The Variables (37 page)

The boxes hummed and churned.

Grant pulled Frank tighter and took a step toward the men.

Nate lifted his gun in Grant’s direction.

From behind him, Jorge shouted, “All six boxes in place. The ones behind the screen are going, the ones from the theater room are operational.”

“Can anyone see what’s happening?” someone shouted.

Inside the secluded room, Grant could start to piece together the sounds of panic. Voices rose and fell in worry and alarm; a woman’s scream, a man’s yell, the sound of traveling feet across the gym floor.

“What’s happening?” Grant called to Dylan, who had taken his place several feet back from the closed metal doors of the Center, his weapon raised.

Now he could hear coughing. A thin film of vapor seeped out beneath the doors and disappeared. Someone hit the doors with full force and they bulged, but didn’t open.

“Prepare for breach!” Dylan shouted.

Huck’s video played on. His voice seeped underneath the new sounds of horror. “
You must understand your role. And understand that I realize you will not have seen this sea change coming. But it is imperative to the success of my Islands. Only a true tempest will refine us. I bid you a fond farewell. Please know, in your final moments here, that your memories will not be forsaken.
” The video turned to static as some women shrieked in shrill trills. Frank growled and then barked, yanking on the leash and crying out wildly—his cries mingling in with the cries of the people.

Nate stalked forward, his gun on Grant. And Grant backed up.

“What’s happening?” Grant asked in a whisper. He was out in the hallway, taking wide steps behind him without looking where he was going. A cold sweat dripped down his neck. “What’s happening?” he asked again, louder.

Nate shook his head. “Grant...I’m sorry...”

“No,” Grant breathed.

Copia.

It didn’t exist. It had never existed. It was a lie fed to people unworthy enough to travel to the next world. He wanted to let go of Frank’s leash and run, but he couldn’t. Still his feet carried him backward as Nate followed him.

“All those people—”

“Just our orders, Grant,” Nate said. “We liked you, kid. You have to believe me.”

Grant raised a hand to his neck and tugged on Salem’s crucifix. He held on to it and started to pray.

“Help me, help me, help me,” Grant said. “Mother Mary and Lord Jesus, dear God, no, no—”

A rise and fall of screams echoed down the hall, but Nate didn’t flinch.

“Oh my Jesus,” Grant whispered. He closed his eyes. “Forgive us of our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls into heaven, especially those in most need of the mercy.”

Blair’s screams through the radio seemed to blend in, and Grant almost didn’t notice that she was back on. When Nate finally realized that it was Blair and not the Copia residents, he grabbed the radio and pressed it to his ear with one hand while keeping his gun on Grant.

“Help! Help! Can anyone hear me?”

Grant kept moving backward.

Nate looked confused and tentative.

“Sorry, Blair....can’t really discuss now...in the middle...” Mick answered her in spurts. There was now gunfire near the movie theater exit. People had managed to attempt an escape. Grant took another step back and realized that he had trapped himself up against the elevator doors at the end of the hall. He could feel that his cheeks were wet, even though he hadn’t been aware that he was crying.

“Can you confirm we are all accounted for?” Blair screamed. He could hear her muffled voice. “Confirm! Confirm!”

“I can confirm. All Copia. All guards. Grant. And your damn dog. Get up here, Blair.” Mick sounded angry and stern, panicked. The gas still poured into the Center, the guards looked at their watches. The deaths had only just begun. “Five minutes.”

“Then we have intruders. I repeat. I repeat. We have intruders. Private Ryley’s been shot and we are not alone down here!” Blair screamed. “I’m coming back up. I’m coming back up!”

In his own flustered panic, Grant hit the elevator button with his elbow. Nate’s attention was drawn away for a second down the hall, and Grant eyed the gun. He imagined himself attempting to pry the gun free. It was an act of pure bravado that he thought he might be physically capable of; if he could distract Nate for just a second, he could launch himself. Maybe buy some time.

But it was futile. Nate’s orders were to kill him. If he failed, there was an entire hallway of armed men ready to pick up where he left off.

Grant knew that the direct elevator was at the end of the hallway. He willed Blair to run faster. Maybe she would intercede for him. Maybe she didn’t know about the orders to kill him. He realized that Blair might be his only hope.

