Sighing, Matt breathed in the pungent, foul air of rubbish and mould. The odour of the abandoned factory brought stinging tears to Matt's eyes, prickling his face like little droplets of acid. Dark grey clouds rolled over the distant hills, plunging the old factory in darkness as the gnarled limbs of the great clouds engulfed the once vibrant sun. What little remained was quickly snatched by the towering factory. It stood between two looming hills, surrounded by gravel, with crumbling towers that reached into the ash grey sky. The factory was an antique, forsaken place; its walls disintegrating, crumbling beneath the weight of despair. Guarding the deserted building was a rusting, loosely hung metal mesh fence that once stood as the first line of defence against the outside world. As the grey clouds tumbled over the hills, a demoralising black shadow crept towards the factory, devouring any spark of light. Eventually, the last ray of the once radiant sun was whisked away, shrouded beyond the cloak of dread, and the black shadow enveloped the old factory, casting Matt and the team in darkness.
What a pleasant place, Matt thought, slamming the car door shut in frustration. The thick grey clouds threatened to soak them in a sudden downpour of rain and Matt was not too keen on returning to the ARC dripping wet. He was already concerned about the lack of specific coordinates for a supposed new Anomaly, since Jess had been unable to discern its actual location, and now he had to worry about returning to Emily drenched and stinking of… whatever disgusting thing left its scent all over the factory. A small part of him hoped that there was no Anomaly. That this was just a false alarm so he could get back to his date with Emily, but Matt knew that would be far too easy.
Groaning mentally, Matt retrieved an EMD and charged it, while Connor prepared the Anomaly Locking Device, and Becker and Abby checked out the immediate area. Judging by a similar look of disdain on their faces, Matt could tell they were also hating every minute of this wild goose chase. They had already searched a nearby village and found nothing - which had taken them at least a couple of hours - and they had searched an old lighthouse, coming to the same conclusion. All that was left was this old, smelly factory. And if they didn't find the Anomaly there, then Matt was ready to shoot something.
Despite the threat of rain, the aggravating goose chase, and the sickening smell of the factory, Matt pressed on, marching up to the entrance with fading confidence. The door - if a sheet of metal clinging to the door frame by loosely tied threads counts as a door - creaked as it swung gently in the cold breeze of the evening countryside. The creaking masked an eerie silence that sent subconscious shivers up and down Matt's exhausted spine. Taking a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the rotting smell tickled his nostrils, Matt clasped the jagged door, pulled, then covered his ears as the hinges squeaked like fingernails down a chalkboard. The others winced as the painful screeching viciously attacked their ear drums. Not wanting to harm himself any more, Matt released the rusty door, wiping the dirt off his head and stepping inside, holding his breath.
Inside the disgusting odour grew stronger, hiding in the shadows of the dimly lit, deserted corridors. A twisting grimace of irritated disgust crept onto Matt's face as he kicked aside mould-ridden piles of horribly disorganised paper and broken pieces of plaster and cobblestone which littered the perimeter of the dark corridors. Grunting, Matt helped Abby and Connor squeeze between the dusty wall and the ancient, rusted door while Becker quickly darted into the darkness, EMD raised.
"This place gives me the creeps." Connor commented, covering his nose, protecting himself from the pungent odour of mould and diseased, rotting rats.
Agreeing, Matt tapped his earpiece, silently praying that Jess had found the Anomaly's coordinates on a bronzed beach in the hot, vibrant sun. However, Jess was still unable to locate the Anomaly, so he was damned to spend the rest of the day in a flimsy, rickety old factory.
In that moment, Becker returned from his adventure in the shadows, the stoic soldier seemingly unfazed by the smell that had been pinching at Matt's eyes.
Pointing to a darkened corridor, Becker said. "The building has two floors and a basement."
Disheartened by the amount they needed to search, Matt formulated a plan. "We'll search the ground floor then split into two teams." Matt indicated towards Connor and Abby, who were sharing a grimace at the sight of a dead, rotting rodent curled up in the corner. "Connor and Abby, you take the first floor." He turned back to Becker. "Becker, you and I will search the basement." Hopefully we'll find the blasted thing and be out of here, Matt added, mentally.
They started down a crumbling corridor, water tapping mockingly in the distance sending ominous echoes through the deserted hallways. A chill danced the tango along Matt's spine as they searched every dust filled nook and every mould plagued cranny. The sprawling maze of ill-lit corridors and rooms were briefly illuminated by pale rays from the dying sun whose light broke through the many cracks in the crumbling walls of the ancient factory. However, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the team had returned to the entrance having searched the entire ground floor and found nothing. Becker guided them to the stairs and they prepared to separate into their assigned groups. Desperate to escape this melancholy prison, Matt radioed Jess, praying that she had finally found the Anomaly. Again, Jess hadn't been able to pinpoint the Anomaly's exact location.
Connor stopped before the creaking, old stairs, took one look, and raised a skeptical, concerned eyebrow. Chuckling to himself, Matt watched as Abby nudged him, claiming that the stairs were not capable of biting his ankles off. Not looking reassured, Connor reluctantly inched up the stairs as Matt and Becker descended into darkness.
Shivering, Matt tried to shake off a growing sense of paranoia erupting in his stomach as he followed Becker through the freezing basement. Stale, cold air twisted and turned, latching onto Matt's bones causing them to shake uncontrollably. The cold wrapped malevolent fingers around his lungs, tightening his chest, as his extremities trembled. Every one of Matt's instincts rang in his mind as the darkness seemed to edge closer and closer and closer.
