My father opened it and the men guided me inside an apartment.
“All meals will be brought to you,” my father said. “We’ll put you on more frequent mealtimes again. You’ll find the apartment perfectly equipped. You’ll find a gym and even a sauna… I’ll come down to see you tomorrow.”
The door closed and the bolts were drawn.
I turned around and gazed at the apartment. It was spacious and comfortable. As I wandered through it, I passed a bedroom, a kitchen-dining room, a bathroom, a living room and then the gym and sauna.
A beautiful cage indeed.
At least I wasn’t strapped down to a chair anymore. That was some improvement. How much remained to be seen.
How am I going to escape this place?
I scanned the apartment, looking for any sign of weaknesses. It was windowless, of course. I eyed the ceiling and tested it by smashing dumbbells against it. I hoped that maybe I might find a weakness. But there was none. It seemed to be reinforced, just like the door.
They had supernatural-proofed this place just for me.
I walked around aimlessly for the next couple of hours, racking my brain for ideas. Then it was time for my first meal. I heard the hatch opening. A tray was pushed through, filled with cartons that contained what looked like a hearty meal. I guessed my father thought I needed it after being isolated in that pokey room for who knew how long.
The hatch closed. I moved to the food and bent down to examine it. As I was about to carry the tray to the dining table, I stopped in my tracks. The man outside was talking—taking a call, apparently with his wife.
Finally, my first idea hit me.
Lawrence
Now I knew that there was a phone signal down this low in the building and, heck, this far out in the mountains. The problem was I had no phone.
Ben had mine. I had forgotten to reclaim it from him. That was the most fortunate thing that could’ve happened. Assuming he still had the phone—and I prayed that he did—I had a method of contacting him. Ben wouldn’t have been so stupid as to let it go, even if he did think I was dead. It was filled with important IBSI contacts. My father didn’t know what had happened to my phone.
After finishing my meal, I headed to the gym and worked out on the treadmill. It helped to clear my thoughts, and formulate my plan enough so that by the next time my meal came round—just a snack this time—a few hours later, I was ready to seize the opportunity.
Before whoever it was who had slipped the snack through could back away—I assumed that it was the same man as before—I called out, “Wait. I need help with something.”
“What?” His gruff voice came back. Yes. It was the same man.
“The bathroom flush is jammed.”
The man groaned. “Can’t you figure it out?”
“No,” I said. “I tried already… You don’t honestly think I would try something, do you? I know I wouldn’t get far.”
“You’d better not try anything,” he grunted. “I’m carrying a gun.”
The door reluctantly pushed open and in stepped one of the men who had escorted me down here. Keeping his gun at the ready, he circled me, not taking his eyes off mine. “You walk first, in front of me,” he said.
I led him to the bathroom and gestured to the pot.
As he bent down to look at it, I examined the belt around his waist. It had several slots, one containing an internal communication device, one a Swiss Army knife, and one with a thin light mobile phone. A similar model to my own.
Here, although he kept his gun firmly in one hand, he had no choice but to bend over in order to examine the flush. Using my supernatural speed and deftness to my full advantage, I slipped the phone from his belt and stuffed it into my pocket. The man didn’t notice its missing weight as he stood again after testing the flush.
His eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“You must have magic hands then,” I remarked dryly.
He rolled his eyes before stalking out of the room. He headed out the door and locked it behind him.
I waited until his footsteps had disappeared up the stairs before gazing down at the phone. Okay. My number. I need to call my number. I doubted it would be long before he realized his phone was missing.
I punched in my number before pressing dial. I held it to my ear. Come on. Pick up. It rang and rang, then hit voicemail. I swore.
I tried again and then again. Voicemail each time. I left a message anyway, of course, but I was left with a chilling feeling as I hung up for the fifth time.
I waited five minutes before trying again, then ten minutes, and then the man returned for his device. The hatch opened and he called through the door. “Hey, I must have dropped my phone in there. I’m coming in.”
I quickly erased the call history as he opened the door. I moved to him and handed it over.
“Yes,” I said. “I found it on the commode carpet.”
Taking it from me with a look of suspicion, he left.
Great. Now what?
I returned to the treadmill for the next half hour. But I kept hitting a block. My mind wandered back to the announcement my father had shown me. The broadcast of my death.
I supposed that I should have just been grateful that he had chosen not to kill me outright.
As if that’s something worthy of gratitude from a son to a father.
I couldn’t get the visual out of my head. Me slumped in that chair.
And Grace… Had she seen it? If anybody in The Shade had watched it, surely they would have shown her.
As if she didn’t have enough to cope with already.
I tried to return my thoughts to the matter at hand, but that broadcast kept playing over in my head.
And then a second idea hit me abruptly. Why didn’t I think of it before?
