LOCKED (10 page)

We were approaching the
address on the paper. Night had fallen hours ago, and we were only able to see
with the beam of a flashlight Tank projected in front of us that he kept stored
in one of his many compartments. Miles upon miles resting heavy on our feet, we
finally reached our destination. Oddly enough, there was still a streetlamp
working, an innocent and defenseless beacon. It was a rural area, with few
buildings and a single road. The road was off to our left and branched off to a
two-way road a few feet away. The left road dared to venture into the dangerous
darkness, and the right took the safety of revealing itself to us. Behind us
were the remains of a hospital and a pharmacy, respectively. I read the address
again, and its occupying building was the only one with a light on. It was a
humble brick building with two floors, built from a single man’s determination.
Tank stayed outside, as he was too large to go anywhere else. I knocked on the
wooden door with Danni by my side.

"It's open..." the
voice of a young boy called. I turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly.
The room was shockingly small; the ceiling was only a few inches above my head.
It was torn and had a massive crack, indicating that the floor upstairs wanted
to come crumbling down and join the first.

A red haired boy in overalls
was sweeping with a broom in the corner. His movements were melancholy and
slow. The room was cramped as well, creating a sense of claustrophobia. The
walls were also adorned with cracks from years of abuse and shadow dancers. In
front of us was a young man at a poorly built desk; its frame was sloppy and
the nails wanted to leap off. His dark hair reached below his shoulders, and
his face was drenched in mustache and beard. He had a raggedy look to him, like
he was homeless. I couldn't wait to leave.

"I'm uh... I'm here for
U.S.P.L." I handed him the note, my hands shaking. He grunted and
impatiently opened it. His face turned bright-red the second he read it.

"YOU WANT SOMETHIN'?
FINE, I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHIN'!" he threw around some things in a drawer on
his rottenly-constructed desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and shoved it in
my face. Danni butted in a little bit to get a better glimpse. All that was on
it was a series of zeros and ones along with a small picture. It seemed to be a
long series of circles upon a larger square, like a keyboard with circular
buttons. I was going to ask him just what he was doing once he lifted the
paper, but all that was behind it was a knife! Danni jumped back involuntarily,
and I felt its steely blade plunged deep into the right side of my chest. I
screamed out even though I felt no pain. I pushed the psychotic man's arm off,
yanking the knife out at the same time. Danni yanked my own arm to get me out
of there. The last thing I saw in that poor little shop was the little
red-haired servant watching me get dragged out.

Danni dragged my body near
Tank. She inhaled sharply when Tank shone his flashlight upon my gaping wound.
I was breathing heavily, afraid for my life. Then, the shop keeper left his
little building and stood in the doorway. I wasn't watching him, but I knew it
was him when I heard shots from a pistol, aimed in my general area. I shot up
and ran away, ran anywhere at the same time Tank leapt into action to wreak
havoc on my hunter.

"LEO, WAIT!" Danni
called out, but her voice was far away. I ran straight into the abandoned hospital,
as it was the closest building. I literally ran for my life, off to the nearest
room to hide. Unfortunately, this was a rickety old elevator. My mind was
gripped with fear, and I had no idea what I was doing. I pounded on the
"DOOR CLOSE" button, even though electricity hadn't run through this
elevator's veiny wires for years. The elevator made grunts of resistance, but
in my blank panic, I would have none of it. CLOSE, CLOSE, CLOSE! One final
pound found my hand going through the panel, and the elevator falling down,
down into the blackened abyss below...

