Risa Niigaki
Rockfort Island Prison, Lobby
October 9, 1:23 AM
From the smoked lobby, Risa moved through a snaking hallway littered with broken
glass— and past a very dead guard, a bloody testament to her fears about the tower’s safety. She quickly stepped over the body and moved on, her nervous tension growing.
A cool breeze ruffled through the shattered windows that lined the hall, making the darkness alive; there were shiny black feathers stuck in the streaks of blood that painted the floorboards, and their soft, wavering dance had her jerking her weapon toward every shadow.
She passed a door that she thought led back outside to a set of external stairs, but she kept going, taking a right toward the center of the building. The way the explosion had buried itself in the lobby was gnawing at her, inspiring visions of the old building going up in flames.
From the look of things, maybe that’s not such a bad idea....Dead bodies and bloody hand prints on the walls;
Risa wasn’t happy about the idea of touring the place. Still, death by fire didn’t carry much appeal either; she needed to see how bad it was before she went looking for survivors and a working phone.
The corridor dead-ended at a door that felt cool to the touch. Mentally crossing her fingers, Risa opened it—and stumbled back as a wave of acrid smoke washed over her, the smell of burnt metal and wood thick in the heated air. She dropped to a crouch and edged forward again, peering down the hall that stretched off to her right. The hall turned right again maybe thirty feet down, and although she couldn’t see the fire proper, bright, fiery light was reflected off the gray paneled walls at the comer. The popping crackle of the unseen flames was magnified in the tight corridor, the sound as mindlessly hungry as the moans of the zombies down in the courtyard.
Well, damn. What now?There was another door diagonally across from where she crouched, only a few steps away; Risa took a deep breath and moved, walking low to stay beneath the thickening blanket of smoke, hoping she could find a fire extinguisher—and that a fire extinguisher would be enough to put out whatever blaze the explosion had created.
The door opened into an empty waiting room—a couple of green vinyl couches and a rounded counter-desk, with another door across from the one she’d entered by. The small room seemed untouched, as sterile and quietly unassuming as she might have expected—and unlike just about everywhere else she’d been tonight, there was no lurking disaster in the mild shadows thrown by the overhead fluorescents, no stench of rot or shuffling zombie.
And no fire extinguisher. . . .Not in plain sight, anyway. She closed the door on the smoky corridor and stepped toward the desk, lifting the entrance flap with the barrel of the gun. There was an old manual typewriter on the counter—and next to that, a telephone. Risa grabbed for it, hoping against hope, but heard only dead air through the receiver. Sighing, she dropped it and ducked down to check out the shelves beneath the
counter. A phone book, a few stacks of papers—and then, half-hidden by a woman’s purse on the bottom shelf, was the familiar red shape she’d been hoping to find, coated with a thin layer of dust.
“There you are,” she murmured, and paused just long enough to stick the nine-millimeter into her vest before hefting the heavy cylinder. She’d never used one before, but it looked simple enough—a metal handle with a locking pin, a black rubber nozzle hooked to the side. It was only a couple of feet long, but
it weighed a good forty or fifty pounds; she figured that meant it was full.
Armed with the extinguisher, Risa stepped back to the door and started to take short, sharp breaths, filling her lungs. It made her feel light-headed, but the hyperventilation would allow her to hold her breath longer. She didn’t want to keel over from smoke inhalation before she’d had a chance to put it out. A final deep breath and she opened the door, crouching her way back into the now noticeably hotter corridor. The haze of smoke had gotten thicker too, extending down from the ceiling in a dark and choking fog at least four feet deep.
Keep low, breathe shallow and watch your step—She turned the corner and felt a bizarre mix of relief and sorrow at the sight of the burning wreckage right in front of her. She bobbed her head and took a small breath through the fabric of her vest, feeling her skin flush and tighten from the heat. The fire wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, more smoke than substance and not much taller or bigger than she was; the flames that licked up the wall in orange-yellow fingers seemed to be having trouble catching, stopped by the heavy wood of a half-smashed door. It was the nose of a mini van that drew her attention, the blackened shell of the smoldering interior—and the blackened husk of the driver still strapped to the seat, the melted mouth frozen in a yawning, silent scream.
There was no way to tell if it had been a man or a woman; the features had been obliterated, running together like dark tallow.
Risa jerked the metal pin loose from the handle and aimed the hose at the burning floorboards, where the flame danced in white and blue. She squeezed the lever down and a hissing plume of snowy spray whooshed out, blasting over the debris in a powdery cloud. Barely able to see through the billowing whiteness, she directed the hose over everything, dousing the wreckage liberally with the oxygen killer.
Within a minute, the fire appeared to be out, but she kept up with the extinguisher until it ran dry. At the last spluttering cough of spray, Risa let go of the handle and took a few more shallow breaths, inspecting the smoking wreck for any spots she’d missed. Not a flicker, but the wooden door alongside the mini van’s flocked remains was still leaking ten-drils of black smoke. She leaned closer and saw a tinge of glowing orange under the charred surface. The area surrounding the burning wood had already been torched, but she didn’t want to take any chances; she stepped back and gave the door a solid kick, aiming for the glowing embers.