Lawrence
I needed a phone again. I was kicking myself for not seeing the opportunity while I still held it in my hands. It was a smartphone, for heaven’s sake. Smartphones were called that for a reason. I had been too wrapped up in getting through to Ben before the guy returned for his possession to see any other way.
I could only be grateful that my father had put me on a more regular diet (for what reason, exactly, I preferred not to wonder).
By the time my third meal arrived, it was nighttime—and also after-hours for any regular IBSI worker. That meant that it was unlikely that the same man would bring it to me. And that was going to work to my advantage. I needed a different man.
As the food was slipped through the hatch, I tried the same trick as before, but this time I told him that I did not know how to work the sauna. I said that I was feeling chilly and needed it to warm up.
It didn’t work. Instead of groaning and acquiescing like his predecessor, he simply said, “I’m sure that you can figure it out… Just like you could have figured out the flush.”
The first guy must’ve already warned him that I was up to something. He wasn’t going to fall for the same trap.
The man’s footsteps trailed away.
How am I going to get hold of another phone?
Even if I did manage to convince one of the men who brought me food to come inside again, I doubted they would enter with their phone. Which would mean that, somehow, I had to get out of here in order to even have a chance of coming across one.
After having already thoroughly examined this fortress, there was only one way I could think to do that. One potentially fatal way.
After deliberating for another ten minutes, I made up my mind. In a situation as hopeless as mine, I had no choice.
The first thing I did was run to the sauna and turn the heat up full blast. Then I headed to the bathroom and collected every toilet roll—swiping one from the holder and the rest stored in a cabinet. Then I did the same with kitchen rolls in the kitchen, as well as any other flammable material that I could find. I placed it all on the kitchen table before picking up one of the toilet rolls and lighting the stove. I se
t the paper on fire before racing to the wooden-paneled sauna. I placed the burning roll on the floor, then rushed away to get more paper and other flammable materials, until I had kindled a small bonfire—a bonfire that quickly grew as it began to lick the wooden panels. I was forced to step back from the heat and return to the hallway outside, but kept the door open. Smoke began to billow out.
I gazed up at the ceiling. The fire alarm should be sounding about now.
I backed away further as the fire encroached.
A tingle ran down my spine. If the fire alarms hadn’t sounded yet, would they ever?
There was enough smoke by now to make me feel nauseated. I headed to the front of the apartment, where the air was least contaminated. But that was quickly changing. As there were no windows, ventilation wasn’t exactly a strong point of this apartment.
Okay. No fire alarm is going to come to my rescue.
I hurried to the front door and pounded my fists against it as hard as I could.
“Help!” I roared.
But who would be down in the basement at this hour? And they had provided me with no means of communicating internally within the building. They’d kept me completely isolated.
I continued to pound until there was no use in trying to pound anymore. I’d been banging on the door and shouting long and hard enough. Nobody was coming. And the fumes were beginning to cloud my brain.
Unless I wanted this apartment to become my grave, I had to put the fire out.
But as I moved back toward the flames, my eyes stinging, they had grown far wilder than I’d expected. I couldn’t even reach the kitchen or the bathroom anymore in order to access water. I had no choice but to race back to the front door.
My vision dimmed, and I began struggling to hold my own weight. My palms planted against the door for support, I found myself slumping down to the floor. My last moment of consciousness was infused with the feeling of intense heat, and the sound of my labored breathing.
Lawrence
I woke up in a large, empty hospital ward, my arms and feet strapped to a bed.
It took a few seconds for my senses to return to me. As they did, the skin on my back and the back of my legs felt like it was on fire. Doused with acid.
I wore hospital clothes—a plain light blue shirt and pants. I tried to examine my burning skin but I had been wrapped up in bandages. Bandages that felt moist underneath. Some kind of cream had been applied to me.
I groaned as I attempted to sit up. My restraints would not let me. I had to lean against the headboard in an uncomfortable half-upright position.
Well, my “trick” had at least succeeded in getting me out of that apartment. But now that I was strapped down again, I wasn’t sure that I was any better off.
I wondered how they had found me. How they had gotten to me in time.
“Hello?” I called, my deep, thick voice echoing around the hall.
The door at the far end of the hall swung open. In stepped my father. He strode over to me, his face stoic. Though I did detect concern behind his eyes.
“What in the world happened?” he asked, staring down at me.
“There was something wrong with the sauna. I reported the problem to the guy who brought me my last meal, but he refused to take a look at it.”
He frowned. He didn’t believe my fib.
As he had made his way toward me, I’d scanned his pants pocket, looking for the outline of a phone. He didn’t appear to carry anything on him except for an internal communication device. That was completely unlike my father. He always carried his phone with him. Maybe my father had made it a policy for nobody to go anywhere near me with a phone.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I’d feel a lot better if you released me from these restraints,” I snapped. “I can’t even sit upright.”
My father withdrew a key and loosened them just slightly so that I could sit upright. He did not, of course, remove them.