I woke shivering against a
cold, dusty and stony floor completely enclosed in darkness. My eyes widened
and I got up as quickly as I could, remembering the last events that had
happened. But how long ago was it? Minutes, hours... days…? There was no way to
see; it was completely dark, a perfect black that no light pierced. Strangely
enough, as I felt around for walls, the floor was of granite and gravel, but
the walls were metallic and smooth. As suddenly and without warning as any of
the events that had transpired in the past month or so, I tripped on a wire,
and dozens of machines and computers roared to life with a creaking as though
they hadn't been touched in thousands of years. The room felt as though any
heat that was left in it was sucked away. A brutal cold swept over, making it
even more unsettling in here. Now with all the computers on, the room was
drenched in a dark red glow. Each screen seemed to emanate with the same red,
but each had different images. One glance and I wanted to vomit, wanted to
remove the sights I had seen. Horribly shredded bodies, innards carelessly
tossed aside in favor of wires and equipment sustaining the dissection.
Apparently, the hospital was built on top of an old experiment zone. But was it
still active…? I couldn't tell if anything I had seen had taken place recently.
A door, probably only ten or fifteen feet away, seemed like miles when I was in
such a horrified state. Scared of what's hiding in the dark shadow in the
corner, scared to be... scared of everything. Every step caused my body to ache
with tense feelings; I was surprised I didn't pass out. But after what seemed
to be hours, I forced my way to the door. I slowly reached out my hand for the
knob. However, I heard a quiet rustling in the corner, and my heart nearly flew
out of my throat. I threw open the door, ran into the unknown, and slammed it
hard behind me. I was breathing in short, panicked breaths now as I clung to
the door. My eyes needed some time to adjust to see what was ahead, but it
certainly wasn't a way out. In here, there was another narrow hallway of
computers, but past one turn was a series of incubators. Most were shattered,
though some still contained fluids. As fear forced my mind and body to adapt to
seeking the nearest exit, I had to take chances. I walked quietly into the
hallway of incubators, and looked around. I knew that considering what I had seen
on the screens, most of what I was going to see here had the wicked potential
to render better men than I insane. Those sadistic images are exactly what I
saw. I looked into one of the shattered incubators, and saw a man. Well, half a
man. Everything from the torso down was torn away, and just as on the monitor,
entrails were lazily thrown around. Wiring and electric equipment were just
stuck inside without a second thought. Now that I think back, it was probably
the same person. Old and crusty blood covered the floor beneath him. Several
apparatus were attached to his face and forced in his mouth as well. There were
no signs of breathing, but his eyes were dilated and made small movements every
few seconds. To my horror, this man had been in this condition probably for
months. I slowly backed away as the thoughts in my mind came to a complete
stop. I stumbled and began to rush away. I wasn't looking where I was going,
and ended up smashing my face into another computer monitor. I looked at it for
a second, and could only pray that one day, I’ll forget what I saw: a harlequin
looking to be around age eight sitting in a small, cramped room bathed in red
light. It slowly turned its head to look at the camera for a moment, and then
turned back away.

I won't be sleeping tonight.

HALLOWED
GROUNDS

My world was in that hazy,
gray space between nightmare and reality. Feint earth-shaking thuds, mechanical
crackling and hideous cackling were all I could take in while in that numb
state of being. As soon as I could move my arms again, I rubbed my eyes,
burning them with the dirt and dust that I forced in. Though my vision was
blurry, I could take in the figures that stood for anarchy itself surrounding
me. I instinctively leapt up but fell backwards, creating a tumult of bustling
movement around me; apparently my blunder was much to the audience’s amusement.
I forced myself onto my feet again as quickly as I could, and I then knew for
sure that I wasn’t in that chalky space between nightmare and reality…the two
had blended into one.

It was day, and I was on the
pavement outside of the hospital where an entire force of guerrillas, maybe a
dozen or more, were crowded together in a circle around me. They constantly
pushed and shoved into one another in their
mechs
,
cursing and roaring, just like drunks at a dog fight. Their shouts echoed from
the cockpit of their
mechs
, filling the air with a
petrifying thunder, drowning out any and all other sounds besides those that
their thrashing about created. I was frozen with fear down to my very core,
feeling its icy claws branch out into my veins; this was my first time having
such an up-close-and-personal look at them. Upon closer inspection, it seemed
that each one had a different tribal design painted onto their iron suits: some
were intricate designs of blood-red, some were neatly-tinted hues of a
tropical-sky blue, but they were uniform in one way alone: the components of
each came together to create an icon of chaos, and together, they were a
lawless tribe bound by invisible fibers.

In my frantic looking about,
I saw Danni in a similar situation some twenty or so feet away. Two or three of
them were taunting her in their demented little game. They made the earth quake
when they landed with a deafening thud after great leaps, threatened her with
all manners of dangerous weapons, and mocked her stress and frustration. With
each step she took back, they crept up closer. She turned the slightest bit in
my direction, and in her face relief mingled with concern.

