Avarice Unfortunate Sons

Blind Luck

Merton had fearfully peered out into the hallway on numerous occasions. He could not bring himself to step over the threshold. He was at his core a coward. He knew, though, if he didn't exit this place soon, he could well be trapped here. He had no idea of the extent of the chaos unfolding up above; the immediate area seemed quiet now. The thought of all the floors and hallways he would have to navigate to reach the top still made him hesitate.

He wished Victor were here. That cunning man would have known just what to do. Instead, Merton looked around the medical lab, but there was no food here. Luckily, though, he had a plentiful source of water.

Telling himself he was going to leave shortly. Merton decided to put together a 'survival kit.' He found some sterile containers and filled them with drinking water. These he placed into a strong three-millimeter black garbage bag. It wasn't the most convenient or the quietest of swags for his kit. Yet it was all he had.

He took a few of the larger scalpels from the medical chest. They were the only items that could pass as a weapon that he could find. He opened a supplies cupboard and grabbed a couple of critical care blankets. They were silver plastic foil, and he knew they would be useful in sheltering him and keeping him warm at night. Convenient to carry as well.

He turned toward the large medical cabinet. It ran floor to ceiling. It was always kept locked, but fortunately, Merton carried a key. He was, in his Master's absence, responsible for all the medicines.

He unlocked the gray steel cabinet and stood staring at the various medicines, trying to decide if any of them would be of use to take. The cupboard was well stocked. He rifled through the bottles of headache pills and other painkillers. Selecting a few that might come in handy. He again peered into the depths of the black garbage bag. It didn't contain a lot. Hardly enough to survive the rigors of the desert.

He could not stay here, though, indefinitely. Coward or not, he must leave. He took one more careful look at the closet's contents. It was then that he saw a peculiar button near the back, behind the morphine bottles. It was quite small and he almost missed it. Curious, he thought that maybe it was for lighting in the cupboard. Yet he could see no lights. Even more curious, he pressed it, but no lights activated. There was a small whirring sound though, and as he stared, trying to figure out what he had done. The cupboard began to move away from the wall, revealing a darkened entrance.

Merton's heart thundered; he could hardly believe what he was seeing. It had to be some kind of escape route. He was uneasy in the dark, but he bundled up his plastic bag and entered the tunnel. Just in time for the door behind him to self-lock.

Now Merton was committed. He stood for a few moments, clutching his bag, and reorienting his racing thoughts. He knew Victor was smart. It didn't seem like a large stretch of the imagination to conclude that a man like Dr Krosse would have known about this exit.

Merton crept slowly along the tunnel. Under his feet, he sensed the path was steadily sloping upwards. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that there were dim safety lights scattered at intervals, and arrows in phosphorescent paint pointing to what he hoped was an exit. Sometimes, he encountered a tunnel that adjoined the one he was traveling through. It made him wonder if indeed there was an extensive, secret tunnel system deep beneath the fort.

He was a long time in the darkness. Finally, the arrows directed him to a place that appeared sealed off. Merton's immediate reaction was despair. He imagined he would die here like a rat. Wandering in the dark with no escape. He sat down and put his head in his hands. He wanted to cry. He realized through the haze of his panic that under his feet he felt sand. Sand from the outside... This had to be an exit.

Merton felt a jubilant rush of hope as he blundered around in the darkness looking for a means of opening the door.

It made sense to him that whoever had this made would already know the door's secret. This passage was not meant for the accidental traveler such as he. He fumbled for a trace of any kind of lever or button, and he still had no clue as to what he did when the door finally activated and swung open. It had been buried in the face of a dune.

As he emerged from the darkness, Merton squinted into the prevailing sunlight. Before him stretched miles of blistering landscape, and he stood uncertain of where he should head. All he knew was he needed to get as far from here as possible. He was, in all probability, the only survivor of the takeover.