"Matt!" The sudden sound of Jess' overjoyed voice almost prompted Matt's skeleton to abandon ship. "I've managed to get a lock on the Anomaly!" Warm relief quickly washed over Matt. Finally, He thought, though he maintained his expressionless mask to hide his growing fear.
"Where is it?" He asked, stopping Becker with a tap on the shoulder.
"Shouldn't be more than ten feet to your right." She beamed, her cheerful joy burning away the cold's malicious hold on Matt's strained lungs.
Carefully, Matt examined his surroundings, taking note of everything less than ten feet away from him. His eyes passed colonies of rotting mould, piles of abandoned scraps of dust smothered paper, stacks of broken pipes and exposed wires, until they finally fell upon an old storage room - concealed behind a relatively sturdy door - ten feet to his right. He cautiously approached the door, dodging a jagged, concrete pillar, and grasped the door handle. To his surprise, the door handle put up no resistance as he cautiously twisted it. Slowly, the door swung open revealing an empty space completely concealed in a thick cloud of opaque darkness. Confused, Matt stepped into the room expecting to see the familiar orange glow, expecting to hear the monotone hum, but there was nothing. Just… nothing.
Frustration starting to boil over, Matt stepped out and, tapping his radio, questioned Jess on the Anomaly's position. He was tempted to berate her for her seeming incompetence with the ADD, but the adorable sparkle in her voice melted Matt's heart in an instant, forcing him to bite his tongue and take a long, calming breath.
Suddenly, Matt heard an uncharacteristically terrified gasp from his usually stoic, unbreakable Head of Security. Matt twisted around and beheld a sight that almost killed him there. Becker had used his EMD torch light to illuminate the darkness unveiling a giant mass of explosives wired to other explosives and a blinking red timer counting down to their doom.
Five… four…
"Run!" Matt yelled, slamming the door shut as he and Becker bolted away, legs propelled by waves of raging adrenaline. Hearts pumping, lungs contracting, muscles panicking, they sprinted as the countdown descended.
…three… two…
One.
Darkness engulfed Matt while his body lay motionless, unable to move, barely able to breathe. His throbbing head robbed him of his precious senses as his mind raced circuits of his aching skull. What happened? Desperate to recollect past events, Matt, the world around him devoured by blackness, stirred slightly, instantly hit by a salvo of burning pain. He tried to take in a deep breath, but his tired lungs filled with shards of sharpened dust and his nostrils tinged with the smell of that pungent odour. He was still in that miserable factory, but there was something else he couldn't quite remember. Something happened, but what? A sudden sharp shot of pain erupted from his left arm which, though his surroundings were shrouded by the cloak of darkness, seemed to be outstretched by his side. An immense weight lay against his arm, forcing it against a jagged wall of what felt like stones or rocks. Matt stirred again, but immediately stopped moving when a second tidal wave of anguish burned through his nerves like a wildfire. Disturbed, Matt opened his eyes - which stung as the dust swarms gathered in anticipation of unsuspecting prey - and the shroud of darkness began to lift, menacingly slowly. Images formed around him: rocks, dust, debris, steel bars from reinforced concrete, ash, and darkness.
Suddenly, a blurred figure appeared in the slowly disassembling darkness, pinioned to the knife-like floor by an enormous concrete pillar. Squinting, Matt watched in dread as the images began to clear and his memories trickled back into his mind. There was a bomb! With his free right hand, Matt wiped his eyes and the malevolent veil of darkness finally lifted completely. An eerily motionless Becker lay beneath the concrete pillar, pinned to the inhospitable, teeth shaped ground. Above them was a coffin lid of rocks stacked precariously next to each other, clouds of dust descending with each dreadful rumble. Flanking them on all sides was a similar crypt of debris. Matt swore he saw the hollow face of death in the rocks. Trembling, Matt's memories flooded his mind like a landslide of emotions and fear. There was a bomb and this was their tomb!
Pinned to the catacomb wall by a metal rod over his left arm, Matt checked himself for damage. Other than a terrifyingly large gash on his forehead, he seemed fine, as long as he kept the cold blood out of his eyes with his free arm. Satisfied he wasn't in any immediate danger, Matt looked over to Becker, who couldn't have been less than two meters away, but the stoic soldier lay stiller than a statue carved from stone and reinforced with steel. Fear rising in his churning stomach, Matt called to Becker, "Becker? Are you okay, mate?", but there was no response. Becker was stronger than most, but the crushing weight of the concrete pillar that shackled his legs and abdomen to the jagged ground looked heavier than the thousands of tonnes of rocks that formed their twisted sarcophagus.
Matt started towards Becker, but a sudden burst of pain and an aggressive yank on his shoulder reminded him that he was pinned by his left arm. Irritated and desperate to help Becker, Matt pulled on his arm, but the constricting grip of the metal pole did not yield. He tried again, but the rod would not yield. Blood was beginning to drain out of his arm as he felt the cold touch of the pole tighten. Grunting, Matt tried to calm a blood stained hurricane of anguish as he pulled again. The metal rod was tightly secured to the jagged ground and the mangled roof of their coffin. With his free arm, Matt tested the pole, twisting and pulling, shaking and shivering, but the rod would not yield. Demoralised, Matt sighed, gazing at Becker's lifeless form, praying the soldier was all right. If he could just free himself he could check on the soldier and try to free him from his tomb. But then there was the issue of how deep they were buried. Had the entire factory collapsed on top of them? Even if he could free himself and Becker, could they even escape? And what of Connor and Abby? Were they alive? Did they somehow escape and alert the ARC? Or are they lying dead somewhere, entombed beneath a thousand tonnes of rocks and stones?