Her boot connected squarely with the hot spot, and the door flew open with a splintering crack, the scorched wood giving way in a sparking shower of cinders. A few landed on her calf, but she drew her weapon before stopping to brush them off, more afraid of what might be waiting behind the ruined door than a few blisters.
A short, empty hallway, littered with jagged pieces of splintered wood and hazy with smoke, then a door at the end on the left; Risa moved toward it, as much to get to some fresh air as to see where it led.
With the immediate threat of the fire over with, she had to start looking for survivors—and thinking about what they’d need to survive. If she could check out a few of the rooms along the way, maybe she’d be able to find stuff they could use.
Speaking of use, what was that blinking on top of the tower? Risa contemplated as she continued forward.
The plain door at the end of the hall was unlocked. Risa pushed it open, ready to fire at anything that moved— and stopped, feeling mildly shocked by the bizarre atmosphere of the lavish room. It was like some parody of a men’s club from the fifties, a large office decorated with an extravagance that bordered on the ridiculous. The walls were lined with heavy mahogany bookshelves and matching tables, surrounding a kind of sitting area made up of padded leather chairs and a low marble table, all set atop an obviously expensive oriental rug. An elaborate chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a rich, mellow light over it all. Framed pictures and delicate vases were situated through-out—but their classic designs were overwhelmed by the intricate Greek influenced statues, poised, lifeless human structures that dominated the room, most gathered around a massive desk at the far side—
oh—Sitting cross legged on the desk, like some character from a Hollywood movie, was a beautiful woman in casual clothes; dirty designer jeans and a ragged, bloody dark blue top. Silky straight long black hair swayed from her head, as she adjusted her glasses. She looked like a centerpiece; the lifeless statues stared down at her with dead glass eyes—there was a statue, what looked like an eagle, its ratty wings spread in simulated flight, as well as a couple of mounted trophies and that of a bonsai tree. The effect was so creepy and surreal that for a moment, Risa couldn’t breathe—
-and when the woman looked at her, Risa barely held back a shriek of superstitious terror, half expecting to see some vision of dark and grinning death. It was only a woman—but a survivor.
Could it be?For a second, neither of them moved—and then the woman uncrossed her legs, the eyes in remorse, it seems like, playing across her model-like face, as if pretending to hide.
“You- aren’t one of them…” “ the woman stated, confused, her voice as gorgeous and stunning as an oceans’ breeze. “Are you here to rescue me?.”
She smoothed her silky hair with one finger as she spoke, and although Risa had never met her before, she suddenly knew who she was;
the uniform she’d found in the locker, the welcoming note—it’s her. Julia.She looked a little exhausted; a gun tucked alongside her waist as her cheeks flushed with high color and her almond shaped eyes dawning on Risa.
“Are you Julia?” Risa asked, trying to sound pleasantly respectful as she stepped closer to the desk. “Yes, that’s me,” she said smoothly, “and just who are you?”
Before she could speak, Julia went on, “No, don’t tell me. You have to get out of here..”
She trailed off, staring at the lifeless statues alongside her with some emotion that Risa couldn’t place. She felt bad for her; God only knew what horrors she’d witnessed, or what she’d had to do to survive.
Is it any wonder that she’s thinking this way? I wandered into this horror show
in the last reel; Julia was here for the previews, which probably included watching her friends die.Risa took a step forward and Julia spoke again, her voice somehow sad and
smooth at the same time. “Somebody released something. Chemical. Everybodys’ gone…” Risa searched for some words of comfort, wanting to tell her that she was lucky to have lived, that it wasn’t her fault—but as the woman continued her mourn, the words died in her throat, along with her pity.
“Just-
go away. I’ve lost my will to live. Everyone I’ve cared about, gone. Eventually you’ll turn too, just like all the others.” Risa didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but the wistful longing in Julia’s tone and in her shining, attractive stare made her skin crawl. The way she was looking Risa—
-you’re imagining things. She’s a guard, not some perverted lunatic. And she’s a person, at least for the time being, whom you’ve met who might be able to give you some kind of information. Don’t waste the opportunity.“There must be some way to stop it. . . .” Risa said gently.
“The head. Bullet to the brain. ” Julia motioned her hand against her skull as if she were pointing a gun. “ No other way. “
“ Bullet to the brain… “ Risa echoed softly; her hope of finding more survivors diminishing.
If that’s true- than this place finished. I-I can’t do this alone. People need to know about this- the world needs to know.“ A phone- “ Risa said, trying to find the right words. “ I need a
phone- “
For a moment there was silence. Neither spoke and Risa was on the verge of a breakdown. She’d come all this way, of course- through hordes of dead, close encounters and near death experiences; only to have the first true survivor she’d come across, explain to her there’s no hope- that she’s as good as dead just like the others.
“ Well, “ Julia sterned an eyebrow, as if she’d read Risa’s mind. A tone of sympathy envelopes. “ All the land lines are dead, including cell phones- “ The woman stood, her figure in perfect proportions, her skin radiant; despite the grime and smudges. “ This is a long shot, but- “
Julia pauses, briefly smiling- probably in hopes to encourage Risa. “ The tower above you has a direct satellite feed. If you can find the control room, you might be able to use the communications device. “
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