Cat and Mouse
Hendricksson looked around at his surroundings and instantly threw up his arms in frustration, letting them fall limply to his sides. "Do you have any repair facilities?"
Justin eyed the man quizzically, then looked behind him to Bill, Ken and Chris. He smiled uncontrollably.
"…Well?" Hendricksson beckoned.
"You just crash-landed on...well...you crash-landed on a prison colony of sorts. You can't leave, Joe, you're stuck here, Joe."
"Bullshit. Take me to the warden or whoever is in charge so I can get this thing repaired and get the Hell out of here."
"There's no warden. There's no guards. Hell, there isn't even any TV."
"What kind of a prison colony is this?"
"It's Traxus Nine."
Nighttime fully reigned over the plains. All was dark about the entrance to the mine and even the crashed ship was slipping out of view, but everyone's eyes had fully adjusted during the last five or so minutes as they sat near the charred and damaged spacecraft. Justin laid out the entire history of Traxus IX for Joe. The others watched as Justin spoke, the work of a master storyteller on display. Hendricksson never blinked, crossed between shock and anger the longer the story went on until Justin finished.
"…And that's why you're stuck here."
"Fuck me running, so I'm here for good. Well, anything is better than where I just came from."
"Where's that again?" Chris asked.
"Sirius Six-B. I'm the only survivor. At least, I'm pretty sure of that. But there's no going back, obviously." Joe let out a desolate chuckle, and then he stared on. "I thought I was on my way back home."
"How did you veer so far off course?" Ken asked.
"Hell if I know. Maybe it was a NAV computer malfunction; figures it would be my luck. I was going to raise hell about what Alliance Command did to us out there, and I was also going to speak out on what's about to happen on Triton Four."
Justin shook his head. "What is all this you're talking about? I've never heard of any of these places."
"Haven't you been paying attention to galactic events? I know you're stuck here and all, but you had to have cared once."
"Assuming these places existed, why would I even care about them in the first place?"
"Because war affects everything, and Sirius Six-B did exist, and there was fighting there, no matter what the mass media tells you. And now the NEB has Triton Four in its sights, and—"
"—First of all," Justin interrupted, "What is the NEB and are they allied with the Covenant or Innies?"
Joe tilted his head. "…Who's the Covenant?"
All he was answered with was blank, disbelieving stares.
"Okay…" Joe said as Justin finished explaining things again.
They all waited for him to say something.
"...I'm inclined to ask just where exactly in God's Milky Way I am."
"Hell, I don't know exactly where we are." Justin barked. "I can't spit out any constellations for you, but I do know that we're roughly halfway between Reach and what was once Harvest."
"See, there you go again with the planets I've never heard of."
"And we've never heard any of the colonies you speak of as well." Justin retorted. Everyone else nodded in accordance, backing Justin up firmly. "Something is not adding up here."
Joe leaned back casually against the hull of his ship, sufficiently cooled off by this point. "I'm clueless." he said.
Justin stood up and pondered possibilities. "Who was President when you left Sirius Six-B?"
"Normand Weller."
"Never heard of him, and last time I checked it was Russell who was in office...and that was well more than ten years ago."
"No, that can't be."
"Yes." Justin affirmed, "Paul Murphy Russell, promoted to President of the UEG after serving as Secretary of Defense. How far is Sirius Six-B from Earth?"
"Eight and a half light-years, I think."
"I would definitely know of it then, and I don't." Justin tapped a knuckle against the hull of Hendricksson's vessel. "How long were you drifting in this thing?"
"I...don't know."
Justin snapped his finger. "What year was it when you left Sirius Six-B?"
"Twenty seventy-eight."
"…Wow."
After Justin told Hendricksson how long he'd been drifting, the commander wept where he sat. It was silent sobbing at first, which gradually cascaded into flowing tears. It was disheartening for Bill and Chris to watch a grown man cry. Ken even pitied the man but he was far too inept to show emotion, however much of it he felt.
"Give 'em some room." Justin ordered the group.
Each of them left Joe to himself.
