Rebel's Construct: Sim-Verse: Book 1, page 10
“Up we go,” she said pulling a rope with tackle from her bag. She expertly threw the hook up to the rust ridden fire escape ladder, which caused a loud clank that reverberated down the street.
Taven flinched from the sound, but then was shocked by what followed. Ferah pulled down the ladder, causing the most sustained screech he could imagine.
“Hurry,” she said, “before someone notices.”
Taven wanted to say something sarcastic like you think? but decided instead to just climb as fast as he could.
As he worked his way to the top, he lost his breath, and the thought popped into his mind: Why didn’t we just drop onto the roof top in the first place? Or better yet, why didn’t we land right in front of the Temple gate?
There were reasons, he knew. There were always reasons. None of them ever seemed sufficient to him, but there they stood in the merry-go-round of backward logic and secret rules that he only seemed to learn after the point when they would have been useful.
Somehow, they reached the top of the building without garnering any attention, and Taven bent over to catch his breath.
“Alright, drop your bag and follow me,” Ferah demanded. He noticed she didn’t even seem winded, and she definitely didn’t seem interested in taking a break.
“Wait,” he said. “Aren’t you going to let me in on this? I mean, I don’t remember anything about climbing buildings or whatever’s in these bags.” He tapped the submachine gun strapped to his right thigh with one hand and the half-dozen extra magazines strapped to his vest and belt. “I know what these are for, but what’s up with all this?”
She sighed as if she didn’t have time to explain. “All this,” she said, pointing to the two bags on the rooftop, “is our plan B. You always need a plan B. If they won’t let us in when we ask nicely, we’ll have to be”—she cleared her throat— “more assertive.”
And then she gave Taven another familiar look. It was one of Amy’s classic faces: lips pursed and eyebrows high. It was unmistakable, and it meant that that was all he was going to get from her.
“Alright,” he said. “Now what.”
She moved to the opposite ledge from the one they had climbed. “There,” she pointed.
Taven looked and felt like he had when he was a kid after a grownup would point out an animal in the woods or a fish in the lake and he’d search and search and never find it. All he saw were a series of parallel buildings lined up in a straight row with roof tops at roughly the same heights.
“I—I don’t see it,” he finally admitted.
“In the distance,” she redirected. “With the pillars.”
Suddenly the images clicked and Taven noticed the Temple beyond the row of parallel buildings.
“That looks like it would take days to reach,” he said.
“No time to lose,” she grinned. Then she pointed to the left of the Temple. “You see that large building, the one that stretches all the way to the Temple square?”
Taven did. It was one giant monolithic structure, like a multilevel rectilinear shopping mall. He nodded.
“That’s our plan A,” she said.
He didn’t understand, but he knew not to argue. This was what they were going to do, and that was that.
Then she went back to the fire escape, looked up and down the alleyway for signs of trouble and descended back down to the street. Taven, as he climbed over the ledge to follow her, eyed the two black bags they were leaving on the rooftop. It felt like a fatal mistake to leave them behind, whatever they were. He swallowed hard as he realized there was a good chance he would see them again.
Down at the street level, Ferah wasted no time. She raced through more alleys and ground floor buildings, using her key again and again.
Finally, the dizzying maze stopped, and Ferah showed the first signs of angst. She stood motionless inside a ground floor building as she peered out a window.
“What is it?” Taven asked.
“We’re there.”
Taven followed her eyes to the building across the street and realized that was the rectilinear building she had pointed out before.
“Taven, this building’s going to be crawling with people. And not just dumb CG types either.”
He waited to see if she’d crack a smile at her ironic comment, but she was dead serious.
“I’ll take the point,” she continued, “but there may be a time when we need to split up. I’ll give you the signal if that’s the case.”
Taven wanted to know what the signal was and if Ferah was assuming he knew things that he didn’t, but then he remembered she was a projection of his subconscious and would already know what he knew.
“Most importantly,” she added, “we have to keep quiet. If we go in guns blazing, they’ll be on top of us in no time. I really don’t want to use plan B if we don’t have to.” She paused as if waiting for courage. “Ready?” she finally said more than asked.
Before he could answer, Ferah bolted out the door toward the complex.
CHAPTER 20
FOR A HEAVILY populated and secure building, Taven was surprised how easily they got in. No welcoming party, no surprises. Of course, he was getting used to the fact that Ferah had the key that unlocked every door. Every door except the Temple gate, apparently.
Ferah adjusted her automatic rifle’s sling, situating it so that it rode on her back and didn’t jostle around or make noise. Then she brought out a pistol, and Taven noticed the suppressor attached at the barrel’s end.
Taven wanted to follow her lead, but all he had with him was the compact submachine gun. She had shown him how to cock it, how to change mags, etc. He pulled it from its holster and turned off the safety with his thumb.
She gave him a look that he understood: Don’t use that thing unless you absolutely have to.
They were in some kind of lobby, a conspicuous spot that Taven sensed was no place to stay long. Ferah moved to a set of double doors and crouched down, looking through the crack. She raised her left hand and signaled that there were two perps on the other side.