“Leo! Where’s Tank?!” she
shouted to me as she came running up .The circle began to close in to make up
the gap, giving Danni and I little more than seven or so free feet to move around.
I opened my mouth to respond, but then realized that Tank hadn’t once crossed
my mind since I woke up. Danni stopped short when she came nearer, a little
startled. She looked down at my blood-soaked shirt, and I looked as well to
match where her gaze fell. The knife wound was gone! We both looked up again at
the same time, only having a split second of eye contact; we were immediately
distracted by one of the guerrillas who came forward from the pack, continuing
to mock Danni. He spoke in a condescending tone, a blend of English and a
foreign tongue. With the hand on the end of his mech’s long, skinny arm, he
grabbed a steel pipe from nearby and swung it mere inches from her face with
deadly force, just to gauge her reaction. Needless to say, she instinctually
leapt backwards to avoid the blow, crashing into me in the process. Another
uproar of laughter erupted, the loudest and most sickening coming from our
attacker. He pounded and scrapped the pipe along the pavement in front of us,
making the concrete spit up sparks that rained back down and vanished. By that
point, something in Danni must have snapped, and pride trampled over reason.
The second his hand stopped moving, she yanked the pipe from it. It took
another second for mild surprise to register and quiet the crowd, and in that
second, Danni swung the pipe directly into the screen of the mech with every
ounce of strength she had. The guerrilla screamed in pain as glass shards flew
into the cockpit, forcing him to back up half a dozen feet at the same time. By
the end of
that
second, the crowd’s sickening rowdiness turned into an
uproar of fury.

After a second of recovery,
he rushed forward. The shadow of his figure loomed over us as he raised a chunk
of concrete from nearby with deadly intention, but before he could slam it down
onto our skulls, he was yanked away by the shoulder from behind.

This new assailant slammed
him into the ground like a ragdoll. The clang of heavy metal against concrete
boomed through the air. It was another mech that attacked him, but it stood
apart from the others. It was certainly larger, but that was the only
difference I could make out in the struggle that followed. Well, it was a
struggle at least for one side. The new attacker planted his foot firmly on the
shoulder socket of the other, and pulled at the base of his arm. The pinned
figure flailed about as if it were being electrocuted, its pilot screaming out
in panic and agony. As his begging reached a pitch, I thought he was repeating
the same name or phrase over and over, but I couldn’t make it out. The whole
time, his opponent was slowly tearing his arm out of his socket with no sign of
remorse or even exertion; it was as though this was a tradition being performed
nonchalantly.

Seconds later, the arm
popped out. Underneath the screech of metal, I heard the gruesome crunch of
bone being ripped from flesh and sinew. The defeated guerrilla’s movements
started to slow down as a puddle of dark blood formed where his arm was
relieved of his shoulder socket. The victor tossed the arm of the mech (still
containing its human owner’s limb) to the side, and turned around. The crowd
was silent and respectful…I assumed this must have been their leader, one that
had no time for games and demanded absolute respect in his presence.

He stared at the two of
us. 

He made slow, lumbering,
methodical steps towards us. Once he reached us, he leaned over so close that I
could make out the facial features of this pilot. He was Latino, and had the
piercing eyes and scarred cheeks of a man built in a favela. He had a slight
stubble on his short face, but besides that, he was clean-shaven. Having an
average build, he was a little too small to accommodate his towering mech
perfectly. He leaned in just a little closer.

“
What…have we…got…here.”
he snarled. His voice was deep, gravely. There was an asphalt texture in it,
his vocal cords already coarsened. I estimated that he was young, but not too
young. Maybe in his early thirties.

Seeing how he was waiting
for a response, I had a better chance to look over his mechanical suit before I
dared to open my mouth. His figure was a bit taller than the other guerrillas,
and it had more humanoid arms, unlike the spidery limbs of his comrades (or
servants). The hull of his mech certainly had the most intricate designs. The
motifs seemed to be a blend between tribal and Spanish gothic, the black ink
being vines wrapped over metal with a slightly blue tint. There seemed to be
little phrases scrawled in between the webs, but I couldn’t make out any that
were in English; the language looked to be Spanish, possibly Portuguese.

“We were just trying to
leave.” I declared in as firm a tone as I could. His only response for a moment
was utter silence. He then backed up into the crowd that parted for him. Even
after the congregation had mostly come back together, I could still make out
his figure through little breaks in the crowd in between the heavy iron suits
the congregation was made up of. He seemed to be attempting to carry something
with the help of another guerrilla.

“I believe this…” he called
out from beyond the crowd, which opened up again.

“…belongs to you.” he gave a
mighty heave, and he tossed the seemingly lifeless hull of Tank into the middle
of the circle. A meter-long iron pipe was lodged in his neck. I didn’t turn to
Danni, but I was sure her thoughts were the same as mine: we were defenseless
in a pack of wolves.

“He’s still functional.”
their leader declared, standing by Tank as he looked around, making sure he had
the undivided focus of the audience. He then looked back to me.

“The only reason you made it
as far as you did is because of your ‘guardian’ here. The only reason you’ve
made it
this
far is because of one of my men finding you, dragging you
out of that pit, and finding your friend close by. Your machine here certainly
didn’t make matters easy…he would’ve caused a deal of damage more if I didn’t
have men with good aim. Now, I have no need to torment you further; I know when
mercy is practical. If you tell me your names, your business, and provide us a
very particular service…I’ll set you free.”