Justin took a leaning stance up against his Mongoose and tried to tune out Hendricksson's crying. A moment later, realizing he couldn't, he knelt down and began working on his ATV to take his mind off the deplorable sounds. He grabbed a screwdriver from a utility pouch under the seat and began loosening certain fasteners on one of the farings. He placed the removed screws in his pocket and popped off a small plastic cover, then reached inside and grabbed a conical object lined with a fine, metallic mesh—the vehicle's air filter. He tapped it against the sole of his boot and a cloud of dust billowed outwards from it, barely in competition with the air around him. Other smaller debris fell to the ground after another hard wallop against his boot. He replaced the filter and all the other assemblage with a look of satisfaction, only to feel annoyance's return upon Hendricksson's sobbing arriving back into his consciousness.
Another moment went by with nothing for anyone to do but watch this sad man go on like he was. Eventually, he wiped away the tears and looked around. The inhospitable world of Traxus IX greeted him straightforwardly. He was not special. He was only unlucky.
Justin glanced around the crash site rather emphatically. Normally, to remain stagnant like this was foolhardy and Traxus IX had a way of exacting punishment to such actions, to people feeling sorry for themselves; Justin knew this, had seen such tradgedies play out many times before.
"C'mon, Joe," Justin said "you can't stay here. You came at a bad time. It's very dangerous to be out here. You need to come with us indoors."
With that, Hendricksson found the will to push himself up off the dirt-smothered clay and mount an ATV behind Justin.
Together, the Mongoose trio headed a short distance into City 17.
After clearing the dark tunnel entrance to the inner sanctum, they each slowed to a stop and waited for the wide bay doors to heave themselves open.
"The air is terrible out here." Hendricksson stated, wincing as he craned his head high out of his thick-necked jacket.
"It's not the air," Justin said, "it's what's in it."
"What, pollution?"
"That's right. Toxins and carcinogens everywhere. So, if you're a smoker, light 'em if you got 'em; because you're still gonna get some form of cancer from this place before you die of old age, or worse."
The bay doors finally opened enough for all of them to walk through, shoulder to shoulder. Light flooded them, as well as a generous amount of dust and fumes. And despite having generous ventilation stretching from the underground mines all the way to the top of the bay they now occupied, there was just too much pollutant. It was just about manageable for them to carry on. But they hadn't yet proceeded inwards.
Hendricksson regarded the interior with a kind of reluctant acceptance, taking accute notice in the mass of industrial fallout crowded near the ceiling, watching its journey before the volatile cloud inevitably rose skyward. Cylindrical scrubbers mounted to the pitched trusses high above were nothing more than chemical catalysts spewing out fine, atomized mists of alkaline reagents. The process of decontamination was nothing more than combining volatile elements with other volatile elements. Under optimal conditions and regular maintenance from a qualified technician, the scrubbers could achieve an effiency of 80% particulate removal. The remainder would have to be contained and processsed for other uses. But everyone knew the aging and neglected devices weren't operating at 80%, not for many years. Whatever they did remove, they certainly weren't taking advantage of those leftover materials that could be recycled for other things. Instead, the resultant waste was likely dumped somewhere outside the factory where a forgotten spigot lied. Just another part of the job, another detail overlooked by the workers living there. On most other worlds, waste that was dumped in such an ignorant manner would inevitably reach the water table—bad news for all. An environmental health inspector would have a field day at any factory they stepped foot in, if in fact they ever gained access. The only feasible way would be to visit T-09, which unknowingly meant permanent residence.
The whole factory was a being in and of itself. It was a machine, alive and breathing, taking in what the workers offered and belching out leftovers. He steadily eyed the scene with wonder and revulsion.
"That's what poisoned it?" Joe asked.
"That, commander Hendricksson, used to be the most profitable, sophisticated and wonderful enterprise in the galaxy. Everything in front of you got the UNSC all the way to the farthest reaches and back. We produced cargo containers, the great answer to the expansion question of the human race." Justin lit up a cigarette and stared blankly ahead. "Just one of these factories can spit out a thousand containers in a day. And we made it happen. Then the criminals and dealers and black marketeers arrived, destroying everything. And by pure dumb luck and God-forsaken coincidence, the mines and the factories started puking up this—cubic tons of it. We thought we discovered gold. We discovered shit."