Then she stood, placed her backside against the door and gave a you-ready? look. Taven bit his lip and nodded.
With surprising speed, Ferah burst through the doors and fired two shots at a man and a woman who were on a stage. Ferah was already scanning the rest of the auditorium before the brass shells plinked softly on the carpeted floors.
They moved down the center aisle toward the stage. The woman Ferah had shot lay on the stage floor. She groaned softly and raised one hand as if pleading for mercy. Ferah, still alert and looking for other assailants, turned her gun to the woman and dispatched her without even looking. Headshot, Taven thought. Probably not the mercy she was looking for.
Another thing Ferah didn’t seem to pay much attention to was what was being projected onto the centerstage screen. It was an image of Cat, a headshot photograph. Taven at first thought it might be like the door interface and that Cat was in the middle of transmitting a message. But soon he realized that the stationary photo was just that and that there was more to this place and their apparent obsession with their leader than he would probably ever understand.
They moved backstage, carefully stepping flat-footedly to avoid making noise. They made their way through the mess of spools of rope, lighting equipment, and stacked chairs, and Taven hoped he wouldn’t goof up and fall or knock over something.
When they reached the right-hand side of the backstage area, a tight corner turned left into a long hallway. Ferah looked around the corner first, then quickly pulled her head back and gestured the number three.
Oh, crap, Taven thought. What now? Even if Ferah could take them out before they fired their weapons, what if there were more people down there? Taven felt like they were about to kick a hornet’s nest.
Ferah leaned over, her face next to Taven’s, and he had the distinct impression she was going to kiss him. Instead, she whispered in his ear. “I’m going to need your help.”
He nodded.
“I’m going to get them to come down here. Don’t know if they’ll come together or separately. If I’m outnumbered, you’ll have to pitch in.”
Taven nodded again, but in his mind, he was screaming: How am I supposed to do that?! It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle himself in a fight; he’d been in a few brawls, though not many and not any since he’d been promoted to foreman. Unless you count the verbal exchanges between he and Amy. But he’d never been in a fight to the death. A gun, he could understand how to kill with. But with his bare hands?
Besides theater equipment and miscellaneous junk, there’s one more thing that all back stages have: a circuit breaker box. Ferah had already found it and was discerning whatever faded out labeling was there. Taven had an idea what she was doing, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of this, the whole construct. Well, he did like that Italian sandwich and brewski, but he doubted he’d ever get to enjoy it the way things were going.
Click.
The right side stage lights went out.
Another Click.
The same side of the backstage area went dark.
Click. The hallway went dark. But now there were new sounds. The men fussed and fumed, and Taven heard one of them say he would fix it.
Footsteps click clacked down the hallway and Taven saw a flash. The man had a light. He didn’t know if Ferah had anticipated this or not, but his heart seemed to skip beats with each approaching footstep.
He felt like a coward, and the overwhelming desire to run was palpable. Taven sank back behind the corner of the hallway doors, wishing he could disappear into the wall itself.
“I told them they were going to blow one,” the man muttered to himself as he entered the backstage area.
He was right next to Taven but apparently didn’t see him. Taven could have reached out and touched him if he wanted, but he didn’t. He should have. He knew he should have, but he froze.
The man stood still, shining his light on the wall in search of the breaker box. The light moved closer and closer to Taven and he braced himself for the conflict that would soon ensue.
Right before he was exposed, the light came to a stop.
“What the—”
The light shone on Ferah’s midsection, and by the time the man could raise it to see her face she had him. The flashlight hit the floor and rolled. Taven heard a crunch like the sound of celery snapping and he knew the man’s neck was broken.
“You okay?” came a shout down the hallway.
They must have heard the flashlight drop, Taven realized.
A whisper in the dark, “Move the body.”
Taven groped the ground and finally found the man’s feet. He pulled on the dead weight until he found a spot beside a giant spool of cable. He didn’t know how far to move it, but the approaching sound of two men’s shouts growing louder and noticeably more alarmed caused him to give up on the task.
He gripped his gun, readying himself for the worst.
These two had lights as well, and as soon as they turned the corner, Taven heard Ferah’s pistol engage them. This time, her brass plinked more loudly on the hardwood and was followed by the heavy thud of two collapsing bodies.
“Come on,” she said. “Someone will come looking before long. We’ve got to make some time up if we’re going to reach the gate before it all hits the fan.”
As they ran down the darkened corridor, Taven wondered what Ferah had anticipated. Was this more conflict than she had expected? Maybe she had thought they could sneak through the whole building unnoticed. Either way, Taven figured things weren’t looking good, but at least Ferah was doing all the heavy lifting.
They came to another set of double doors. For such a large complex, this structure seemed to have a linear flow, unidirectionally moving from one room or compartment to the next with minimal options.
“What now?” he whispered.
“Now, we get lucky,” she answered.
Taven didn’t like any plans that relied on luck. He never seemed to have enough of the stuff.
Ferah peered through the crack in the doors. This time her expression lifted; she seemed encouraged, and she raised a solitary finger and smiled her out-of-breath smile.