Matt shook his head. One thing at a time, he told himself, recollecting his scattered thoughts. Sucking in a deep breath, ignoring the odour and the dust, Matt steeled himself, bracing his feet on the jagged crypt floor. Gritting his teeth, summoning all the strength he could muster, he pulled on his trapped arm. Pain burned through his nerves, singing his muscles with agonising cinders. Nevertheless, he continued pulling, dragging his arm between the rod and the knife infested wall. The rocks scraped his arm like sandpaper across a recent sunburn, yet he persevered. Pain screamed at his mind, begging him to stop, but he was almost free. All that needed freeing was a blood starved forearm. Although the lightning storm of anguish stung like a swarm of acid coated needles, Matt pulled one last time, face turning red with exertion. At last, his hand cleared the rod and he was free.
Cradling his skinned arm, Matt wiggled his sore fingers as blood rushed back into his exhausted limb. Carefully running his fingers down his left arm, Matt winced, feeling blood, arm twinging in the stale, dust filled air. Bleeding God knows how far underground, buried alive, miles away from the nearest civilisation, was not the ideal outcome. Regardless, Matt batted away the pain with a mental barrier and crawled over to Becker.
The soldier hadn't moved an inch since Matt had woken up, but, in the extremely dim light of their dust smothered coffin, he could see Becker's chest rising and falling. He's alive! Thank God! He thought, scrambling over dislodged, pulverised bricks and mangled pieces of foundations. Cautiously climbing around the pillar that entombed Becker, Matt laid his hand on the Captain's chest, feeling it rising and falling steadily. Good, he's breathing normally, Matt told himself as he leant closer to examine the soldier for wounds. There was a small cut on Becker's forehead - though, as head wounds do, it was bleeding profusely - and there were a number of scrapes, bumps, and bruises along his arms, but the most life threatening problem was the looming concrete pillar that sat across his abdomen and legs, pinning them like jagged manacles designed to cause maximum pain.
All of the sudden, the ceiling rumbled, sending a shroud of sharpened dust particles upon Matt, who coughed and choked on the dust. Lungs panicking, Matt's limbs instinctively tensed, accidentally slapping Becker across the face with an out-of-control arm. The stoic soldier jolted awake, eyes wide with disbelief, then immediately began to choke on the dust cloud. Fortunately, the dust cleared quickly, allowing the pair to breathe, though the pungent smell of the factory still lingered at the back of their nostrils.
"Becker! Are you okay?" Matt asked, silently wishing the soldier didn't know he'd slapped him during a coughing fit.
"Fine." Becker coughed, shaking his head as his world formed around him. "What the hell happened?"
"There was a bomb."
Silence draped its melancholy cloak over their crypt as a sudden realisation grasped them with its malevolent jaws. Someone tried to blow them up. Someone wants them dead.
"Who-" Becker began, trying to sit up gasping in horror when his eyes fell upon his concrete shackles. Placing his hands on the soldier's shoulders, Matt tried to reassure him.
"Nevermind who, let's focus on getting out of here." He said, crawling over the pillar. "I've tried to check you for injuries-" He began, testing the sturdiness of the pillar. "-I didn't find anything life threatening, but I haven't been to check everything. Is there anything-"
"No." Becker quickly interrupted, though his voice seemed to pass through gritted teeth.
Trusting his Head of Security, Matt braced his shoulder against the pillar. "Okay, let's try and move this thing." He said, grunting as he pushed on the concrete. He felt the walls of their catacombs rumbling, dust was shaken free of the debris, as he pushed and pushed with all his strength. But there was nothing. The pillar would not move. Carefully, he pulled away from the pillar, almost jumping with fear as he heard Becker groan through tightly gnashed teeth. Popping his head over the pillar, Matt checked the soldier. His countenance was consumed by a grimace of suppressed anguish. Desperate to free him now more than ever, Matt moved some rocks from the base of the pillar then tried to move it again. He reached deep within the depths of his soul, summoning long dormant strength, and pressed his shoulder against the pillar again. Despite the growing pain in his arm, he pushed. Hope funnelled into his mind when he felt the pillar move slightly. However, his strength faded, the pain broke its banks, and the weight of the pillar overcame him. Cautiously, Matt let the pillar sink back down, a distressed growl slipping through Becker's gnashed teeth. Concerned for his friend's welfare, Matt scrambled back to the soldier's side, examining him closer. Becker's usual charming face was enveloped with an expression of deeply suppressed agony, burning through him like a blowtorch through paper.
"What's wrong?" Matt asked, searching the soldier for a wound he may have missed.
Becker lifted his hand in a vain attempt to push Matt away. "I'm fine." He grunted, but Matt quickly found the wound that pained him. A reinforcement steel bar - sheared in half by the explosion, resembling a jagged knife blade - protruding out of the concrete pillar was burying itself into Becker's abdomen, blood spilling out of the wound.
Frustrated, Matt tore a piece of fabric from his shirt, exclaiming, "Why didn't you tell me this before?" He rolled the fabric into a ball and pressed it against Becker's oozing stab wound.
Gritting his teeth, Becker growled, "It's not that bad."
Matt shook his head. "There's a metal rod though your stomach, Becker! It's not fine!" He grabbed the soldier's hand and pushed it against the reddening fabric. "Keep this here." He ordered while he examined the rod itself.
"Come one, it's just a scratch." Becker said, wincing as the fabric stemmed his bloody abdomen.
"A five centimetres wide scratch!" Matt snapped as he tested the rod. The sharpened steel bar was attached to the underside of the pillar, fixed in position by unseeable screws concealed at the heart of the concrete pillar. Swearing, Matt realised every time the pillar would move, the rod dug in further like the cold shadow of death slowly creeping up behind you.
