Chapter 12: The Great Escapegoat
Anthony, Mark, and Stephen followed the trail of debris into a warehouse. Mark explained their path to Anthony and Stephen.
"This warehouse is connected to a rail line that will take us straight to the turnstile. From there the trains are only a stone's throw away."
The rail lines seemed to be largely untouched save for a hole in the blast doors that was a few feet off the ground. Luckily, there was a cargo bed that was next to it.
Anthony spoke up. "
If we do this right, we might be able to squeeze through that hole and into the turnstile yard"
"Not like we have any other options"
Mark muttered.
Mark helped Dr. Walker through the rabbit hole and they crouched into the turntable yard. A large covered storage platform that was probably once used for storing trains had been used as a staging area for the soldiers. The soldiers however were all dead. Victims of an earlier firefight several hours ago. A turntable was in the center of the yard. Behind it was an operating booth. Three dead marines lay in front of the door to the booth. Inside a deceased security guard lay on his chest behind the controls.
"This the security guard you were following?" Mark asked the scientist.
"No. The name on his ID tag read Barney Calhoun. According to this man's card, his name is...Brian Armstrong."
"Isn't Calhoun the one who usually hangs around the bars?" Anthony asked.
"Yeah." Mark replied. "Who'd of thought he'd still be alive!"
Montague opened a door on the far left side of the yard and looked in.
the train station was an archaic leftover from the golden days of railway travel. The station was probably built before the turn of the century from the looks of the Victorian Era Architecture and the peeling wallpaper that remained. The antique floor was covered in a thick layer of dust and broken windows hung ajar. Rotting wooden planks covered up a tunnel on their right, while a warehouse stood in front of the station. Adjacent to the station were the supply rails that fed the technical and nutritional needs of the Black Mesa Facility. Those trains had already left a week ago and would not return until next month.
"Man this place is in bad shape"
Anthony observed wiping a layer of dust off the walls.
"This building probably hasn't been in use since the 60's when the railroads died down."
Mark reminisced.
"Maybe we could find a train in that warehouse and fix it up." Suggested Anthony.
"That just might work. Before I worked at Black Mesa, I operated trains back home. If we can manage to get one working we might be able to get out of here." Mark concluded.
"Didn't you mention finding some friends of yours Murtaugh?"
Stephen reminded them.
Mark agreed. "There is an older section of the transit system that the others should have taken. It should be on the red line of the system. Get over there and bring them back here. Ok Murtaugh?"
"Yeah um, Mark? how do I access the red line from here?" Anthony asked the occupied security guard.
"Oh right. Just remove those planks over there." Mark said pointing to the rotting pile of wood."
Murtaugh picked up a wrench from off the floor and clenching it tight in his grasp, he brought it down hard several times, breaking the boards like a tooth pick.
The old foreboding tunnel beckoned him into it as he switched on his flash light with his left hand and, raised his Glock with his right. The sounds of water dripping onto the floor was the only noise he could hear as he went deeper into the tunnels and hopefully, towards his friends...
it was nightfall when the osprey finally arrived at HECU Headquarters. Two soldiers yanked him off the osprey and held him in place as they approached the command bunker.
A Military Police soldier stood at attention, ever vigilant as he pressed a code into a keypad on the door and let them in. Continuing down a corridor, they arrived in a massive room and strapped him to a chair facing a man in an executive arm chair that was turned around surrounded by screens monitoring troop movements, diagnostics of hostile aliens on the move, and footage that showed a drone strike on 20 foot tall monstrosities. The man turned his chair around. Roger's eyes struggled to adjust to the loss of light in the room. At first only the man's lit cigar was visible, then his shades; until at last roger could stare down the man who had ordered this infamous and illegal assault on the facility. He had a blonde crew cut and wore an informal red tank top and jeans. Quite unusual for a general, he thought. His soulless eyes were shrouded by his dark shades that seemed to penetrate Roger's inner most thoughts. Finally he spoke.
Do you know why you're here, Roger...Thompson?" He said looking down at a hand held tablet.
Roger wanted to say so much to this man, to spit on his boots and insult him in the most vile manner. But he was at a loss for words.
Seeing his captive's unwillingness to respond this general simply answered for him.
"You are here because the administration has found you to be an invaluable resource to explain to us what happened."
Roger still was resisting the urge to speak.
"If you won't tell us what happened...Mr. Thompson." the general grinned evilly. "Then I'm not going to interrogate you... I'm gonna kick your ass." He sternly said pulling out a golden 1911 Colt Pistol and aiming it at Roger's forehead.
"Well, what'll it be Mr. Thompson?"
the man said standing up.
Roger could take no more sass from this ass and defiantly tried to rise from his seat and spoke harshly.
"That's Dr. Thompson to you!"
"I'll take that as a yes." The general said as he summoned two marines to him. "Take...Dr. Thompson here to his room, put him on an AC-130 plane to Washington tomorrow for a session with congress. Make sure the media will find another celebrity scandal so the public is distracted from any reports that may leak out.
"Yes sir" the marines barked taking Roger by the arms and escorting him to his room.