Nate tucked the walkie back into his uniform pocket and leveled the gun again. Grant closed his eyes. Then from down the hall, Grant could hear Blair running. No one else was wearing heels. He snapped his eyes opened and watched her approach. Her face was white and ashen, and her shirt untucked. Grant noticed that the tips of the pumps were covered in blood.
 

Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away.

“Blair!” Grant called to her, but his voice caught.

“Frank!” she shouted. “I need Frank!”

Nate looked down at the ground and then up at Grant. “It’s time.” He leaned in and grabbed Grant’s shirt collar and began to pull him away from the elevator doors. Grant heard a tiny pop and felt Salem’s necklace snap loose—the chain had broken in the scuffle. With all his energy, Grant tried to duck out of Nate’s grip. The crucifix fell to the floor.

The elevator gave a tiny peal.

An announcement of arrival.

There were more gunshots in the background. More screams.
 

Nate bristled and stared at the metal doors. They started to open and Nate let go of Grant and swung his gun in the direction of the elevator doors, and then back to Grant’s head.

The doors of the elevator opened fully and Grant could tell by the look on Nate’s face that there was someone in there. Taking his chance, he ducked down, and grabbed tightly on to Frank and waiting for the blast to kill him.
 

A gunshot rang out. Nate crumpled to the ground, his gun clattered to the tiled floor. The would-be-assassin held on to his leg and blood began to seep through his uniform.

“I need backup!” he yelled down the hall. Dylan and Jorge turned their heads. “Intruders! Alert!”

Blair screamed wildly and scrambled back to the far wall. She tumbled to the ground and kicked herself as far away from the elevator doors as she could. Nate reached out to her, his hands covered in blood.

“Get my gun, Blair! Dammit! The gun!”

Grant was faster. He scrambled forward and locked his hands around the barrel, and then turned to the open elevator. He didn’t know who he was supposed to shoot—the intruders or the people trying to kill him. Another shot rang out and Grant braced for the impact, but Nate tumbled over again, a hole gaping in his uniform just above his bicep.

Blair’s screams of terror, Nate’s screams of pain, and the march of footsteps running to their aid operated in the background as Grant realized he knew the people in that elevator.

They were calling, motioning, but all he could hear was Blair, Nate, the footsteps, the dog barking, his ears ringing. His eyes adjusted. He could see them clearly.

It was Darla he recognized first.

She was gaunter than he remembered, but it was absolutely Darla; covered in blood, she held a gun pointed at Nate’s head and she screamed for Grant to climb into the elevator with them. Her screams barely registered above the other din and Grant felt sluggish in his response to her. Was this real? Was he already dead? He obliged and crawled on all fours away from the chaos as Darla pushed the button.

Behind her he saw the familiar face that looked so much like his own. A face that surfaced in dreams, but had seemed fuzzy in recent weeks—as if his entire family was just a series of old movies playing inside his brain.

“Dad?” Grant whispered. Time seemed to stand still. He collapsed on the floor and looked upward. He must be dead. Nate had shot him in the head and he was dying on the floor of the System. His dad and Darla were there to escort him to the afterlife. “Dad?” he asked again.

Frank barked. The bark pulled Grant back toward reality. He had never let go of the leash and the dog had followed him into the elevator as an unwilling partner; he barked at his owner, who was still screaming outside in the hallway, and he licked at Grant’s head. Darla looked at the dog and then Nate and discharged her weapon once again, this time hitting the wall behind the guard’s head.

The other guards were getting closer. Blair scrambled toward them on all fours. Her feet slipped on the blood.

His dad.

His dad was here.

“No!” Blair screamed. Her primal cries rang out as she propelled herself off the floor and into the elevator. She reached for Frank’s leash. Her legs passed over the threshold just in time for the doors to collapse behind her; the elevator began moving upward and away from the men below. Cuddling her dog close, she pushed herself into the corner and looked up at Dean and Darla with wide, wild eyes.

A walkie-talkie crackled.

Blair wasn’t holding hers anymore and Grant realized that his dad was holding one to his ear.

“Mick! Advise! Advise! Two intruders and Grant and Blair are making their way from elevator one to the outside lift. Do we fire?”

