Chapter 7: From Above To Below
Welcome everyone to Chapter 7. Hope you will enjoy this. As I write this, I'm in the midst of reshaping my schedule to better fit my new study regimen. As a result, this chapter may end up in your hands probably a long time after this weak start. But I'll try my best to make this one worth the time. As always, send in your reviews, likes and favs and thanks again for supporting my work. Now, on to the show...
Elizabeth felt her lips echo a thin groan as she awoke yet again for the umpteenth time that day in another unfamiliar location. Now, her feet found purchase around a landscape resembling something more akin to a residential house. Where exactly, she could not place... Judging by the look and the aesthetic of it, she was far away from the glitz and glamour of the more wealthy forefronts.
In front of her, the wallpaper was peeling in two corners, the thin sheet nearly hitting the floor below. It would make little difference anyway since it was faded out and completely devoid of colour, life or personality. It might have been simple brick and mortar for all the good it did. And even that had issues, long edged cracks zigzagging across the length of the room with dust gathering in clumps under the more hard to reach places.
Neither place nor time mattered when compared to her kind father's face hovering over her own, a smile crowning his lower half strongly. Elizabeth smiled back as she propped herself against the hard brick wall behind her and used her lithe hands to prop herself steady despite her condition.
"Easy... Easy there, Anna. You passed out again." Booker huffed, producing a damp cloth from out of nowhere and dabbing her forehead with all the caring he could muster. Elizabeth reciprocated this feeling with a sigh, upset that she was being babysat again like a small child.
"Heh... That's twice now." Anna winced, backpedalling with a shake of her head when Booker looked absolutely mortified. "Don't worry. Probably just exhausted, that's all." She replied quickly.
"Okay... I guess you'd better keep out of trouble, young lady." Booker spoke gruffly, putting on a facade he didn't really need.
"Dad, I'm a Dewitt. I don't need to find trouble. Trouble finds us." Elizabeth cracked wise, finding enough strength to pull herself upright.
"Atta girl." Booker smirked, patting Elizabeth on her left shoulder three times. Standing up, he headed towards a nearby table, on which laid a deluge of firearms from Mausers to revolvers and shotguns. Taking one of the revolvers in his scarred hand, he felt the cold, hard metal crease gently across his palm, the handiwork marred by use and tapered paint. As Booker dressed down the firearm, his hand started to stain with the gold paint used to adorn the art, ironically making him yellow up to his hand. Six rounds lined the edge and all of them were chambered one by one. Each round clicked into the revolving cylinder with ecstatic joy. 'The day I get used to this is the day I turn sober.' He nonchalantly convened within his thoughts.
The click-clack noise kept Elizabeth on the edge of her seat, never once allowing her to falter and plunge back into another dream-filled rest. Instead, that and keeping a watch on the barricaded door right in front of her would suffice at this point in time. Glancing for just a second downwards, she could no longer recognize the neat clothes that her dad bought her one Thanksgiving night. The white pleats were muddled, soggy and draped in a sickening pale brown colour. The hems of her skirt was slightly ripped, not to the point of sheer embarrassment but to a degree that her cheeks flummoxed red when she considered whatever method Booker used to drag her here. Her sleeves were of equal note, in disrepair and wanting of a first-class tailor to allow to last the night. Alas, there would be no time to worry about durability.
"I think we're all set. Here..." his voice cried out at the edges of her ears. She quickly turned around and caught the incoming shotgun with ease, the metal feeling right at home in her palms.
"Where'd you get this?" She spoke incredulously, making note of the weapon's condition being so well kept despite the paint's fade clearly indicating its age.
"From our previous residence. Turns out the owners had a secret stash hidden away underneath one of the floorboards. Dumb luck that turned out to be." Booker called back, holstering his trusty sidearm at his side and grabbing a boomstick of his own off the wooden table.
"So, what's the plan?" Elizabeth asked.
"The plan? What makes you think I have a..." Booker started to sound off when that familiar dull throbbing and flash of light swizzed past his irises in a blur. The sound of her daughter's voice was fading into the background, replaced slowly by plain white noise.
"Dad? Are you okay?" Elizabeth took a step forward, a level of concern plastered dementedly over her features. Her brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Booker swaying off balance.
