Tabula Rasa Kristen Lippert Martin (19 page)

snuffs itself out like someone pinched the end of a sparkler.
I see the light in the hallway brighten as Sam pulls the door
 open, a little at first and then finally all the way.
We’ve found the walkway. What there is of it, anyway.
“Unfinished,” Sam says.
We are staring at nothing but I beams. The walkway
 looks like two railroad tracks with a few diagonal braces
 connecting them, all of it dripping with icicles and coated
 with a thick hump of ice on top. It’s a huge, backbreaking
 drop to the top of the first-floor walkway below.  
I look across the space between the two buildings.
Something’s not right. I count the floors, trying to fig-
 ure out where we’d be coming out if we did manage to
 get across this icy bridge, but it’s hard to tell. The two
 buildings are on the side of a hill, and the main building
 is higher up.
I put one boot onto the beam, and as I shift my weight
 forward to try to walk, I move slightly too far to the side
 and slip. Sam catches me by the arm. “I’ll go first,” he says.
He steps out onto the I beam, confidently, arms extended
 to the sides for balance. He does not look down. He moves
 in small, rapid steps, his feet turned almost perpendicular
 to the beam. I look at the men’s naked feet. For getting
 across this ice-slicked steel girder, they may actually have
 the advantage. I take my boots and socks off, and hang the
 boots around my neck.
I put the ball of my foot onto the beam and immediately
 pull it back like I’ve been stung. The ice is so cold it burns.
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Fear now blooms in my chest like a drop of ink in
 water. It colors everything. I turn my legs and keep my
 toes pointed outward like a ballerina, like they did when
 they crossed. I force myself to put my weight on my feet,
 to make myself fully commit to what I’m doing. This was
 how I used to do it, I think.  People aren’t brave unless
 they  need to be.   Commit first, and the courage will
 follow.
I walk. As quickly and surely as Sam, Sylvester, and
Jerry did. They say nothing to me as I’m crossing. No
 encouraging words. Nothing. They just let me get on with
 it without distraction.
Sam uses another burn charge to cut through the lock
 of the door on the other side of the bridge, before pulling it
 open, staying clear in case someone’s in the hallway beyond.
We wait, and then Sam finally has a look. He motions for
 us to follow. The hallway is dark, but Sam doesn’t want to
 risk using the lantern.
“Jerry, up front to find us a path. We’ll use the walls to
 guide us,” he says.
I put my hand against the wall, feeling my way. When
 we get ten or so yards down the corridor, the texture
 changes. I’m touching glass.
Sam finally asks, “What is this place?”  
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But almost every floor has obser-
 vation windows.”  
Jerry walks ahead, and after a few seconds we hear a
 thump and then the sound of Jerry getting back on his feet.
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“Blocked,” he calls back to us.
We feel around. Concrete on one side, glass on the
 other. We’re stuck.
“Let’s just cut through the glass,” Sylvester says. “Or
 break it.”
“How?” I ask.
“We can use some of the burn charges to crack it,” Jerry
 says.
I hear Sam say, “Let’s do it.”
A moment later I’m already closing my eyes and getting
 ready to not look at the chemical fire. I hear Jerry slap the
 charges onto the window.
“I’m going to cup my hands over them to block the
 light,” Jerry says. “Just in case this area is still under sur-
 veillance.”
We wait. The burn charges shouldn’t take long. I lean
 against the wall, and my head touches something—a small
 plaque. I trace the writing. A number two.  We’re not on
 the third floor after all. We’re on the second.  
And then, too late, I remember why these walls are
 made of glass.
“Get that off the glass,” I say. “Get it off now!”
“I can’t. Once the reaction starts, I can’t stop it,” Sam
 says.
“It’s an aquarium. It runs the length of this entire hall-
 way!”
This massive tropical fish tank is supposed to be sooth-
 ing to watch. Steve once told me it held thirty thousand
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gallons of water and cost the hospital two million bucks as
 he grumbled about his latest lousy pay raise.
Jerry takes his hands away from the burn charges. As
 they flare and grow more intense, I can see inside the tank.
The plants are still, and the water is cloudy. Most of the fish
 are dead, but a few still lurk at the bottom, looking desper-
 ate for oxygen.  
I hold my breath and wait.
