared into these red lines.