"I'm fine. Just feel a little dizzy." Booker heard his throat cough up even as the voice droned out and devolved into gibberish. As his nose dribbled yet another small dosage of thick, red mess down his face, his hand barely had the strength to wipe it off in time. The memories that once felt fleeting at best had chosen to gain clarity at this venture. The images still passed by in a heartbeat but now his eyes and his mind could take a gander at the few that did slow down. A picture of his hand shot out, firing bolts of pure electricity at guards atop a massive airship. A blurry figure tossing a silver coin with an eagle into his bandaged hand. The... the... the twin scientists. Booker's mental projection stood aghast as he watched his employers repeat the same instructions to him. But as he continued to observe, he found it completely different. No Anna sitting right next to him in the rickety boat. A box of belongings oddly similar. But lastly, the same blurry persona stamped out on a postcard with loopy handwriting with direct instructions to bring to New York.
"Dad?" Elizabeth's voice popped back from out of nowhere. The veil of transparency was shattered. Like glass against a fast ball, the images broke apart and seamlessly transformed into wisps of smoke and fragments. His mind reached out for the one piece on the floor, the one depicting the unknown person and held on for dear life, even as all around him, the black canvass melted away and reality sunk back in.
"Dad?!" Elizabeth added more force to her rapt command for his attention. Booker's head awoke and shook itself, a common practice he found invigorating, especially after travelling to the realm of fantasy.
"Sorry, sweetheart." He remarked, one final shake completely rooting him in the land of the living.
"No need to apologize. Well?" Elizabeth brushed it off, confident as she was in her dad's latent talents.
"Um... Yes. Anyway, you mentioned Uncle Slate when you were out cold." Booker gestured with his hand as he struggled to recall events still fresh from yesterday.
"I was... uh... dreaming about the past, Dad. I don't see how it is relevant." She queried, puzzled by how he latched onto that bit of info.
"Well, maybe... Maybe we can find him. Gather our bearings. He owed me a couple of favours when he left. This seems like the right time to cash in." He went off on his own little tangent, leaning out of the windows to see if the coast was clear.
"And where would we even begin to look? And what if he doesn't want to help us? You heard the P.A announcement." Elizabeth rattled off question after question, wanting to assured that this master plan wasn't a one way ticket to the grave.
"If he won't help us willingly, then we'll resort to more... unconventional methods. If... and only if it comes to that. As to his whereabouts, I have a feeling he'll be cooped up in a law-enforcement station. We just have to find a map and we'll be set." Booker laid out his master-plan.
"Are you insane? You want us to go storm a heavy-fortified building filled with people who want to kill us in the hopes we find him? Since when did you start getting suicidal?" she spoke incredulously, unconvinced.
"Since yesterday... Look, Anna... This is our best... our only shot at getting this done and getting off this floating horror show. Are you with me?" Booker regretfully lamented, a deep sigh escaping him. It didn't take even a split-second before Elizabeth also replied in kind and started shambling over to her father.
"Sigh... I'm always with you, Dad." She answered, stretching out her arms and grasping him in a tight vice-like hug. Booker seemed shocked, almost universally so for some odd reason. And yet, his muscles relented, relaxed and let this gesture play itself out. Why ruin such a good thing? Elizabeth's mouth slowly edged towards Booker's ear and her lips moved ever so slightly as the message came out in a bare whisper.
"If we live through this, you so owe another trip to Paris." She grinned as she spoke, before finally pulling away from her father.
"I'll keep that in mind." He smirked, watching his young girl walk away with a skip in her step and newly-acquired vigour fresh in her heart. And so, they stepped out into the streets for the umpteenth time that day to face their uncertain fate head on, to wherever the road may take them to.
All was quiet on the streets of Ascendance. No longer did the peddlers market their wares on the street flamboyantly, only the black market remained at large, several of whom the duo traipsed by in dark alleys. The children's ever joyous laughter failed to linger in the air, relegated to gentle whispers from parents to stay quiet within their homes as soon as they walked by. The P.A announcement was effective, to the point of complete and utter panic, afraid and fearful for their lives. Perhaps a little too well, since Booker and Elizabeth rarely encountered guards on their journey either.
"Surreal..." she commented as her head spun about and her ears heard nothing.