Demoralised, Matt sagged against the pillar, desperately trying to formulate a new plan. "I can't move the pillar." He explained to Becker. "When it moves the rod sinks deeper." Matt indicated towards the steel bar. "If It gets any deeper it will probably puncture an organ."
Becker's concerned gasp was masked by a sudden grumbling noise. The coffin-like shook, dust jumped and danced a samba, rocks and pebbles violently vibrated. Balancing against the pillar, Matt instinctively raised his arm to protect his face as the intensity of the rumbling escalated. Suddenly, a mass of bricks and debris broke away from the coffin lid ceiling and tumbled into the space that once held a helpless Matt prisoner. Disturbed dust swarms lurched up, enshrouding the pair in another thick cloud of choking dust. They coughed and spat, lungs pleading to be fed clean air again, and shielded their eyes from the chaos.
It felt like hours, but the dust finally settled, revealing the pile of rubble that halved their available space. Gulping, Matt could no longer see the rod that hand pinned him and forced him to almost skin his entire left arm, buried beneath debris. Their dust swarmed sarcophagus was shrinking rapidly.
Out of nowhere, Becker raised a bloody finger. "Do you hear that?" He asked, ears straining in the darkness.
Matt listened closely. Beneath the cloak of silence was an almost inaudible scratching noise. Matt realised the noise was coming from above them; in some other part of the collapsed building. He traced the barbed wall, trying not to bump into Becker in the claustrophobia-inducing crypt, following the out-of-place sound with strained ears. Matt's inquisitive fingers fell on a gap in the jagged walls and he pressed his ear against it. The noise wasn't just scratching. There was something else. Muffled and distorted by thousands of tonnes of rubble and debris, Matt could just hear… voices.
…
Connor's head throbbed worse than any headache or migraine he has ever experienced. Although his memories hurt, he tried to remember the previous events: they were searching the abandoned factory for the Anomaly, but something happened. He felt a sharp pain in his back, tried to move, but was immediately slapped in the face by waves of agony emanating from his rigid legs. Despite his wide open eyes, the world around him was engulfed in darkness. However, he could feel an immense weight pressing down on his legs, crushing them against a jagged floor that felt like it was made of spikes. He could tell he was lying on his back, but he still couldn't see anything through the thick blackness that completely encompassed him.
What happened?
The question lingered in his foggy mind.
"Connor?" A voice in the darkness sounded. "Connor, are you awake?"
The loneliness of the darkness suddenly lifted as Connor recognised Abby's voice. "I'm awake." He responded, craning his neck to look behind him. "What happened?" Asked Connor, eyes squinting through the opaque veil of darkness. To his relief, Abby's warm face pierced the shroud of blackness, a half-concerned half-elated smile etched onto her face.
"I have no idea." She said, cradling Connor's head in her welcoming, soothing hands. "Was it an earthquake?"
Connor considered this for a moment, lips pursed in deep concentration. It certainly felt like an earthquake, but the UK hasn't had a significantly destructive earthquake in eighty years. No, this was something different. Although it was difficult for Connor to admit it, he knew this was something more malicious than any natural disaster.
"I think it was a bomb." Connor gulped, hoping that perhaps he was wrong.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence as the pair attempted to comprehend the realisation that someone wants them dead. Who could have done this? Why do they want them dead? What had they done to encourage someone to try and kill them? Panicked, thoughts raced through Connor's groggy mind, forming ridiculous scenarios of events influenced by one-too-many spy movies, spiralling into a well of paranoia and disbelief.
Thankfully, Abby broke the sinister silence. "Can you move?" She asked, taking Connor by the hand.
Carefully, Connor examined his legs. The veil of darkness had begun to lift and more of their underground, claustrophobia-inducing prison hand began to reveal itself. He sat up, Abby placing a tender hand at the base of his skull. Most of his upper body and his arms were free and undamaged, but both of his legs were sandwiched between a wall of mangled rubble and the jagged floor of twisted debris which appeared much like the looming ceiling: broken and falling apart. Tentatively, Connor wiggled his left leg. It seemed fine, but it was completely immobilized by the tonnes of rocks stacked precariously on top of it. Slightly hopeful, Connor tested his right leg. Within seconds, his leg screamed in boiling anguish, begging to be left alone beneath a grave of twisted wreckage. The sudden pain stabbed Connor's mind, forcing him to release terrified shrieks through tightly gritted teeth.
Bursting with concern, Abby touched Connor's shoulder. "What's wrong?" She asked.
Surprisingly, the bubbling pain subsided quickly, allowing Connor to recover with long, deep breaths. "I think my leg is broken." Connor moaned, vowing to never move his leg again unless absolutely necessary.
"I tried to free your legs, but the debris is too heavy." Abby said, demoralised eyes falling on the walls of their tomb.
All of the sudden, a mass of mangled debris crashed down from the ceiling, lifting a cloud of dust, missing Abby and Connor by inches. However, through the dust, warm, bright rays of sunlight poured into their once pure-black coffin. Shielding his eyes, Connor realised they must not have been as deep as he originally thought. Reignited by the blissful encouragement of the sunlight, Abby jumped upwards, tracing the origin of the beautiful light to a small crack in the mangled ceiling. Hope-fuelled, Abby pressed her face against the crack, welcoming the calming, radiant rays, then tested the gap. She pushed, pulled, squeezed, shook, then swore.
"Dammit!" She shouted, punching the roof. "The gap is too small."
"At least we know we're not that deep." Connor said, a reassuring smile masking his gut-wrenching fear.
"What about Matt and Becker?"
