“FIRE!” someone yelled, and co-workers joined the coughing Tony in the hall. More screams sounded. Boots beat against the concrete flooring. The crowd fled for the exits. Thunder echoed.
They were stampeding in my direction.
Chapter 11
The extinguisher’s dull haze smoldered in the fluorescent lights overhead. White suits threw on their hoods as they ran. I squeezed the extinguisher’s handle again. Only feeble wisps of white smoke trickled out this time—empty. I hadn’t thought this through.
I tossed it aside and ran again toward the exit signs that glowed overhead. My footsteps were lost among the others as the white suits closed in. The haze that hid my presence thinned as I ran farther.
At the hall’s end, a concrete door was marked with a glowing escape sign with a picture of stairs. To its left was a red handle covered by two layers of glass. A thin metal rod hung beside it, and above that, text read: “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, BREAK GLASS AND PULL.”
I broke the glass and pulled. Sirens sounded and red lights flashed. A robotic woman’s voice echoed pleasantly over the intercom. “CODE RED. Please evacuate the facility immediately. This is not a drill. CODE RED. Please evacuate the facility immediately. This is not a drill.”
The sound of rushing water emanated from the ceiling. Along the walls, panels slid into pockets, revealing pipes with openings the size of grapefruits. Stale water gushed from the pipes. The building was flooding itself. Trying to douse the “fire” from the inside out.
I hurried up the stairs as water poured down the steps, rivers running to douse a fire that didn’t exist. The angry stomp of boots quieted, replaced by sloshing as the white suits trudged through the rising water.
My lungs burned as I climbed. I’d gone up six flights and still hadn’t seen a single exit. Farther up the stairwell, I could see light splintering in from a window, breaking the twilight cast by the red lights. I climbed toward it.
Below the window was an exit door. I pushed it open and ran out. The setting sun blinded me. I stepped into a patch of grass.
I was standing atop a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Streaks of red and orange soared in the sky over the sea. A portrait of color, kindly painted by the Carcinogens that so desperately sought to kill us. I looked down, and saw ivory hoods bobbing at the ocean’s surface at the base of the cliff—suit-clad men pushed out by the rushing water.
At least the suits were buoyant.
I ran from the cliff toward the city’s urban sprawl, passing rows of cars that hung suspended from racks in the parking lot. The racks were common on HQ, maximizing the use of precious space—one thing that was always in short supply.
The Feds were trying to reduce the space shortage by engineering synthetic volcanic eruptions each fortnight. Over time, these eruptions would slowly expand HQ. The Council promised that in another decade the space created from the eruptions would double HQ’s current size and answer the space scarcity question once and for all. In the short term, however, all they did was render half of the island uninhabitable.
Newla’s bright lights loomed ahead. The city buzzed to a beat all its own. Its flashing lights made people forget the horrors that had come, and those that had yet to come. The clouds that descended after the war had made the world dark. Dad had always said that the people who moved to Newla were trying to hide from the darkness in a city of light. I always figured it was cheaper to just buy a lamp.
The city’s towering skyscrapers welcomed me like open arms. Some towers shined clear like diamonds; others sported green vines that devoured their spines.
A homeless girl doused in freckles begged drunkenly for money on a corner. Above her, an advertisement for pharmaceuticals bubbled on a screen. It showed a woman weeping at a child’s funeral. The ad then cut to her swallowing a handful of pills. A respectable nurse in a white turtleneck replaced her on the screen.
“A child’s death is unbearable,” said the nurse. “So why should you have to bear it? Where there’s death, there’s Neglex—the pills that help you forget people you’ve met!”
The weeping woman appeared again, this time laughing with a group of men. She held up a bottle that read “NEGLEX” and winked. I felt sick to my stomach. The homeless girl below the screen stared at me with dull eyes. I didn’t have any money, so I tore a piece of fabric from my skirt and offered it to her.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, “but—maybe you could sell this. It’s all I have.” She accepted the gift.
I wandered farther into the heart of the city. It was divided into districts, and each section had its own distinct culture. The buildings around me were taller now, more opulent. One skyscraper had an infinity pool on its highest floor that poured over the edge and down the building’s side like a waterfall.
I peered up at another glowing white tower. A man’s smiling face erupted from its light. Bills of money rained from the sky onto the street surrounding the tower. Holograms.
Montesano, the building flashed. The World’s Finest Investment Firm.
My clothes dried in the heat generated by the city’s many lights. Holographic actors danced on the window ledges of the city’s many skyscrapers, flickering every so often from static charges.
“Nothin’, nothin’, nothin’, nothin’ like Miss Marsha’s Muffins!” sang a trio of men in top hats on one ledge, their skin flickering blue.
“YOU GOTTA GET YOURSELF SOME GOLD FIGURINES!” screamed another hologram from a different ledge. “YOU’RE GONNA LOVE ’EM BABY, OR MY NAME ISN’T MARTY VAN SCHNAUZER!”
A blond hologram in a tight red dress beckoned to me from a building’s roof down the street. “Feeling naughty?” she asked. She traced a heart in the space between her breasts and collarbone. Her dress burst into flames. “Then go to CHURCH! ” she screamed, her holographic hands clawing the air as she fell into the building’s depths. SIXTH DAY ADVENTIST CHURCH flashed in silver letters across the space where she’d been standing.
I stood there in the square, dumbfounded, the buildings flashing around me. Massive screens displayed news stories, and holograms advertised wares hidden in buildings. They promised goods of quality, horror, luxury, delight.
We didn’t have anything like this in Moku Lani. The closest thing we had to luxury was Buster’s Burgers. And even that place smelled like feet.
I squeezed my eyes shut, grateful to be free of the Lost Boys and the megalodons, if only for a second. A breeze rushed through my hair—I was also grateful to be rid of the wig.
There were so many people here that I melted easily into the crowd. I stood with my arms spread wide and eyes closed.
Maybe Phoenix was wrong about me being wanted. Maybe he’d lied to me about that too. Maybe I was still a free man.
Murmurs broke the city’s deafening roar. “Call the police!” shouted someone.
I snapped my eyes open. A crowd had formed around me in the square. The people stepped back, keeping their distance as I turned. On the screen behind me, my dumb grin smiled back.
Red words were stamped across my face: WANTED: KAI BRADBURY. ENEMY OF THE STATE.
Sirens wailed. The police had been called. I broke free of the crowd, my feet beating against the city’s brick sidewalks. I glanced at the buildings around me and watched as my picture followed me on their screens. The advertising holograms had all ceased hawking their wares; they now turned their damning fingers to me instead.