"Well, at least this beats fighting through an entire army." He chimed in wittily.
"Yeah, but where the hell are they?" she shot back.
"As long as they're not at the police station, I don't really care." He retorted, confident yet wary. He knew better than anyone that it was not wise to let your guard down for even a split-second, lest they end up as someone's chew toy.
"Look! A map!" Elizabeth spied from the corner of her eye a folded up piece of paper poking out of a deluge of rubbish in a nearby rubbish bin.
"I'll go get it. Cover me, Anna." Booker barked out, sauntering over towards the trash receptacle.
"Make it quick, dad. I don't like this one bit." Elizabeth voiced her opinion, her eyes darting from one chokepoint to the next.
"Ewwww... Disgusting... Look at all this wasted food." Booker yanked the stained map with a hint of revolt etched across him. "I'm sure some crazy sod would call this nourishing." He pondered with a level of irony he could not even begin to phantom. Unfurling the paper, his finger scanned the dirty map accompanied by his eagle eye. As soon as his nail stopped at the Ascendance police station, his heart skipped a beat. Yet again, his finger moved, now to pinpoint their own location. He did not need to travel far, only five blocks from where they needed to be.
"Okay... We're about five blocks from the station, right here at Denizen street. If we keep going straight for about three blocks and turn right at the junction, we should be in spitting distance." He recanted his observations.
"Is there any landmarks nearby?" Elizabeth moved right behind Booker, her periwinkle blue irises scanning the map at her own leisure.
"Uh... yes. Galaber's Pavillion. It's a small park at the junction." He thumbed towards a plot of green surrounded by brown, white and red squares.
"That's good, right?" she responded hopefully.
"Better than good... It's perfect. Come on, daylight's starting to fade out." Booker refolded the map and pointed towards the sky, now a light shade of dark blue instead of clear, bright blue. His daughter nodded in acceptance and both Dewitts took off in a hurried and mad sprint. The road hurtled past them at breakneck speeds, dashes and streaks of colour barely elapsing at the corners of their eyes. The skyline grew darker still, rays of sunlight peeking out just barely to light the way. Strangely, none of the lamps shone bright to guide them, only darkness to envelop them whole.
Her eyes squinting to even take in her surroundings, Elizabeth found little to guide her save outlines and her father right in front of her. But as time elapsed, it was growing increasingly clear that he was as lost as her.
"Dad, we need to stop and take our bearings. It's too dark out here." Elizabeth huffed out, easily keeping up with Booker.
"Huff... Huff... Should just be a bit farther..." her father rejected the idea, opting to stay the course.
"Dad... We have no idea where we are. Running around like headless chickens won't make it any better." Elizabeth wryly replied to his stubbornness.
"No, I can... Ow!" Booker responded, only to feel his entire body smack into something hard, sending him reeling backwards onto the pavement below him. Elizabeth rushed to his aid, stopping his skull from impacting the hard stone and propping him up back to his feet.
"Dad! You alright?" she echoed. The obstacle inched closer and the shadow of a man with a slight bulge for a stomach peered back at them behind a veil of black.
"Who goes there? Don't you know it's descendance time?" the man issued a reply in a gruff overtone. A lightbulb clicked in Booker's head, ironic considering he was likely having a concussion.
"Wait, I know that voice... Slate?" he murmured, his finger shakily pointing at the figure. Now it was the man's turn to let his cranial centre shine bright.
"Well, I'll be damned!" The man seemed to reach into his backpocket for something. Producing a simple stick, he took them by surprise when all it took was a simple smack on his leg to illuminate this wondrous device and bathe them in its glow. Elizabeth took Slate in by stock. He had changed considerably since she had last seen him at her father's birthday nearly five years ago. His grey-white beard had grown to full length, Ascendance obviously placing more emphasis on scientific advancement rather cosmetic ones. An eyepatch roughly covered the big hole that used to be his right eye, sending shivers down her spine. Speaking of posterior, Slate looked as though he had let himself go, judging by the bump that was his stomach.
"It is! Booker Dewitt, my best detective!" Slate rejoiced with pride, pulling Booker up in a swift motion and tugging him closer for the granddaddy of all hugs, arms squishing his friend's frail body and knocking the wind out of him.