Justin strode into the bay.
Everyone followed on his lead.
"So how do you know you're safe from all the pollution?" Joe asked.
Justin looked over his shoulder, "Because you ain't dead yet."
They made their way to one of the break rooms. Justin made sure no one else was inside. He led Hendricksson to a chair. "Have a seat. Are you hungry?"
Hendricksson nodded meekly.
"Alright." Justin looked around. He was satisfied that no one could see in, the window pane only permitting a one-way view from the inside out. "Ken, why don't you get this man something from the chow hall."
"Sure." he said, walking off.
Chris wheeled around towards Ken—exiting the break room. "Can I come with you?"
Ken stopped short of the door and looked disapprovingly to Justin.
Justin shrugged and said, "Don't slow him down, Kid."
Ken reluctantly waited for Chris, knowing perfectly well that he was young and vulnerable, even indoors. He stepped out, closing the door behind him.
That left Justin, Bill and Joe inside the break room. Justin grabbed Bill by the arm and led him to the corner of the room, just out of whisper range of Hendricksson—who was mending in his own world right now.
Justin whispered, "Do what you do, Bill. Try to keep him calm and cozy and all that stuff. I'm going to the stockyard for our supplies."
"And what will we do about him?"
"What do you mean?"
"We can't just leave him here."
"This guy is some sort of soldier, Bill. A commander, for crying out loud. I'm sure he can last a while inside a break room. Besides, we'll be back soon enough once we're done with the critters. Hell, if you want, stay with him. Show him around his new home and get him acquainted."
"And even after all that, what then?"
"Bill, I don't know if I can manage another—"
"Pete is gone. Hendricksson can take up his place, no harm and no foul."
"Maybe."
"Please consider it."
"Yeah, when I'm not blasting away zombie-producing spiders, I will."
Bill chuckled and nodded, placing a brief hand on Justin's shoulder before he left for the stockyard.
Joe Hendricksson gradually awoke from his sorrowful musing. His eyes were fully dried and he could see clearer. His hopes of reaching Earth were gone. He knew that now, yet nothing about his escape journey from Sirius 6B made any sense. The Alliance made it so every Commander's escape pod had all human-controlled space mapped. All you had to do was state your destination and the onboard NAV computer would do all the work for you. Eight and a half light-years was a puddle jump. How did he drift for so far and so long?
"So he said we're twenty light-years from Earth, right?" Joe asked.
Joe's voice briefly startled Bill—so used to the quiet of the break room for this amount of time now. Workers and foremen bustled around the factory floor like worker bees, sorting out scraps, calibrating various electro-mechanical devices, supervising each other's safety, and doing whatever else that made this place run. It was like a colony, all inhabitants working together for basic survival needs. They had no superficial functions. They had no personal agendas. They cared not for money or status or possessions. They were as divine as could be despite their hostile environment. Sheep among wolves.
"Yes," Bill said, staring blankly out the window, "twenty light-years."
"Please," Joe begged with closed eyes, "tell me what year it is."
"I don't know exactly since I've been here so long, but I believe it is close to twenty-five fifty."
"Jesus."
"Please…do not take the Lord's name in vain."
"Right." Joe suddenly noticed the unmistakable band of white cloth across Bill's neck. "Sorry, Father."
"It is okay. Tell me, what made it possible to drift for that long?"
"The ship had a life support system. It must've sent me into hibernation when the NAV computer shit the bed."
"But that is nearly five-hundred years you lingered. I don't believe any cryo-stasis technology has even come close to achieving that kind of benchmark. How do you suppose you survived?"
"Hell, I don't know. Heart rate and breathing slows down, brain is hardly used. Beats me."
"Well, whatever it was that kept you alive, surely God had a part in it, Joe. Be thankful you are with us."
"I'm not saying I'm not thankful. I very much am."
"I know it is hard to accept that you'll never see home again."
"So excuse me if I seem a little detached."
Bill chuckled. "Do not be ashamed. When you see more of this world and the people in it, you will see just how detached people can become."