Connor's false smile immediately turned upside down. What if they had died? They were in the basement! What if they were crushed beneath the collapsing factory, sealed in a concrete coffin for the rest of eternity? They could be dead!
Shuddering, Connor tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. No, he told himself, they might be trapped and depending on you to get them out! He knew he had to find a way to alert the ARC.
"We need to contact Jess." He said, reflexively reaching for his radio.
Abby shook her head. "It's no use." She explained. "The radios aren't working."
Growling, Connor formulated a new plan. He felt a presence by his side, reminding him of a form of communication he hadn't had to use in what could have been months.
"Phone!" He exclaimed, slipping his old friend out of his pocket. Relief followed soon after when he realised his mobile phone was miraculously undamaged. "We can call Jess." He almost gasped for joy as the phone beamed into life. With nervously shaking fingers, Connor sifted through his list of contacts until his eyes fell upon Jess' number. Cheering to himself mentally, Connor imagined the sweet taste of freedom as the phone dialled. He hadn't realised how claustrophobic their underground coffin made him feel, but now he would be able to get Jess to send help and, in a couple of hours time, he could be free, feeling the wind blow through his hair, far away from the pungent stink of this decrepit derelict building, and-
The phone suddenly beeped a demoralising warning: NO SIGNAL.
"No!" Connor said, desperation climbing into his heart with cold, gnarled fingers. Distressed, he tried again, but received the same heart-breaking message: NO SIGNAL.
Frustration beginning to take over his mind, Connor punched the jagged ground beside him, skinning his knuckles, and sending a small cloud of dust into the air.
Silence.
Demoralised, hopeless silence.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
Ears twitching curiously, Abby hushed Connor.
"I didn't say any-"
"SHHHH!" Abby quietly demanded, lifting a finger to Connor's lips. She strained her ears.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
Following the consistent tapping, Abby knelt down, pressing an inquisitive ear on the jagged floor.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
"Do you hear that?" She whispered.
Connor listened with deeply concentrating ears. The tapping followed a systematic pattern: three taps, pause, then three more taps, and so on. He listened closer, joining Abby in focussed silence. There was something else… something underneath the tapping. He listened closer. There was definitely another noise following the tapping. It was muffled, buried beneath thousands of tonnes of rubble and debris, but it was definitely there. Connor listened closer… Was it a voice?
"Connor!" The voice was obstructed by the wreckage of the collapsed, old factory, but Connor could recognise when someone was calling him any day. "Connor!" Connor gleefully clapped his hands - almost scaring Abby's skeleton out of her skin - as he recognised the strong Irish accent emanating from deep below.
Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Connor yelled, "Matt!"
For a second, there was an eerie silence.
"Thank God!" Matt's voice came back through the rubble, relief and joy evident in his thick Irish accent. "Are you hurt?" The response was muffled and barely audible, forcing Connor to strain his ears to the maximum.
"Abby's okay, but I'm trapped!"
"Can you contact the ARC?"
"No! But when we don't check in they'll know something's wrong!"
"That will take too long! Becker's seriously injured! We need to get out of here now!"
Quickly, Connor brainstormed ideas, eyes fluttering across the room, searching for anything that could be useful. They had to contact the ARC and the best bet was using his phone. But the problem with that plan was the lack of signal. Feeling like he'd failed his friends, he kicked himself, necklace rattling as the chain slipped down his neck. Suddenly, it hit him.
I can boost the signal!
"Matt!" He called, sparks of hope igniting the fire of freedom. "I can boost the signal from my phone!"
"Do it!" Matt's muffled voice responded. "But hurry! The part of the factory we're trapped in is highly unstable!"
Swiftly, Connor ripped the chain from his necklace and whipped out the phone's antennae. He took some of Abby's hair ties and recovered some rubber strips that had become dislodged in the explosion. Carefully and precisely, he cobbled together a makeshift signal booster. Smiling cheerfully, Connor handed the phone to Abby, saying, "Slip it out of the gap in the ceiling."
Nodding, Abby dashed over to the hole in the mangled roof, slipped the new antennae through the gap, and dialled Jess.
…
Groaning, Lester tapped an impatient finger on his polished desk. Opposite him, Emily stood, waiting in fearful anticipation. Lester had been kept waiting for two hours and he was not pleased, staring with angry eyes at his shiny, black telephone. He had organised a new life for Emily, a house, a phone number, social security, even a bank account, but he had to wait for the Minister's approval - one of the most prominent members of the Let's Pester Lester Club. Trying to distract himself, Lester looked through the perfectly clean glass windows of his office. The operations room was quiet, bathed in the sombre, pale light of the lights that lined the perimeter of the room. Jess was calmly typing away at the ADD, as usual, but something felt wrong to Lester. It was almost as if the ARC was too quiet. Ever since Convergence and the whole 'This is the end of the world' fiasco, the frequency of Anomalies had dramatically decreased. There were weeks without a peep from the ADD, yet sometimes there were days where they had to deal with three or four Anomalies. Of course, Connor gave some overcomplicated scientific explanation that Lester didn't understand a word of.
Emily sighed. It was obvious to Lester that she wanted to be out in the field chasing prehistoric creatures and making daring rescues. She had wanted to go with Matt and the rest of the team to the most recent Anomaly site, but Lester needed her at the ARC so he could finalise the details of her new life. Lester will never forget the look of half-dismay half-hatred when he told her she had to stay behind. Of course, that could have been because she and Matt were planning to take the rest of the week off and disappear to some romantic location for some well-earned time together.