"Owww... Ribs..." Booker gasped out in pain, to which Slate remained ignorant. Elizabeth could not help but chuckle at the notion in front of her.
"Didn't think a spoilsport like you would come up here!" Slate pressed deeper into the hug, depriving even more oxygen from Booker by the second.
"Yeah, I'm full of surprises... Could you maybe..." he barely wheezed out. Slate finally seemed to get the hint and let the plea register in his brain. His grip slackened to a point, allowing the broken detective catch his breath.
"Oh, apologies." He responded, watching Booker settle down for a spell. Elizabeth merely nodded in reciprocation, tending to her father.
"So what brings you and... your daughter here to Ascendance?" he duly asked.
"We came here to do a job. And we thought you might be able to help us." Elizabeth answered before Booker could even begin to purse his lips. Booker was taken aback slightly by his daughter's forwardness but chose to let her actions reign supreme for the both of them at this point in time.
"Well, I'm flattered that you'd even consider me. Come in!" Slate replied jovially, sauntering off and casting a warm glow right at the structure right behind him. To Elizabeth's shock, the police station greeted them, bars on the fence, archway and all.
"Told you it was just a bit further..." Booker sniggered wittily.
"Ha, ha..." Elizabeth laughed sarcastically. Led by Slate, the duo followed the aging soldier and policeman up the stairs into his humble abode. The keys on his belt jingled and rattled as his thick fingers fumbled for them. Satisfied with his pick upon further examination, he twisted the key. The click sound vibrating in his eardrums felt menial, a sound he has heard so many times. He swung the door open and ushered both father and daughter hurriedly into the station, slamming them shut and locking them behind him in a similar fashion. To that end, they followed their only guide to wherever he may lead them.
Elizabeth tried her best to recall any of her latent memories of the once great halls since her last visit. Alas, the place was an entire variable in itself. Sheets of hard glass lathered the windows, bolted into place with steel frames built to withstand repeated assaults. Desks scattered with piles of paperwork to benefit the Ascendance work force combined with empty casings to give the sense that most of the police force had just up and gone. Further evidence of Slate slumming it up in the area revealed itself as they continued further. Piles of thrown apples lay rotted at the side. Half-empty bottles lined one of the desks, behind which the wall remained riddled with bullet holes. Her face pursed for a brief moment as she let herself be taken back to her glory days, when Booker took her out into the wilds outside the hustle and bustle of the city for a little bit of target practice. A gentle tap on her shoulder broke the immersion completely, driving her right back to the cold reality facing her with a jolt.
"You okay there, missy?" Slate's gruff tone echoed his sentiments. Elizabeth spun about.
"Yeah... Yeah. Just wondering where all the officers are." She shrugged.
"Looking for the both of you with the army, no doubt." Slate responded with a brief wink. Her mind did the work, spun the gears and made her move. Her fingers brushed against the stock of her sidearm when Slate slapped her lithe fingers away calmly.
"Put that away, missy. I'm not turning you in. I owe your father some favours and I'm not itching to get gunned down in my old age." Slate bemusingly joked at her expense. She glared at him with her periwinkle blue irises, an itchy trigger finger seeping into her good shooting arm that took all her willpower not to act upon. Slate did not wait for the outcome, rejoining Booker in the main hallway silently.
"Are you coming?" she could hear him shout from around the corner. Spinning in place, her body shuffled almost robotically so back to the group. Slate, nodding with satisfaction pressed onwards, flanked by the duo.
"So, what's the job? Must be important if they managed to hitch you a ride up here..." he barked over to Booker.
"We're looking for this girl. Problem is..." he trailed off, handing Slate the photo. One glimpse and he joined the dots in a flash.
"She just so happens to have a price on your head." Slate surmised.
"I can't go back empty handed. I've got Anna to take care of and she won't be safe if we leave right now." Booker reasoned with him.
"She's not safe here either, Dewitt." Slate thoughtfully explained his musings.
"She insisted on coming herself." He retorted.
"Hmm..." Slate murmured, lost deep in thought.
"Please, Slate. You must have something." Booker pleaded with his former boss. Slate pursed his lips, weighing the pros and cons of supporting this crazy scheme. In the end however, he relented with the idea and went on with the show.
"Well, I know a little rebellion going on right now that might be able to point you in the right direction. But we'll have to wait until we finish descendance before I can arrange a meeting."