Joe joined Bill in his laughter. "So is there a place to grab some food?"
"Didn't you hear earlier? Chris and Ken are already getting some for you."
Justin waited once again for the factory bay doors to split apart. After a few agonizing seconds, they finally did and night's presence revealed itself, sucking in all the light the factory offered. The air was cold and a little crisp, but still heavy with particulate. Justin walked straight into it. There was no need to take the Mongoose for the short distance over to the Eastern front where the stockyards were—just through the next tunnel and under the massive lookout tower looming above it. He needed to stretch his legs anyway. And it felt good to be alone for a change, one with his own thoughts.
Yet the more he tried to just be at peace with his surroundings, the more his mind wandered to his current predicament. At the forefront of his discontent was the creatures that now laid claim over his home, and it was very likely they were on the way to the factory with no hosts to devour back at the igloo; surely they had his scent trail and yearned for his body. Justin wondered how fast the little bastards were, and if they could skitter all the way to the city without tiring. Coming in at a close second in Justin's growing list of misfortunes was the fact that Kaiser Sergei wanted his services. Failing that, he wanted his head on a pike. Compounding that dilemma was the fact that Paulie and five of his men were surely to be expected back by now. It wouldn't be long until the Kaiser dispatched more men to hunt Justin down.
And while things couldn't have gotten any stranger in such a short span of time, a man from another time had crash-landed on Traxus IX—this left yet another person to look after besides Chris.
And binding all this strife together in one horrendous knot was the voice ebbing in and out of his mind. It was still there, ever present, subsided for the time being. But he could still hear a gentle throbbing, a violent voice so attenuated that it might as well have been snoring in a deep sleep—that's how real it seemed. It already claimed Pete, who Justin had to put down himself.
Even though Justin took his time strolling to the stockyard, it felt as though he was in a race against time. Sooner or later, he'd hit a snag with this amount of turmoil. One of these problems would cross his path or maybe, all of them at once. The point that he now just realized, was the fact that he should be worried. He couldn't afford to be his usual self much longer, cocky and slack. Everything had changed rather dramatically in such a short time. He had to get into the stockyard and get what he needed, fast. He raised his pace to a light jog, his footfalls echoing off the mighty perimeter walls of the courtyard.
He arrived at the tunnel entrance in half the time it would've taken him at a walk. He proceeded through the void, nothing to guide his way except memory alone. He reached the midpoint as the tunnel began its upward journey again, a faint light at the end. He made for it.
The light was there not as a as a courtesy, but rather as a deterrent. It faced away from the pitch-black tunnel and into the barren plains. Any sentries stationed atop the perimeter wall above—and there rarely ever were—they would be able to clearly make out any sort of trouble approaching from the surrounding area. This lack of light on Justin's side made it somewhat hard to get a good view inside the chain-linked area where all the goodies were kept. He slipped inside without a sound. If there were any guards tonight, they would literally be one story above his head. And there was never any knowing which guards worked which shifts—he couldn't take any chances. He had to keep silent while he looted, a double-edged sword considering he was on borrowed time.
He risked flipping on one light. Its illumination was well contained inside one of the storage sectors, barely any of it seeping out into the plain—perfect.
He conjured up a memory, when a business contact of his told him the combination to storage yard B. Hopefully, the combination hadn't changed since then. He lifted the padlock as far as he could and gave the dial five twists to the right to clear it out. Then, he began finding what he hopefully thought were the correct numbers in the meager light.
Justin heard a noise. It was some sort of rustling, metal on metal, something brushing against chain-link. Justin hit the deck. In his momentary favor, the noise was a good deal away from him, on the other side of the stockyard.
A moment later and the origin of the noise changed, getting closer and closer. Justin didn't move a muscle. In perfect silence, he opened up the right side of his thick coat and withdrew his shotgun, ready for whatever.
He could hear a voice, and it wasn't the one trapped inside his head.