The first of the charges melts through the thick glass and
 burns itself out. Almost immediately we hear the sound of
 water shooting onto the floor, like someone just turned on
 a hose full blast. It smells of fish and briny, rotting greens. I
 step back and shove my feet back into my boots. My socks
 are still stuffed into the toes.
The other charge flames out, producing another spigot
 of water. Then the hallway is again dark. Within seconds,
 we hear something strange over the sound of the spilling
 water. It sounds like someone is running a diamond across
 the surface of the glass.
I turn the tablet on and use the light from the screen
 like a lantern. We see a crack form. It connects the two
 holes, then travels horizontally, fast as lightning, across
 the length of the tank. Dozens more small cracks start to
 branch out from it.
The glass sounds like ice breaking up. Water begins  
 to spurt from the center crack, just a little at first, and
 then . . . quiet.
A second later, the whole tank wall explodes outward.
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CHAPTER 27
’m pushed backward, pinwheeling through the water. It
Iseems to go on and on, but I keep holding my breath,
 hoping I can hang on. Someone slams into me. I get a
 single breath of air, and then my head hits the exit sign on
 the ceiling. I grab it and pull myself up, against the tide of
 the water gushing toward the exit door we’ve just come
 through. From below the water, someone grabs my ankle
 and pulls.
A moment later, the pressure on the door is too much,
 and it blows off its hinges. The person holding on to my
 ankle loses his grip. I watch helplessly as whoever it is gets
 sprayed out the door and over the edge.
The water gushes out quickly and the hallway clears.
After a moment, I let myself drop to the floor. The hallway
 is littered with pebbles and fake ceramic coral. I slip on a
 good-sized striped fish, bright as a tennis ball. Sam’s up
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the hall, still clinging to a piece of metal that hangs down
 from the ceiling. The metal is sharp and his hands have
 deep gashes that are bleeding heavily. He coughs, trying
 to clear his lungs. I look around for Jerry. I don’t see him.
I pluck a piece of plant off my neck and stagger toward the
 door. Jerry’s holding on to one of the support struts of the
 unfinished walkway with his legs like he’s riding a horse
 bareback. Sylvester’s on the ground below, facedown, not
 moving.  
“Jerry, can you climb back up here?”
He sputters a moment, then nods. The water has shifted
 some of the debris from the hallway. We climb through the
 broken tank to the other side. Neither Sam nor Jerry regis-
 ters any emotion when I tell them that Sylvester has fallen,
 that I think he’s dead.
Sam says, “We need to keep going. They’ll come and
 investigate what just happened.”
Jerry nods.  
“Wait.”
I take my boots off and use my socks to wrap Sam’s
 bloody hands. Not much of a bandage, but it’s something.
I’m certain the tablet must be ruined, but when I touch the
 screen it lights up like a smile.
That’s when we hear them—a group of soldiers
 approaching. They’re sloshing through the remaining pud-
 dles on the floor, right behind us.
We hurry up the hallway, and I turn right abruptly. Sam
 and Jerry follow the light of the tablet as I go around the
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corner. I know just where we are: in the hallway that leads
 to the gymnasium.
“Where are we going?” Sam asks.
“Shortcut,” I tell him. “Through the locker room.”
Stupidly, I hesitate as I see “Men” on the door, but then
I push forward into the changing room. Several rows of
 lockers have toppled over, tipping against one another.
I hear a humming sound, low and steady. The sound of
 electrical current. Sam nods and says, “That sounds prom-
 ising.”
The only light we have is from the tablet strapped to
 my arm. I point it toward the far end of the locker room,
 trying to figure out if there’s enough space for us to pass
 through to the other side with all the lockers blocking the
 way. I don’t think there is. Certainly not if we’re standing
 up.
Sam turns to Jerry. “Help me shift this.” Jerry reaches
 for the edge of a bank of lockers to stand them straight
 again.
“Stop,” I say.
On the far side of the room a cable is hanging down,
 sparking and wriggling like some vicious tree snake. The
 end of the wire is making contact with one of the lockers.
And all the lockers are touching each other, creating a giant
 circuit. All the metal in the room is electrified, and we are
 soaking wet.
We hardly have time to take it in before I hear the sol-
 diers coming up the hallway. We are inches from the metal.
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My skin prickles.
We were looking for power. I guess we found it.
There’s nowhere to go. The voices are getting closer,
 and we have no choice. If they open the locker room door,
 we’re caught. We’ll have to squeeze ourselves through the
 tunnels created by the toppled lockers and pray we don’t
 make contact with any of the metal.