“You’re going to stay here for the next day or two, while you recover and we figure out a new residence for you—one with fire alarms.”
“How did you get to me in time?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“You are incredibly lucky,” my father said darkly. “A late-night cleaner happened to venture down your corridor and noticed the smell… Anyway, I’ll leave you now. I have business to attend to.” When do you not have business to attend to? “A nurse will be in here soon.” He left the room.
I struggled against my restraints again, but they appeared to be made of the same material as the ones in my previous prison.
Keeping my eye on the clock, I waited for the nurse to arrive. Two nurses arrived about fifteen minutes later. They bustled around me, sitting me forward and checking my burns—burns which I still hadn’t seen. All the while, I tried to spot a phone on them. As with my father, although both had internal communication devices, neither of them had their mobile phone.
I spent the next few hours alert to everybody who came into the ward. The women who attended me were not the same each time. But what was the same was the lack of phone.
It was only when a meal was brought to me that I finally hit upon a stroke of luck.
A nurse entered wheeling a metal trolley. She planted a tray on my lap before wandering away, further down the large hall. She stopped in front of a coat stand in between the men’s and women’s toilets.
She lifted off a black handbag from the stand and dipped a hand into its front pocket. She pulled out a phone. From her closed stance, it was obvious that she wasn’t supposed to be doing this. She was trying to hide from the cameras as she scrolled through a text or checked her social sites. Most people could hardly live ten minutes without their phone.
As I sensed her about to glance my way, I pretended to be fully occupied with my tray of food. She continued scrolling for the next minute before stowing the device back in her bag. I caught her glancing at me again from the corner of my eye as I ate a sandwich with exaggerated interest.
She returned to my bedside to collect her trolley. As she moved away, I halted her.
“Wait. I need the toilet.”
She eyed me uncertainly. Then she pulled open the top drawer of the trolley and drew out a gun.
“All right,” she muttered. “I’ll take you to the toilet. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you not to try anything.”
Of course not. I would not dream of it…
She unlocked my restraints, allowing me to stand. She kept the gun firmly pointed at me as we moved forward to the men’s rooms.
My focus zoomed in on the handbag as we drew near. As I came within reach, quick as lightning, my arm shot out and grabbed it. Then I zoomed into the toilets and locked myself in one. I liked these toilets. There were no gaps at the bottom or top of the doors. They were proper rooms.
By the time the woman came thundering after me, yelling at me to hand the bag back, I had already bolted myself inside.
She began to beat against the door.
I had to move quickly now. Very quickly.
I pulled out the phone, then turned on the camera. I positioned it directly in front of my face, making sure that the lighting was clear enough to see every detail, and began to talk.
“My name is Lawrence Conway, son of the IBSI’s founder and chairman, Atticus Conway. I’m sure you all know my face; I’m the man who underwent the successful enhancement drug trial. Also the man who was proclaimed dead.” Between the woman’s pounding, I went on to explain as briefly as I could what I knew about the IBSI’s hoax and cover-up of the Bloodless antidote, and then I was forced to end the recording. Although there was much more I could have said, time wasn’t exactly on my side. The longer the video was, the longer it would take to upload.
The woman began to fire bullets, aimed at the lock. I knew the reason why she hadn’t immediately gone to get assistance. She would be found guilty and blamed for having brought a phone near me. Apparently she was hoping somehow to settle the
matter herself, get the phone back so that she wouldn’t be exposed… but that was not going to happen.
Holding my breath, I navigated to one of the most popular public news forums on the internet—Freeflow News. My post would quickly go viral if I submitted it there. Public forums were a much more effective way for spreading the truth than traditional media outlets. The latter were all in bed with the IBSI.
I started uploading the video and prepared a headline for the post—“IBSI’s Hoax Exposed”. But then a different idea struck me.
If I simply let loose this information now, I would have no leverage. It would be done. How would I actually get out of here?
No. I needed to approach this differently. I needed to approach this slyly, in a similar way to how my father would.
I needed to think like him, in order to beat him.
Navigating to the text message app, I attached the video here and punched in my father’s number. I was sure that he would be reunited with his phone by now. Then I wrote:
Dear Dad—I felt like putting the word in quote marks—Hello from the gents’ room. Please find the attached video. Your lies are about to be broadcast to the world. I’m about to submit the video to Freeflow. But you could stop me from doing that if you order the nurse standing outside my door to lower her gun and hand it to me when I step out.
Reading over the message, even as the door began to splinter, I hit send.
He would see it within seconds. Only a very few number of people knew his personal number, and all of them were important.
My heart leapt as his response came back:
How do I know you won’t submit it anyway?
His reply filled me with hope. I had finally hit a nerve. He did not want this information being posted to that forum. I had leverage.
I will hand the phone to the nurse in exchange for the gun. She can verify for herself that I have not submitted it.
After sending my reply, there was a beat where I imagined my father thinking intensely.