At last, the phone burst into life. Quickly, Lester scooped it up, rising from his chair as if the Minister could somehow see him with judging eyes. Thankfully, the Minister gave him the seal of approval, officially designating Emily Merchant a citizen of the UK. Hiding his frustration at the long wait, Lester thanked the Minister and sat back in his chair, returning the phone to its natural resting place. Emily leant forward, face begging to be given the news.
"You are approved." Lester said, reaching out to shake her hand.
Graciously, Emily accepted his greeting. "Thank you, James Lester."
"No problem. Just don't go telling anyone where you're actually from." He said, a smile daring to grace his face.
"I assure you I will not share my secret." She said, returning Lester's smirk with an overjoyed smile of her own.
Suddenly, a blurred image of someone darting frantically across the operations room caught his attention, but, by the time he'd looked past Emily to see it, the image was gone. In that moment, Jess burst into the office, face pale and uncharacteristically worried, holding out her mobile phone with trembling hands.
"What's the matter, Jess?" Lester asked, hiding his concern beneath his usually sarcastic demeanour.
"It's Abby!" She cried, shaking uncontrollably, barely able to catch her breath. "They were searching the factory when it collapsed!"
"Get search and rescue teams to the factory side immediately!" Lester ordered, indicating Jess to return to the ADD. The terrified young woman hurriedly obliged, dashing across the operations room and throwing herself into her big red chair. Careful to mask his horror and dread, Lester collected his jacket, glancing at Emily, who shared the same horrified expression as Jess.
"We must get to the factory." She declared, starting towards the office door.
If the factory had collapsed on the team, then there's a high chance they are all dead or close to death. Nevertheless, there was no way Lester was going to sit on his arse while the people he cared about slipped closer into the cold embrace of death.
Lester dashed out of his office, following Emily to the lifts.
Noticing them preparing to leave, Jess called to them, "Search and Rescue teams are on the way!"
"Have them meet us there!" He ordered as the lift doors slid shut with a soft hiss.
The long drive through the countryside was gruelling. Jess was guiding them down the fastest route, but it still took them a good three hours before reaching the valley in which the factory was located. Neither he nor Emily had said a word, both of them eating themselves with dreaded anticipation. They needed to know their friends were okay. Especially since it had only been a month since they saved the word. If their reward was death, buried alive under thousands of tonnes of rubble, then Lester would never be able to forgive himself. This would have been their last mission before he announced he was giving them all a long relaxing holiday. If only he'd given that to them sooner.
After what seemed like forever, Lester finally rounded the final corner into the valley, thick grey clouds dispersing, releasing formerly imprisoned rays of pale sunlight, which illuminated the chaos below. Fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances congested the rest of the path, obscuring the factory from view. Rescue teams in hard hats and high visibility jackets rushed from fire truck to fire truck, grabbing drills, hammers, and other tools. A policeman stopped Lester as he slowly rolled up to the scene. Quickly, Lester and Emily leapt out of the car, Lester demanding information from the policeman as they meandered through the crowd. The officer explained that they had only just arrived and were preparing to search the factory when Lester and Emily finally pushed to the front and beheld the desolation.
The abandoned factory, which Lester had pictured having tall chimney stacks and looming great walls, had been totally decimated. What may have once been the front now lay as a crumpled mess of mangled debris and twisted rubble. The once great towers had been reduced to crumbling piles of desolated dust. Small fires danced between shattered pipes, sheared metal, and destroyed bricks. A strong, sickening odour wafted into Lester's nostrils along with a cloud of choking dust, causing Lester to cough uncontrollably.
Emily's jaw hung open in shocked disbelief.
Could they have survived that? Lester knew that Abby was still alive since she phoned Jess, but what of the others? To his right, Lester glimpsed a dust-covered jeep that waited patiently for its masters to return from the rubble.
Shaking the fear from his mind, Lester knew he had to take charge for the sake of his team.
"What are you waiting for?" He questioned as armies of rescue workers funnelled out of the mass of emergency vehicles. "Get out there and find them!"
…
Twitching, Connor grunted as pins and needles menacingly crept up his pinned legs, stinging him like scorpion venom burning through his skin. In a vain attempt to get more comfortable, Connor shifted, pain rushing from his leg like a tidal wave of anguish. He groaned, steeling himself against the raging storm of agony, masking the annoying presence of his pins and needles.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Abby asked, sitting beside his prone body with deeply concerned eyes checking his desperately uncomfortable limbs.
"I'm fine." Connor responded, clasping Abby's hand.
It must have been at least three hours since Abby had successfully managed to send the distress call to Jess. The connection was terrible and the phone call only lasted a few moments before cutting out, but help was on the way. Abby had shouted the good news to Matt, but Matt seemed preoccupied with helping Becker. Hopefully, it wouldn't be long before their rescuers arrived, for Becker's sake.
Connor sighed. One thing still didn't make sense to him: who orchestrated this? If there was no Anomaly, had someone manufactured the signal? Has someone lured them here to die? Who?
His desperate search for answers to his questions slipped out of his mind through his teeth. "Who did this?" He spoke out loud.
"I don't know." Abby grasped Connor's hand tighter. "I can't think of anyone who'd want to kill us. Helen is dead. Christine Johnson is most likely dead too."
"Dave the Plumber wasn't very happy when I had food poisoning." Connor joked.
Abby let out a quick chuckle. "Shut up, Connor."
"Sorry."
Abby was right. They didn't have any enemies. At least, all the people who might have considered blowing them sky-high were either dead, presumed dead, or… dead. If not someone they knew, could it be someone they've yet to meet? Shaking his head, Connor tried to order his thoughts in a readable format. Starting with the facts, someone wants them dead. Someone with either the technical know-how or the money to create a significantly seized bomb and rig a fake Anomaly signal. And, considering this mysterious someone knows about the Anomalies, they must have a position of power, maybe even in the government? But why? The question Connor couldn't answer burned his mind, gnawing at his thoughts like a swarm of blood starved piranha fish. What have they done to warrant their deaths?