Ken and Chris entered the chow hall. It was a short walk away from the factory floor and through a long, narrow corridor. The yawning hallway had only two doors at either end and was probably the most well-lit sector of the entire complex. It was this way so that workers may check themselves for any contaminant or just dirt accumulating on themselves and their factory-furnished coveralls. Lining one wall were sinks at regular intervals, stretching from entrance to exit. A variety of sanitization dispensers hung above them. But Ken and Chris had little time for clean up. If Bill were among them, he'd say something like, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." And of course, nobody would pay it much attention, especially now.
They neared the end of the corridor. "Just get basic snacks and stuff, and carry as much as you can." Ken told Chris. "There's no time for entrees and the good stuff." Ken shoved open the chow hall door. It was surprisingly empty. Usually, there'd be at least a handful of people grabbing a quick snack in the middle of their shift, maybe taking it with them to a break room. But it was totally barren. All chairs were atop the rows and rows of tables. Even the volunteer janitors for the week had swept and wiped the place clean—strange.
"There's no one here." Chris said.
"Yeah…" Ken said absentmindedly. "Whatever. Get to work."
They each rushed over to circular conveyors laden with pre-packaged snacks and various sealed drink containers. Chris retrieved a basket nearby and shoved it full of fruits and vegetables. Ken looked over at him and frowned. "What? We need real food, too." Chris said.
Once satisfied of their stock, they hefted their food and went back the way they came.
Bill took a seat next to Joe inside the break room. He reached into a pocket near his chest and retrieved a silver flask, shining brightly like a signal flare in the overhead fluorescence. He popped open the top and took a generous swig.
"A little late in the day for that?" Joe asked.
Bill swallowed the liquor, then peered down at the flask in his hand thoughtfully. "Indeed, it is." He stowed it back in his pocket.
"So how long have you known Justin?"
"Ever since I arrived on Traxus Nine."
"He's quite the tenacious leader, isn't he?"
"He has his ways about him. You'll consider it a blessing if you ever see his generous side. Doesn't suffer fools gladly, either."
Joe glanced out the window. "It seems you've all grown pretty comfortable in this lifestyle."
"Yes, but that is the only choice for us in this world. Justin has told you enough of its history, so surely you must understand that you either do what is necessary or you perish. Sometimes, you must forego your own conscience to survive in such a world."
"But in your spare time you're a priest. Seems like quite the odd job here."
Bill contemplated his response. "There is still good yet to be had."
"So what landed you here?" Joe leaned back.
"I was a chaplain in the UNSC. I was embedded in the Three Seventy-Sixth Combat Brigade out of Jericho Seven. The Covenant showed up one day. It all happened so fast, and we weren't ready. Bits and pieces of the Three Seventy-Sixth were tasked out here and there as other units became scattered and defeated. I wasn't sure where to place myself; I had grown so attached to every one of the troops. I loved them all like family. And before I could depart a troop transport to a forward area, the brass gave the order to evacuate the whole planet. I was among the last to board the troop carriers. Ours docked with a cruiser on the far side, right as they glassed. God had a purpose for me that day. The irony of our defense didn't hit me until I could see the planet from an outside perspective, because only a few Covenant capital ships arrived for their ritual cleansing. Just a few enemy ships against eleven UNSC. We couldn't even put up a fight on the ground, much less stand up to that kind of might in orbit.
"A few years and several assignments later and the UNSC was asking for a volunteer from the faith community to accompany a small group of Marines headed on a humanitarian mission to Traxus Nine. It was a cake walk compared to everything else going on in the galaxy. I had seen so much over the years, so I readily accepted, just as those Marines did; most of them were combat-fatigued and on their last nerve to begin with. Their mission was simple, just to make sure colonization ran smoothly and to bolster mil-to-civ relations here…
"Well, of course nothing ever goes perfectly. The unit went out to one of the towns on a 'peace-keeping' mission. The mayor of City 17 had requested the Marines take a look into this gangster by the name of Kaiser Sergei, one of the first drug lords to settle here. He was nothing more than a petty dealer back then, but the commander of this small squad decided it would be in everyone's best interest to help the mayor and take a look into the Kaiser's affairs. So they set out and quickly established a rapport with the townspeople, who eventually clued them in to where the Kaiser had taken up residence—in a brothel on the bad side of town. They conducted surveillance operations for a few weeks and they learned much of his dealings. They accumulated enough evidence for the civil magistrate to put him away for good and it was then that they decided to take him into custody, the day it happened…
"A young Captain entered the brothel with his squad, fully armed, thinking he had the element of surprise. But word travels fast in a town when you enter it in a convoy of military-grade Warthogs. The Kaiser was already at the door, with a young kid taken hostage. He was holding him at gunpoint."