Ferah opened the door gingerly, and Taven caught and closed it quietly behind them. This was another large room, but Taven had trouble understanding its purpose. It wasn’t an auditorium, though there were seats along each side of the walls. It was more like a gymnasium, except the center flooring wasn’t basketball-court hardwood; it was concrete with dark inexplicable blotches all over the place.
At the far end of the room was an elevated alcove that had glass windows that ostensibly looked out over whatever room came next.
Taven’s senses suddenly sharpened as he noticed the guard stationed up there. But then he relaxed a bit; the guard was motionless, sitting on a stool and facing the opposite direction.
Quickly, they made their way to the double staircase that led up to the alcove. When they reached it, Ferah gestured for him to stay downstairs. Obedient, especially when it came to armed conflict, Taven agreed.
He watched as she moved effortlessly up the stairs, and he was reminded of their journey up the hill of rubble to obtain the medallion. He touched his chest, double-checking that it was still there. It was.
Ferah’s musculature was on full display, her rock-hard thighs and chiseled abdominals contrasting perfectly with her voluptuous curves. And Taven recognized that she had told the truth: She was his fantasy.
Ferah stopped at the top step, poised to pounce on her unsuspecting victim. She lunged, disappearing from view.
Another loud crunch was followed by the thud of the man falling.
Ferah reappeared, victorious at the top of the staircase and smiling.
Then two shots rang out, and Ferah’s smile faded into a look of confusion. She glanced down at her abdomen which was already soaked in blood.
“No!” Taven shouted as his legs involuntarily began climbing the staircase.
He saw her fall backwards, and time suddenly seemed to change. He was aware of himself pulling out his gun, but he didn’t feel his feet pounding the stairs. Nor did he seem to need to breath hard as he climbed. The whole staircase that took Ferah thirty seconds to ascend seemed to be behind him in less than five.
He wanted to help her, but when he reached the top, he frantically looked for the person who had fired upon her.
In the corner was a teenage looking boy who raised a pistol with shaking hands. Before he even knew what he was doing, Taven fired at the kid.
The boy’s body reacted wildly; he didn’t fall to the ground like he was supposed to but stood flailing about. And before Taven could finish the job for good, the boy hit a button on the wall, sounding an alarm that threatened to pierce Taven’s eardrums.
CHAPTER 21
FERAH’S BODY LAY motionless. She was dead alright, but Taven kept staring, hoping she would come back somehow. It didn’t seem impossible; not in this world, anyway.
The blaring scream of the siren was behind him, in his background of senses. Maybe this is what they call shellshock, he thought.
He glanced up at where the kid’s body lay. That was Taven’s first kill, he realized. Why’d it have to be a kid? But maybe it wasn’t a real kid, he thought. How did he know anyone was really their age here? Ferah wasn’t even real. Maybe that kid wasn’t either. He wasn’t really dead. Not really. And neither was Ferah. But how was he supposed to go on without her? She knew her way around here, and she had the key.
The key! He’d forgotten. He reached down and began to grab the key from around Ferah’s neck, but as soon as he tried, his hand slipped through her suddenly immaterial body. She was fading away. She and the key both.
“Blast it!” he yelled. He flinched, suddenly self-conscious at making undue noise. Then he realized how foolish he was; the alarm was already ringing, and he had already used his gun.”
That meant they were coming for him. He ran to the glass wall, the one the guard had been looking through. In the room beyond them, he saw this construct’s version of troops heading his way. They weren’t in official formation, but there were a bunch of them, a dozen at least, and they moved with the certainty that only came when you knew where you were headed.
He looked at his gun, holding its barrel up before his face. Could he kill himself? It would be painless, and then he could start over back at the house.
That was the sensible thing to do, right? Because these people would torture him if they caught him, force him to give them the medallion. No matter how much he told himself that none of this was real, that it didn’t matter what happened to him here, he was confronted by an undeniable truth: He didn’t want to suffer.
And then he remembered what Ferah had said about this construct, that it was the only place where the medallion would return to the rubble pile if he died. This was a one-shot deal.
Can’t stay here, he thought. Can’t waste myself, either. That leaves . . . Plan B.
He glanced one more time out the glass wall, realizing that he’d be lucky to exit this room without his pursuers shooting him full of holes. As he turned to descend the stairs, he noticed Ferah’s body was gone.
“It’s like you said, getting here’s the hard part. Getting home is easy.”
Home sounded good right now. But he was a long way from it.
He cleared the stairs and sprinted across the room, his footsteps making a high-pitched reverberation off the concrete floors.
He thought he heard people enter the room as he burst through the doors that he and Ferah had come in through. No time to wait and see if they had noticed him, he knew.
Back-tracking through the complex was a relatively simple task. The darkened hallway and auditorium had been indelibly etched into his memory. And fortunately for Taven, he didn’t run into any trouble.
But after leaving the rectilinear building, doubt and confusion set in. Ferah had led him through the maze of buildings, underground sewers, and back alleyways like a kid on her way home from school: too fast for him to notice all the landmarks.