"Whoever did this clearly knows about the Anomalies." Connor stated.
"What makes you say that?"
"Think about it." Connor began. "Jess couldn't pinpoint the Anomaly's exact location because the signal was different. That signal was enough to trigger the ADD, but, since it was a signal and not a disruption of signals, Jess wouldn't have been able to track it normally. We were lured into a trap by someone with intimate knowledge of the ARC."
"But who?"
"That, I don't know, but-" Connor stepped. Through the mangled crypt ceiling above them, he heard a noise. A strange sound that was inconsistent with parts of the factory collapsing around them. His sudden silence caught Abby's attention. Seeing his eyes staring at what he believed was the origin of the mysterious noise, Abby jolted to her feet, pressing her ear against the jagged roof.
"Does that sound like footsteps to you?" Connor asked, stretching his neck towards the origin of the systematic knocking.
Straining her ears, Abby nodded. "Sounds like.. digging as well."
Triumphantly, an overjoyed smile jumped onto Connor's face. "Start making noise." He ordered, bashing the walls of their stone grave and shouting at the top of his lungs. Exhilarated by the prospect of being freed from their claustrophobic prison, the pair shouted, screamed, battered the walls and roof, desperate to draw the footsteps' attention.
Mercifully, a muffled voice responded, reassuring them that help was on the way and it would not take them long to reach the pair. Cheerfully, Connor and Abby held each other as they patiently waited for rescue, the sounds of moving rocks and hard working rescue workers getting louder and louder and closer and closer. They embraced each other with a tremendously grateful kiss, sharing a relieved gasp at the prospect of being released from their underground prison of torment. Despite his pinioned legs, painful broken bones, Connor lurched forward as the roof shifted, spilling in rays of beautiful, radiant sunlight that calmed his nervous muscles and cooled his burning wildfire of pain like the soothing touch of his beloved, Abby.
After what felt like years of imprisonment in the clutches of Hell, Connor watched as the first rescuer appeared from the once opaque, black coffin lid of a ceiling, light surrounding the worker like an angel descending from the holy Heavens.
At last, the hand of freedom outstretched a graciously welcomed hand.
…
Suddenly, the twisted wreckage that formed the roof of their tomb lurched into life, shaking, shuddering, vibrating, violently tossing Matt, forcing him to clutch the concrete pillar that threatened to kill Becker. Quickly, a terrible thud reverberated throughout Matt's bones followed by a sinister shearing of metal. Fuelled by terrified adrenaline and fearful anticipation, Matt glanced up at the mangled roof. Seconds later, it leapt forward, dust and shards of bricks falling like a hailstorm of sharpened knives. Matt felt the entire Earth burst into life, churning, twisting, whirling. Expecting to be crushed, Matt instinctively covered his head, squeezing his eyes shut. A horrific, deafening sound of heavy metal shifting shook their jagged grave. Through gritted teeth, Becker let slip a blood curdling, agony-induced yelp. Terrified, Matt snapped his eyes open as the violent shaking ceased and a disturbed situation. The broken roof had slipped downwards and the concrete pillar that mockingly toyed with Becker's life hand similarly moved downwards.
Adrenaline pumping through his trembling veins, Matt quickly moved the blood stained fabric. The sharpened metal rod had buried itself deeper, blood seeping through the soldier's jacket, adding to a growing red lake forming on the barbed floor. Cursing, Matt replaced the blood soaked fabric, grabbing Becker's arm, but immediately stopped when the soldier's limb fell limply to his side. Fear churning his stomach, Matt grabbed Becker's shoulders and, upon seeing the Captain's unconscious face began shaking them.
"Becker!" He pleaded with the soldier's motionless expression, desperately trying to shake consciousness back into him. "Becker! Wake up dammit!"
Thankfully, Becker woke, confused eyes rolling in his throbbing skull. Breathing in a sigh of relief, Matt relaxed. "No more falling asleep. That's an order." Matt laughed.
"Since when do you give me orders?" Becker asked, wheezing as the shock of having a steel bar in his abdomen began to subside.
"Since now." Matt relaxed against the barbed wall of their tomb. At least three hours ago, Abby had shouted to them that they had managed to contact Jess and send for help. However, he knew he had to get Becker out before the ceiling collapsed on their heads. Regardless of what Matt tried, the pillar refused to release its tyrannical hold over his Head of Security. And for every slight movement, the metal rod of death sank deeper, carving a blood soaked hole into Becker's failing body. The roof could collapse any minute and Matt needed to free Becker.
Taking in a deep breath, Matt tore another strip of fabric from his shirt and handed it to Becker, who stared at it confused.
"Put that between your teeth." He ordered, positioning himself against the pillar, feet braced against the jagged tomb wall. "I have to get you free. We have to move this thing." He grunted, summoning whatever strength he had left. Matt slammed the concrete pillar with his body, desperately trying to lift it, to provide Becker with enough freedom to escape the clutches of death, but all he achieved was to cause the soldier more pain.
Angrily, Matt kicked the mangled rubble, growling and cursing.
The pillar would just not yield.
"Matt." Becker's fading voice came from behind the stubborn concrete pillar. "Leave me. Dig yourself out of here."
"I can't leave you, mate." Matt climbed under the pillar and knelt beside the Captain, the soldier's face turning white like a ghost.