Joe sat straighter. "What did the Captain do?"
"He awaited orders from the commanding officer, our Major at the field HQ in City Seventeen."
"What was the order?"
"The order was to do whatever it took to bring Sergei down, dead or alive. After some hesitation from the Captain, a more specific order was given."
"The Captain shot the kid?"
"Yes, killed him and wounded Sergei. A gunfight broke out instantly between the Marines and the Kaiser's men. The Marines had superior weaponry and armor, but that is no match for terrain advantage, as every Marine always tells me. The brothel was a three-story building, and the Marines were being fired upon from an elevated position. They had no cover. They were quickly slaughtered except one Marine who managed to escape. And when the Captain made it back to City Seventeen, he nearly killed the Major. It took me and three other men to keep him from doing so."
"So, what then?"
"The Major knew that the Captain would speak out over what ocurred, so he fled Traxus Nine aboard their only transport. It was hours later that the marooned Captain found he'd been declared AWOL and wanted as a fugitive."
"The commander turned on him?"
"Yes. And coincidentally, all the tragic events of Traxus Nine began to take place. This is where we are now."
"Holy shit. What ever became of the Captain?"
"He still leads us."
Justin heard two pairs of feet shuffling over the clay. The voice he heard earlier got steadily louder, just as another voice sounded off and added to the approaching conversation. Two men—as far as Justin could gather—were bearing down on his position. He was not in the ideal place, like many other times in his life. He began to slither on his stomach, for they'd inevitably work their way around to him. He didn't recognize either of their voices. They could be anyone. And no one could be trusted on Traxus IX.
Once an amicable distance from their sights, Justin rose to one knee and hunkered down behind a corner post—taking up the classic covering position. Rounding a corner at the end of his aisle were two men, too dark to see their faces. But it was quite evident that one of them carried a firearm at his side. They stopped right where Justin originally was and inspected the cage full of supplies in what little light there was.
"Everything is locked down tighter than a drum." one of them said. "Where the hell is Paulie?"
"Should've been here by now." the other said.
"Maybe he's still meeting with his contact."
"We can't wait anymore. The Kaiser said to assume the worst, so let's get to work."
The other man pulled from his thick coat a pair of bolt cutters. Justin watched in silence as the man slid the mouth of them over the U-shaped joint of the padlock and pressed the handles together with all his might. Nothing much happened except for him scoring the hardened material. It was heat-treated and shot-peened metal, a little too stout for their hardware. He tried again, exerted maximum strength, grunted, exhaled, let go. He frowned. They'd need a hydraulic press in order to snap that thing. Justin reduced himself from a kneeling position to an uncomfortable seat in the clay. He was content to let these men go on in frustration until they gave up and left.
"God damn, they don't fuck around here." one of them said.
"Let me try." the other said, pulling a hacksaw from his jacket.
Justin boggled in his dirt seat. A hacksaw was a different story. It would take them a while, but they would eventually cut through. If there were guards posted tonight, the racket of sawing metal would surely alert them. They'd arrive downstairs in seconds. It would ruin his plan. He wouldn't be able to acquire the shotgun shells he needed, and therefore wouldn't be able to get his home back from the parasitic creatures. Justin would not let minions of the Kaiser steal what was his. He reached down and picked up a dense, fist-sized chunk of clay and threw it far to the left.
It loudly pinged off a section of chain-link, and instantly the two thugs wheeled in that direction. One's shotgun was raised and the other's bolt cutters were too. The one holding the bolt cutters whispered, "Go check that out."
"I outrank you. You go check it out."
"You're the one with the gun!"
"Then take the gun and find whoever is in here. I'm getting our shit outta here."
