Hell and Gone

electrified barbecue fork just as Whiskey was about to plunge it into his heart. Whiskey was smart, determined, and excellent in battle. But she did not have Archie’s upper-arm strength. It was not a matter of skill; this was down to muscle. And Archie was able to turn the fork around and jab it between Whiskey’s breasts.

He triggered both electrified barbecue forks at the same moment. Both guards screamed, almost in harmony, albeit off-key.

Archie dropped the forks, scrambled up from the floor, and immediately began jogging toward the elevator vestibule.

Both X-Ray and Whiskey made a halfhearted effort to scramble after their prisoner, but they were in too much pain to move. Archie slammed the elevator-cage door shut. The guards screamed in terror. They knew what this meant.

This was death for all of them!

Archie smiled, gave him them the finger, then began to ascend.

Hardie heard the creaking, throbbing mechanism of the ancient elevator system reverberate throughout the entire facility, the screams and moans of the guards.

So this was how it was going to end.

Who was Hardie kidding? For him, everything had ended three years and God knows how many months ago —when he let Nate Parish and his family die, and when he’d survived by some quirk of medical fate. All this time he’d been a walking dead man.

A guy like Archie would go out there and punish the wicked better than any of them could.

Better than he could.

Archie kind of felt bad about what was about to happen.

Still, this was the absolute right thing to do. He was their best shot because Archie was a born survivor, extremely good at waiting until the right opportunity presented itself…then seizing it. He’d been waiting for such an opportunity ever since he’d been dropped into this infernal place. Now the chance was here, and he’d taken it. What rational being could blame him?

Still, innocent people were going to die. They had consented to the sacrifice; there was nothing he could do about it.

Archie couldn’t remember exactly how long he’d been here. Not as long as the others, certainly. He kept quiet, didn’t let the despair and chatter of the others affect him. That was key. Keeping your mind straight, tuning out the rest of the world’s clutter.

That was why he was still sane, and why he was getting out.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator ground to a noisy halt. He pulled aside the door, stepped into the vestibule. Archie reached for the knob. A small voice in his head, the one he never listened to, told him: It’s going to be locked. Archie twisted the knob. Unlocked. Archie smiled. The little voice, that annoying ghost of self-doubt, was always wrong. He was glad he hadn’t let the little voice get the best of him during his long stay. That little voice would drive you mad if you weren’t careful.

The doorway led to the room he dimly remembered from when he was first brought here. Table, chairs. That’s right. He’d woken up handcuffed to a chair. Someone had walked in and explained the deal to him. From that very first moment, Archie started waiting for the right opportunity.

Archie walked across the room and opened the second door, which led to a small room—another vestibule, only this one was made of steel. A fancy elevator, perhaps? Holding the door, he looked behind it for any possible control panel. No buttons. Maybe this was a safe room, meant to protect the occupant. After all, the person who had explained things to him had to have left this room alive, right? Archie closed the door behind him.

The little voice inside his head screamed at him: You’re a fool! Archie told the voice to shut up and not bother him anymore.

But there were no buttons. No secret switches. No options. No nothing. Another few minutes of searching, first calm, then frantic, led him to an unmistakable conclusion. This box led nowhere.

For the first time in his life, Archie Elder felt true despair.

Everyone in the facility waited for their deaths. Archie wouldn’t waste time; he would leave as soon as possible. The only questions now were: How would they die? Gas? Electricity? Undetectable poison? A bomb? Hidden guns? And how long before it happened?

But then a very surprising thing happened.

Nothing.

Death did not come down from above. No alarms, no hidden machine guns, no sarin gas, no flooding water…nothing at all. No sound at all.

Until there was suddenly a loud mechanical POP, a fat spark jumping a circuit.

The elevator whirred back to life. The cage was coming back down. Hardie didn’t understand until he saw Archie, head hung low, shuffling back into the delivery room.

“There’s no way out,” he said softly. “Just a dead end, sealed shut.”

Everyone in the room, prisoners and guards alike, looked at each other, the same realization dawning on them at the same moment.

There was no death mechanism.

They were all prisoners here.

24

It’s obvious what they’re after—an economy of man-power—or devil-power, if you prefer. The same idea as in the cafeteria, where customers serve themselves.

—Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

THE PRISONMASTER LISTENED…and waited. He had his finger on the trigger, but he didn’t want to deploy the gas until the last possible moment.

So they’d discovered the truth about the so-called death mechanism. Other groups of prisoners had figured it out, too. But not many. The death mechanism was the one lie that every inmate believed at face value. Over the years, some had tried to work their way up the elevator shaft to see if they could disable the nonexistent mechanism, but such efforts were always thwarted by the guards, sworn to uphold their duty.

Twice before, an inmate had made it up to the waiting room, intent on escape, knowing that he was damning everyone else to death.

And the result was the same: the confused inmate took the elevator back down to the main floor to report his horrifying discovery:

There is no way out!

The first time it happened, the guards reasserted their authority and slipped back into their roles. So did the prisoners, for that matter. After a while the threat of the death mechanism was a nonissue; the idea of no escape was simply their new reality. Later they were all put to death, but that was only because they had all outlived their usefulness, and the site needed to be prepared for new inmates.

The second time, however, the guards and prisoners refused to accept this, and had to be gassed, their roles reassigned.

Which would it be this time?

Yankee recovered his electric baton and stood up. “This changes nothing. We’re bringing you back to your cells. Come on, X-Ray, Whiskey. Let’s go.”

His fellow guards, however, didn’t move. They were still processing the situation.

What was wrong with these people?

All this time they had been sure of one rule: whoever left the facility basically handed everyone else a death sentence. No matter how bad it got, how much the crappy food or isolation or torture drove you out of your skull, there was that one constant: if you leave, innocent people will suffer and die.

This was still the case…

…wasn’t it?

Yankee’s name in the real world had been Jed Ayres, and he’d been a bartender, a soldier, a cop, and finally