“Yes, dammit!” Mick answered.

“But...Blair...”

“If they get to the surface, we give them all the advantage. Do what you need to do. Take them
all
out, you hear me?”

“Mick...are you sure.”

“Fire at will. Indiscriminately. Take out the elevator.”

“Turn the elevators off, dammit.”

“Working on it...” Mick said, and the communication was cut short.

Blair choked out a mixture of a gasp and a sob and clutched Frank’s neck. “Who are you?” she asked, her eyes darting between everyone around her. Grant had pushed his back against the climbing elevator. He could hear the gunshots ring out below. Little pings echoed around them; the bullets were landing against the metal.

Darla took her gun and put it against Blair’s head, and Blair screamed and cowed.
 

“Don’t kill me,” she screamed. “Please, please, don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“How do we get out of here?” Darla asked.

“If we ma-ma-make it to the main lift...then we just go. Once that elevator is going, they, they, they’d have to wait to come after us until we reached the surface.” Blair said, looking at Darla through her tears. “But—” she stopped. “If they come after you, you’re toast. Look, we’re toast no matter what. If the elevators stop...I can’t control that...”

The elevator churned to a slow stop. The sides rattled. Dean swore under his breath.

Together, Darla and Dean pried the doors open and saw two feet of light pour into the box; they had been so close to their destination.

“You first,” Darla said to Dean and he listened without hesitation and crawled through the small open space, depositing himself on to the ground below. Grant went next. Then Blair pushed Frank through and then herself. Darla was last.

Darla grabbed Blair and propped her up on her feet, and they took off running, back up the same hallway that had brought them into the underground dome. Frank ran alongside, his tail and tongue wagging, like he was back jogging with Blair.
 

“They’ll be right on your heels,” Blair said. “There are hidden stairwells to this portion...in case of an emergency.”

And sure enough, just as they reached the elevator to the surface, they saw a blur of uniforms appear. The guards began to fire. Jorge and the redhead raised their guns and fired. The bullets ricocheted off the walls and the sound made Grant’s ears hurt. They climbed aboard the lift and pushed the button. It began to rise. Its exposed top made Grant feel woozy; he could see the reinforced dirt walls and feel the warm stagnant air. A single lightbulb illuminated the area and cast their shadows on the wall. A bullet pierced the bottom of the small elevator and Blair screamed. Dean grabbed her and held her close, pushing her toward the side. Another bullet tore through the bottom.

They traveled upward slowly.

The gunshots began to get softer, further away.

“They’ll just come after you,” Blair said. “You won’t get away.”

The walkie-talkie crackled again, but the voices on the other end were too jumbled to understand. They were slipping out of range.

Dean embraced Grant and put his hand on the back of his head. “Son,” he said. When he drew back to look at him, he was crying. “I can’t believe this…I don’t have the words…”

“Son?” Blair whispered and she looked between Grant and Dean, her arm still wrapped around Frank’s neck. “Oh my God.” She clamped her mouth shut and stared off at the dark wall surrounding them. “Oh my...”

“Blair—” Grant started and she looked at him, her eyes big.

“I don’t understand,” she replied. “You know them.” It wasn’t a question. She closed her eyes tight. “I’m so confused. You know them.”
 

“Blair,” he said again. “This is my dad. And this is Darla...” he stopped. “Teddy’s mom.”

Blair inhaled like all the air had been punched out of her and she was struggling for breath. When she looked at Grant, she was a piteous mess; all her fear and anger had morphed into a penetrating sadness. He wanted to go to her, but he kept his distance, assessing her confusion from the safety of his corner. Blair’s head dropped to her chest and she put her hand over her heart.

“My dad told me his mom was dead,” she said in a whisper.

“I’m very much alive,” Darla answered. “Much to everyone’s chagrin, I’m sure.” She looked up as the elevator continued its climb. They could see the light now from the opened elevator doors on the surface; daylight crept downward, and the air was lighter, more breathable. “We need a plan. Stat.”

“They will realize that they can’t waste time waiting for this lift and they’ll go the emergency lifts at the other end of the System,” Blair said weakly. “That’s probably why they didn’t kill the elevators...they’re heading to the hidden ones…”