"Don't you think we should look together?"
"Get moving!"
The other reluctantly set off into the unknown darkness of the stockyard, slow and cautious steps, his shotgun pointed ahead of him. He disappeared behind a squall of shadow and soon faded from sound.
Justin moved.
Ken and Chris returned to the factory floor. Ahead of them was the usual scene: conveyors, ventilation hoods, sparks and dust everywhere. Business as usual. The workers were occupied in their duties, paying no mind to Ken and Chris who were laden with baskets of food and drink. They slipped into the break room.
"Jackpot." Bill said as they entered.
Ken closed the door gingerly. "Take your pick, Joe."
Hendricksson left his chair and walked over to where Ken and Chris set down the food on a nearby table. He selected what he wanted and situated himself in a seat once again. He ate feverishly, as if emerging from hibernation—he literally had. Everyone watched him, rather taken back by it. But they could understand.
Hendricksson looked up at them. "What?"
"Nothing." Ken said. "I've been around soldiers before but I've never seen anyone eat that fast. I'm truly impressed."
Joe laughed and resumed eating.
Chris suddenly pointed out the window and tugged at Ken's jacket.
"What?" Ken asked, backing away from the boy.
"Something is wrong. Do you see that man out there, the older one with the patch on his eye?"
"Yeah."
"He's one of the Kaiser's men. He tried to attack me when I first got here…with Paulie."
"Well, this is no coincidence." Ken instinctively ducked, then stood upright again. The window of the break room was one-way.
"Do you think he saw us while we were out there?"
"I don't know, but let's wait until he leaves."
Justin crept his way closer to the man at the cage furiously sawing away at the padlock. In this diminutive amount of light, Justin could make out glistening sweat beads trickling over his brow. Sweating in this cold, the man was surely out of shape. Justin would let him go a little longer, figuring that the other one prowling the greater stockyard with the shotgun would be occupied for a while—long enough for Justin to figure out what to do. And the one with the hack would only tire more the longer he went on and on.
Justin waited another moment, then decided to make his move while the opportunity was good. The other one with the gun was a good deal away by now; Justin could make out a fraction of his silhouette about half a klick away. This was as opportune as it would ever get; things always got complicated the more people were involved. Justin could easily handle one, unarmed man.
He sprang from shadow.
"How about I try it?" Justin said, stepping into full view.
"...The fuck?" the man said.
Just as the muted light half-struck Justin's face, the man with the hacksaw took up a fighting stance. But Justin brandished his shotgun, and the man's disposition instantly morphed into a more submissive appearance, knowing he was beaten. Of course, Justin's shotgun was empty, but Kaiser's thug didn't know that. And Justin's poker face was like billet steel.
Justin approached him and pressed the business end of the shotgun against the side of his neck. "Step aside." Justin ordered.
The man slowly complied, more sweat dripping down his face than before.
Justin glanced down to the lock and assessed the man's progress: it was almost sawed completely through. Justin couldn't open it the correct way even if he thought he could; he wasn't accomplished enough as a multitasker to hold a man hostage and simultaneously undo a lock. Surely the thug would try something then. So, Justin stepped behind the man, shotgun ever against him, and said, "Please, continue what you were doing."
He frowned and stepped forward, placing the hacksaw back onto the weakened lock. Justin looked around and kept a watchful eye on the periphery, waiting for the other's return.
Apparently, the other already had returned. Justin heard a rustle nearby.
"I can hear you breathing." Justin softly shouted. "Just come out. There's no use playing hide and seek any longer. But I tell you what...we can play a new game now. We'll call it 'who can keep their cool the longest'."
The man with the shotgun emerged from cover shortly thereafter, his shotgun leveled at Justin—who was now positioned directly behind the one hack sawing the lock. "What happened to Paulie?" he damanded of Justin.
"The lock is open now." the other said.
"Good, dumbass. Now open the door." Justin barked.
"You," Justin said to the other, "drop the piece or I drop him."