"It'll do." Booker accepted them meagre reply. Slate led them towards a nearby vault, the circular door swung wide open on its hinges.
"Here we are." Slate extended his hand and graced them with the room's interior.
"Whoa..." Elizabeth's mouth slipped in a wide O shape. Decked across the wall was a shredded American flag, held up by simple poles. Beneath it, a simple desk sat in the center like it was his own personal office. If that was the case, it was hard to tell from the lack of files or personal memorabilia to scatter on it. Just the sheer scale of messiness incorporated in what had to be just a short amount of time was staggering.
"Since those young lads went off to help out them tin cans on their little manhunt, I've taken the liberty of moving in." Slate proudly exclaimed with little shame.
"It's been only a few days." Elizabeth voiced her disbelief.
"When something this big starts sending our dear leader into a tizzy, best thing you can do is stock up and prepare for the worst." He surmised contently, picking up an empty popcorn bag and tossing it aside with wanton care.
"What is this 'Descendance' event you keep talking about? Sounds important..." Booker diverted the topic.
"That it'd be... Every month or so, we take this entire floating crag of a city and shove it all the way down into the sea to stock up on food and supplies. There's a network of tunnels built underneath the city that connects all the buildings in the city. We'll find our little rebellion there." Slate explained dryly at his desk, tapping twice on his clock to exemplify his point.
"Are you a part of them?" Elizabeth queried further.
"Hah, if only! Much as I hate them higher powers, I'll wait and see which side wins before I make any move. My guy will take care of you, don't you worry." He met her question with a booming roar of laughter that echoed with force in the confines of the vault. Booker and Elizabeth decided that the best plan of motion was to wait out the supposed event, nestling as comfortably as they could amidst the clutter that lined the walls instead of cold, hard cash. Slate flung open his drawers, setting out a well-worn handcannon and some much-needed rounds on the table along with some canned food. He didn't even bother with the can opener, just went straight to cracking it open with his own bare hands. He gestured to the duo first and then to the can held within his big palms. Booker motioned with a simple nod while Elizabeth, preferring liquid courage motioned otherwise. As Slate tossed the can nimbly into Booker's lap, he unhooked his personal flask from his belt and did the same for Elizabeth. Her lips pursed once, then moved in closer to take a swig. The cold, yet wheat-like taste of the alcohol swivelled within her mouth, tongue and teeth, an unfamiliar feeling. She only managed to gulp it down with pained expression before she was startled by a sudden blaring of the klaxons.
"Seems like we're beginning... Better hang onto something. Ride's gonna be rough..." Slate advised, his own grubby hand snapping to a makeshift handlebar right behind him. Booker took the hint, clinging onto one of the bars near the entrance to the vault. Try as she might though, Elizabeth could not find anything secure enough to hold onto. She settled for the next best thing, Booker's right leg. The city felt like it lurched downwards, plunging questionably at breakneck speeds towards the ground below. The air pressure started to build and act upon them. With the slant in perspective, Slate, Elizabeth and Booker could no longer plant their feet on the floor, forced to dangle like marionettes on strings to their safe havens. Anything not rooted to the floor soon followed, a cascade of crap flowing down towards one end and piling up.
The shock only grew worse when they hit the water. The splash of sea water as they made impact sloshed just outside their view and smashed against the panels of glass holding this place together. Their bodies were violently slapped back and forth, causing Elizabeth to crash unladylike on the floor, bruising her ribs. Searing pain soon followed, if not the dull sound of cracked bones. Her eyes pinched together and a whimper escaped her mouth. Still, the city continued to submerge, bathing the city entirely in its rapture. For two hours, the city strained against the rising pressure outside, delving more and more phantoms under the sea till at last the trio could stand on their feet.
"Welcome to Descendance, folks..." Slate cracked wise, brushing dust off his uniform. Fish swam about, glancing only briefly at these strange new beings intruding upon their soil. Underwater plant life took to blossoming, the faint glow from their bodies lighting the area of their arrival. Predators of the sea swam about, longing for the prey within with dark eyes but mocked by its protective barriers. It was a city under the sea. A city of two worlds...
No AN today... Too tired... Thanks for reading and keep up the support. See you soon...