I don’t want to go in. It reminds me of being put into
 the MRI machine. Like I’m being entombed.
Sam points to the floor. “Down! Now!”
I still can’t. He can see I’m too afraid. That I’m going
 to give us all away unless I get moving. He pushes me
 down.  
“Pull your arms in. Stay straight.” He practically throws
 me into the space between the lockers, like he’s pushing
 a puck along the floor. When I come to a stop, I use my
 elbows to inch forward. I hear Sam dive onto the floor
 behind us.
No sooner do we get ourselves crammed into this small
 void than the overhead light comes on. My body is rigid
 with terror. I worry that the soldiers hunting us will hear
 the water still dripping off my clothes, or hear me panting,
 or my heart pounding. That I’ll accidentally touch one of
 the lockers and fry myself.
Their steps are slow and cautious. A digitized voice says,
“Careful. That’s a live wire.”
Another robotic voice answers back, “Let’s head upstairs
 before one of us gets electrocuted.”
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After they leave, Sam, Jerry, and I continue crawling
 to the other side of the room. I’m not even sure how I’m
 pushing myself along with my arms against my sides. When
 we finally reach the other end of the locker room, the door
 to the gym is propped open and I can see inside. The gym
floor is scattered with soccer balls, basketballs, volleyballs.
Dozens upon dozens of them. They must have spilled off
 their storage racks when the explosions shook the build-
 ing. It looks like a hundred children were playing and then
 simply vanished.  
And then I see it: an outlet. I plug the wet battery pack
 into it, terrified it won’t work, but a red circle of light
 comes on.
Power.
Sam and Jerry slide in on either side of me, and we all
 push ourselves under the desk, our backs to the wall. I wait
 a solid ten, fifteen minutes before I turn to Sam and say, “I
 think they’re gone.”
Sam sits with his hands clasped, resting lightly on his
 knees. “Some of their men don’t speak English, appar-
 ently.”
“What do you mean?”
“That device he’s using. We used them when we
 needed to talk to the locals and there was no one available
 to translate. Each man has his own earpiece. Commands
 are translated into whatever language he speaks.”  
I tell him about the robot guy, the one who seemed to
 be the lead soldier.
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“He’s able to speak with his soldiers, whatever their
 native tongue might be.”
Jerry spits. “Mercenaries.”  
In this moment of quiet, I think of Sylvester. Neither of
 them has mentioned him. Maybe it’s part of their training,
 but part of me thinks otherwise.
“I’m so sorry about your friend,” I say to them.
“Friend?” Jerry says.
“Sylvester. The man who was pushed out the door when
 the fish tank exploded.”
“Yes. Right,” Sam says. “He was a . . . good soldier.”
His eyes are vacant when he says this, like he’s not sure who
I’m talking about.  
Jerry is staring straight ahead, confusion clouding his
 face. This was a close friend and fellow soldier, but they’re
 already forgetting about him and neither is sure why.
Is this a side effect? Would anyone want to forget like
 this, so quickly, so effortlessly? The procedures have taken
 away these men’s ability to remember, which is to take
 away their ability to grieve, which is to take away their
 ability to love.
I feel a cold, wet, slimy sensation in the pit of my stom-
 ach.
Is this what’s going to happen to me if I can’t get the last
 pill I need? Will I end up like Oscar, unable to distinguish
 dreams from reality?
The three of us wait for what seems like hours. I’m
 about to pull the battery cord out of the wall when the
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light on the charger starts blinking green. I look down at
 the computer on my wrist and realize something: Those
 two soldiers we saw earlier should have registered on the
 screen, but they didn’t. They must have turned off the
 tracking device.
They know we’re here.
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CHAPTER 28
 hey know we’re here, and they know we’ve got one
“Tof their devices,” I say to Sam and Jerry.
Sam clenches his jaw and digests this piece of bad news
 without comment.
I tie the power cord around my waist like a belt. “I
 think we can cut through the pool area and exit through
 the women’s lockers to the central hallway. From there we
 can . . . ” I’m about to say get to the nurse’s station, but realize
 they don’t know that part of the plan.
“Let’s take the stairs down to the basement and find a
 way back.”
Now that we can’t rely on the tablet, we’re flying blind.
But the extra risk is just punishment for the detour I’m
 taking us on.
“This way,” I say.
I follow the smell of chlorine. A column of snow is
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