With woozy eyes, Becker indicated towards the thin shaft that led to Abby and Connor. "If anything happens to them, I'll never forgive myself."
Matt shook his head. "I'll get you out."
Weakly, Becker raised a limp arm and loosely grabbed Matt's jacket. "It's my job to protect you." He said, hollowing eyes rolling back into his head.
"No, I'm not leaving you."
"Matt." Becker's eyes told Matt everything: he was ready to fulfil his duty, to lay down his life for the friends he'd sworn to protect. He coughed. "Give me this."
Seeing the expression of acceptance on the soldier's fading face, Matt reluctantly nodded. There was no way to free the Captain and the roof was moments from collapsing. Unwilling to leave the soldier in the clutches of death, Matt hesitated, gazing at Becker's glossy eyes. But the soldier lay motionless, preparing to face his fate. Sighing, Matt turned to the wall, finding the shaft that led to Connor and Abby with his hand. The entrance of the shaft was small enough to allow his arm through, he could feel the space behind it was much larger. Carefully, though fully aware of the collapsing roof, Matt began removing bricks and rubble, widening the gap as much as possible. Dust rose from the barbed ground as Matt dug his way out of their black tomb. He opened the entrance of the tunnel and, with one last glancing look at the limp Captain, began crawling through the tight tunnel, scrambling head first. Rocks and bricks dug into his back, legs, and chest, pressing in on him tighter than a drum, like crawling through ventilation shafts that were silently trying to kill you. His skinned arm snagged a sharpened shard of brick and Matt retracted, grasping his arm, taking in deep breaths to bat down the rising torrents of pain that stirred his sickly stomach. Gritting his teeth, Matt persevered, scrambling his way up the tunnel, darkness descending as every scrap of light faded into nothing. He was operating blind.
Slowly but surely, Matt edged his way over rocks, broken metal, sheared wires and twisted pipes. Feeling his way through the darkness, he continued climbing, hoping beyond hope that he could escape and find help for Becker. Driven by his burning desire to escape his claustrophobia-inducing bonds, Matt crawled, kicked, and scrambled, clambering along the jagged shaft until… his hands met solid.
Horrified, his pounding heart sank into his churning stomach as he examined his surroundings. Walls on all sides. To his horror he realised where he was, what his new problem was. Dead end. Frantically, Matt kicked, waving his arms over every corner of his tomb, desperate to find an alternate route, an open path, anything. Adrenaline gushed through his body, blood rushed through his veins, stale air filled his lungs, his heart throbbed uncontrollably. He was trapped! He was stuck! No way out! No way out!
Stop, Matt told himself, calm down. There's no point in panicking. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Calming his tense muscles, Matt re-examined his surroundings in the darkness. There's always a way out. He reassured himself, testing the walls of the rocky tunnel.
All of the sudden, the walls began to rumble, digging noises reverberated throughout his bones. In that moment, light seeped into the shaft, blinding Matt with bright, white, angelic rays. Shielding himself from the sudden blinding light, Matt lifted his hand, arm outstretched towards the heavenly glow that warmed his frozen face. Reaching for the light, Matt felt another hand grab his like the hand of God pulling him free of the depths of Hell.
Breathing in the clean, countryside air, Matt stared at the pile of decimated rubble where the abandoned factory once stood. It was littered with rescue workers, digging and shouting orders to each other. Beside Matt, Abby sat with Connor, who was lying on a gurney with a snapped leg surrounded by paramedics. To his left, Lester was yelling at the workers, ordering them to hurry up, while Emily held Matt in a loving embrace. Some medics had quickly bandaged his skinned arm when he was dragged from the wreckage of the old factory. He was grateful, but his main concern was Becker and, for at least two hours, he had been staring at the hole he was pulled from.
Taking a deep breath, Matt held Emily, her tender embrace a welcome reprieve from the darkness of the catacombs beneath the destroyed factory. She had tried to reassure him, telling him that Becker was a strong soldier and that he'd survived worse, but Matt couldn't help but feel as if he'd failed his friend. If Becker died here, Matt would never forgive himself.
In that moment, one of the workers called out to the paramedics. Seconds later, more workers, blackened by dust and ash, appeared from the hole, pulling out a bloody, bruised Captain Becker, the sheared metal rod protruding out of his stomach. Defying his fate, the stoic soldier was still awake, grunting and groaning behind tightly gnashed teeth. The paramedics rushed to his side, bracing him and holding him up as they helped him walk over the rubble. Upon seeing the soldier, face pale and drained of blood, Matt, Emily grasping his hand, bolted to the brave soldier. Careful to not agitate Becker's wound, Matt helped him lie on a gurney one of the ambulance workers had retrieved. Swiftly, the paramedics and rescue workers rushed Becker into an ambulance, Lester jumping into his car and following the ambulance away from the tomb that almost claimed their lives.
Slightly more relieved, Matt watched the ambulance disappear out of the valley, blaring sirens fading into the distance. Emily placed a tender hand on his shoulder, leading him back to stand beside Connor and Abby, who were reassuring each other. At last, after what seemed like forever, they were all free of the abandoned factory, but there was one question lingering on his mind. Who?
"Who did this?" Matt growled, leaning against Connor's gurney.
"What do you mean?" Emily questioned.
"There was a bomb." Connor said, trying to sit up, feeling the agony in his broken leg, and lying back down again.
"Someone tried to blow us up." Abby added, clasping Connor's hand.
"But who would want to cause you harm?" Asked Emily.
"That's what I intend to find out." Matt's grip tightened as he clenched his angry fists around the frame of the gurney. Whoever wanted them dead sent him a clear message: this was just the beginning.