The man had Justin in his crosshairs and could easily hit him, but he'd also kill his friend in the process. And the sequence of events thereafter was just as simple as it was inevitable if he chose that path: he would shoot his friend, whom Justin would simply use as a human shield. The next move was Justin killing him. Knowing he was in lose-lose status, he glared once, and then complied with Justin. He slowly bent down to place the weapon on the ground.
Reid maintained his crude aim at the neck of the man next to him. "Now, if nobody loses their head, than nobody'll lose their head. Simple, now walk inside the cage. If you try anything..."
The thug took slow and precious steps, brushing past Justin and proceeding into the cage without incident.
"Stay there. You," Justin said to the man on the other end of his shotgun, "Get me shotgun shells. As much as you can carry."
Justin kept the shotgun trained on him while he set off into the closet-like enclosure. A moment and he appeared with his arms cradled about his chest, laden with shotgun ammunition.
"Dump it on the floor." Justin looked around. "Don't move." Justin ran to the foreman's area near the entrance and retrieved a spare lock hanging on a wall. "Take this and lock yourself in."
The man hesitated as he glared at Justin again.
"Now!"
He grabbed it from Justin's hand and abided by his terms, locking himself and his friend inside, for Justin was the one with the gun.
Justin scooped as many shells as he could and shoved them deep into his many pockets, jacket, pants, even his socks. On his way out, Justin grabbed their shotgun off the ground, and turned around.
"Oh, and Paulie is dead. But be thankful you are inside this cage. It might just be the safest place now. Nice doing business with you, gentlemen."
Justin ran out of the stockyard and through the dark tunnel. He was only slightly winded as he emerged on the other side. His next place of business was at the southern front of the city for fuel—a lot of it. He would acquire as much as his Mongoose could carry.
Running at top speed, it was another short trip across the barren courtyard to the southern complex, shotgun shells jingling inside his pockets with every stride. Like the factory he usually worked in day after day on the other side of the courtyard, this structure also had wide doors that took forever to open. He waited until a slice of light the width of a human bathed him. He rushed inwards.
In this factory, a myriad of workers not unlike those inside its twin across the way, labored, with the majority of them nearly oblivious to his presence. Good thing too because it wouldn't take a behavioral scientist to realize that he was on edge about something. He stole two canisters from a nearby rack and carried them out into the courtyard. The lazy doors slid closed once again. He was in and out. He ran over to the Hydrogen spigot and enacted the usual procedure of acquiring fuel. His pace was limited to how fast the spigot could spew it out. Unfortunately as well, two containers was all he could carry. He'd have to hoof it across the courtyard and back into the factory floor—where his Mongoose was parked, drive back and load up more fuel bladders. Then, the others would follow suit—Bill and Ken. Having the newly-arrived Joe would also make light work of this errand. Maybe his bizarre arrival was a blessing in disguise, as Bill probably thought.
Justin finished. He grabbed the filled containers and waddled across the courtyard with the weight of them sagging his collar bone a little, relentlessly bearing down on his frame.
It took longer than he liked to reach the factory floor, especially after waiting an eternity—once again—for the bay doors to part open.
Before there was ample enough clearance to get inside the factory floor, Justin heard a strange and perhaps potentially devastating noise skittering across the courtyard. He panned his vision to the tunnel that led upwards into the courtyard from the outer sanctum. Emerging into the light of the yard was an incalculable amount of the parasites, edging ever closer to him as if on autopilot, as if their only function was to hunt him down and claim him.
Time seemed to slow as he hurriedly stepped inside, practically squeezing himself through the widening fissure.
Nothing had changed since he left for the stockyard. The place was still bustling with the tired and worked-to-death night shift of City 17, all operating their respective areas in the glaring overhead fluorescence.
He stepped a few paces to where his Mongoose lied, chained to the nearby busbar. He dropped the two fuel bladders next to the ATV's chassis, then quickly made his way to where the others were holed up in. Joe was probably busy eating as much as he could while the others…were probably just waiting, for all Justin knew. They relied so much on his direction.
He ascended a miniscule flight of steps to the break room door. He opened it and rushed in.
A handful of the Kaiser's men were inside, along with Bill, Ken, Joe, and Chris—who was in the grasp of Sergei himself.