Season 2 - Blogisode 18

The sun splinters in through the seam around the large steel door at the end of the hall. Christian runs frantic toward his salvation, arms and legs sporadic and jerky, the effects of fatigue. Tara trails close his rear doing best to keep pace in the dimly lit hallway.

Their labored breathes resonate along the cold metal walls, a fear exudes with each exhale as the impending capture that looms not more than twenty paces behind them becomes more a reality with each stride.

The muffled voices trail up path to Tara’s ear. Too strained and pushed to react in more than a quick flicker behind the eye. She pulls the last few ounces of pure adrenaline left in her core and uses it to propel herself that much further, that much faster.

“Fuck!”

Christian skids barefoot into the door halting his advance in an awkward stumble slam.

He falls to his knees, quick huffs to lost lungs.

“Jesus.. fuck.. fu… hu…”

He fights to force the words. His hand speaks for him slamming limp up toward the massive handle.

Tara falls against the door doing all she can to hold steady on her feet. Her neck cocks back at the sound of their captors advancing in haste, a symphony of heavy boot and rough speak.

“.. op… open it…”

Tara deciphers Christian’s winded pitch, follows his wrist to the lever. She slides one arm in behind the lever, intertwines it with her other, a deep inhale…

The handle slowly creaks and cranks down to a vertical station. A mechanical slam vibrates through her petit frame as the lock gives and the door comes loose.

The door swings wide, subtle churn of metal on metal. The light pours in from the outside. A sound like ocean waves lapping up against a white sand beach, a bird…

“No.”

She speaks in a whisper; her eyes well up with fear, shock, the absence of hope.

THUCK

Tara caves backward naked onto the cold floor. A thin vein trickles down her forehead, thick red.

Christian forces himself to a sprawl back away from the exit, scrambles to his feet to turn back the way he came.

A heavy sigh, the giving up of it takes him.

Ten men stand ready at arms to his front, behind him the dark figure whom the others refer to as Set kneels over Tara, he scoops her limp body up off of the floor and heaves her over a shoulder.

“Bring him as well. Don’t kill him, just bring him.”

Set speaks to the others as he saunters past with Tara’s silent frame dangling behind.

Christian slumps down to the floor, all the fight gone, his best efforts for not.

The crew advances on him slow and methodical, or edge to action.

“Now just stay cool kid. That was a good effort, better than any I’ve ever seen. There’s just no escaping this place.”

They pick him up on either side and proceed to cart him back into the dark recesses of the fortified compound whence he had come.

“You’ll have to tell me sometime how you beat the mind rush. I mean, we call it a mind rush, the boys upstairs have a technical term for it, but I’ve never heard of anyone being able to hold on to themselves after a few blasts and a bit of conditioning. Whatever happens they are going to be paying close attention to you from here on in.”

One of the crew chats down at Christian while they escort him back to his confines. Too much talk for some. Another slaps him on the arm, alerting him to the folly of his loose tongue.

SIX HOURS LATER

The darkness surrounds her center floor.

The familiar row of naked drones, children brainwashed and turned to stone, minds like machines. But this isn’t like the last time. The last time she didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend what was to transpire in this small circle of light amidst a sea of dark and dead.

This time she had her wits about her, her mind sharp, eyes wide open.

Tara stands tied to the metal post, arms behind her back. Unable to move, she fights back the terror that now creeps up her spine.

A figure steps out of the shadow line.

He looks up at her with vacant eyes.

“Christian?”

He advances slow, the blade that extends from his hand cocks back a notch.

“Christian no… please... I…”

The knife slams deep into her throat. A thick gurgle bubbles up her throat to the corners of her mouth, the blood spills.

He twists the knife and yanks it rough taking chunk and spray with it. Tara’s head falls lost to life, the blood spills out and over painting her body in a abstract horror.

“Well done.”

The voice squawks out from the speakers above.

ABOVE

Set turns to the nine men sitting in rows around the screen displaying the action below in real time, a smirk on his face.

“What did I tell you gentlemen, far beyond expectation.”

The eldest of them looks up to Set.

“He’ll do.”