Danni and I glanced toward
each other suspiciously. Seeing as we had little choice in the matter, I
gathered my courage and took a single step forward.

“I’m Leo, and this is Danni.
We were here to— see the doctor.” I paused; I wanted to skip the part about
being with U.S.P.L. I hoped that Tank hadn’t given that fact away. Somehow I
didn’t think they would get along too well with that little detail. He
snickered.

“You and your allies made a
grave mistake in trusting that spineless man…his bonds were as complicated and
weak as cobwebs. His kind feeds on havoc; that’s what drew him to this place
ever since it was burnt to the ground. He set up shop quickly, and fed off of
whoever needed his help like a parasite. Unfortunately for you, Miller fed him
cash much more efficiently than you could ever hope to. As for the situation at
hand now…first, I am Ortiz, regulator of every man who calls himself a
guerrilla in my land. We’re a faction entirely separate from political forces
like Miller or yourselves, whom I assume to be close to U.S.P.L. While I can’t
say I’m pleased to find you here, I’m also a fair man. You’re not here of your
own will, I can tell. Again, if you’ll hear my bargain, I’ll let you go.”

Danni and I both nodded,
even though I internally cringed at the mention of U.S.P.L. I wasn’t
particularly eager to find out what kind of errand he wanted us to run, but the
sound of escape was too much to resist.

“A few weeks back, one of
our own wandered into a small section of the city that Miller was able to cling
to with the help of his soldiers after the initial struggle, and he never came
back. The area was infested in the blink of an eye once Miller knew negotiation
was too late, as he had to use the disease to his advantage as a weapon rather
than try to eliminate it. Now, only abominations roam that land.” Ortiz’s face
and tone became a bit darker before he continued.

“We’re a people that respect
our fallen. We wouldn’t dare tread with thoughts of violence on ground
possibly
housing one of our lost men. The issue at hand is that we don’t know for sure
that he’s dead. You, on the other hand…you have no such codes to follow. We
need you to go find him…and tell us whether he’s alive or dead.”

“So you’re not going into
that particular part of the city because…you’re superstitious?” I gulped,
hoping that sounded more like a genuine question rather than sarcasm. He looked
away for a moment, thinking, possibly trying to figure out which of the two I had
intended. Luckily, the less aggravating notion won out.

“We thrive on tradition. We
can never forget who our ancestors are, or what they’ve done or believed in.
They survived by following their beliefs, so it’s our duty to continue doing as
they’ve done. That’s why we live as we do.” he mused.

“It’s all about survival,
then.” I nodded. I honestly just wanted to stay as respectful as I could to
stay on his good side, but it was genuinely an interesting point of view. He
smirked; either his dark mood was lifting or some semblance of arrogance that
was invisible before was starting to come through.

“You make it sound like you
have something more to live for. You and I aren’t entirely different, no matter
what way you look at it. If you look back far enough, we all crawled out of
Europe. Before that, out of Africa, before, from the ocean, and before, from
nothingness. Our origins end up being the same if you go back far enough, and
how we got through to today is tied to our origins: a law of survival.”

The whole time Ortiz spoke,
the crowd was completely silent. The only sound besides his voice one could
hear was the faint whisper of the wind over the open and broken landscape.
After a brief pause, he continued speaking again.

“I’ll take your silence as
an agreement. It’d be best if you left immediately. I’ve said everything I need
to say.” he declared, heaving out a heavy groan. He and the crowd parted like a
modern red sea of metallic sheen, giving us a clear view of the path we needed
to take; it was the road that branched off to the right of the building that
once housed the doctor and his poor, likely now-deceased servant.

“We
are
going to have
Tank, aren’t we…?” I nodded towards the inert hull with the iron spear still
lodged in his neck.

“Of course not. Now go.”
Ortiz commanded emotionlessly, looking towards the open path.

As Danni and I prepared
ourselves for our journey, he called us once more.

“I’ll give you a single
warning: don’t try to forsake your duty.” he glared, his gaze mercilessly
delivering his message loud and clear. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind
before that, but it surely wouldn’t now.

With that ominous threat, we
began our new mission. The first fifteen feet of the path were lined with the
guerillas on either side of us. Fear crawled into our hearts with each step
forward. Walking a road lined by these lawless monstrosities was the equivalent
of guiding a lit match through a grim factory housing barrels of oil; one
single mistake could end our lives.