As he gazed out at the burning vastness. That brief spark of elation guttered and was snuffed out like a flame. "Oh God. If I stay, I die. If I go, I'll probably die." He muttered to himself. This frightening truth was Merton's immediate reality.

The idea of traveling outside of the Fort filled him with terror, as Merton was no survivalist. He had never been faced with a challenge like this. He had lived and worked within the confines of the second level for the past six years. Dumbfounded and depressed, he wondered briefly where he should head, and then he remembered Victor mentioning the farm settlement lay to the east. So that is where he would go.

He began to trudge east under the baking sun. Merton did not have the wherewithal, like a more seasoned desert traveler would have, to understand that one must travel by the cover of night. Already, he felt discomfort and a twinge of faintness, and he wondered how he was going to survive. He wished he possessed a hat. So he used one of the solar blankets as a shroud against the heat.

Fortunately, Merton found an escaped horse. Catching it, though, was not so simple. The fractious animal kept bolting away from him initially. Merton, unused to horses, didn't realize that it was deathly afraid of his solar blanket. The beast had belonged to the raiding party, but it had escaped from the string of tethered animals and had not been brought into the fort. It had been run hard, it was thin, and was looking for water. It wore only a simple halter from which dangled a frayed lead rope.

Merton had never ridden a horse in his life. Somehow, he managed to catch the wary animal. He was tall and slender, and it didn't take too much effort to climb onto the animal's back. He sat on the beast for long moments, holding the lead rope in one hand and clutching the black garbage bag in the other. Wondering how he could encourage it away from here. He remembered the cowboy films he used to watch as a kid. What would his hero, John Wayne, have done?

First, he kicked it softly in the ribs, and it made to trot back in the direction of the fort. "Oh no, you don't," Merton muttered to the horse, trying to pull it up with the lead rope. The animal then spun in circles, and it took some time for Merton to understand that if he pulled its head one way, it would go in that direction.

It took some time for the novice rider to direct the animal east. It was hard to stay mounted without a saddle, but Merton clung on. This was indeed far better than walking.

He pushed the animal hard. Towards evening, it began to stumble. Merton, who had never owned any pet, didn't understand that a horse could only go three days or so without water. So as night drew in, he let it rest, tying it to a broken and long-dead tree. Hoping the tired beast would get him further tomorrow.

He took tiny sips of his water. It was already mostly gone. He had no idea of where he was. If he was even close to the farming settlement. With his thirst and growing hunger, he found he could not sleep. So sometime during the night, he mounted his exhausted horse and resumed his journey.

By dawn, the horse was weakening rapidly. So he got off the animal's back and let it walk. The environment had markedly changed from the monotonous, barren vistas of red dunes. There appeared rocky outcrops scattered with stunted trees and sparse grasses, and Merton realized he had come into the head of a valley.

Water had flowed here once. Now, though, it was parched. The medical understudy didn't possess a survivalist's knowledge, so he didn't attempt to stop and dig for possible underground water. Instead, he followed the valley, hoping to find a remaining pond.

By late morning, his horse had stumbled and refused to rise, no matter how hard he coaxed it. It lay down on the earth, groaning, its breathing labored. Merton felt mighty weak himself. His lips were dry and split. He realized that if he didn't find water soon, he too would perish.

He pet the dying animal's head. Its eyes were closed as it gave itself over to death. He felt bad now that he had pushed the horse so hard. He had hoped that here they could both find the much-needed water and be saved.

After a time, when Merton realized that the animal was never going to rise, he got up and continued along the valley. He was, though, fast losing hope. He wandered at a slow pace some miles, keeping where he could in the shade. The temperatures were fierce, especially down in the ever-heightening gorge where no breeze blew.

By mid-afternoon, Merton too was staggering. The toes of his shoes were dragging and threatening to trip him with every step. All he could concentrate on now was the act of putting one foot before the other. Then suddenly, blackness overtook him, and he tumbled face down in the dry riverbed.

*****

Victor had thought that trying to plant such a pitiful amount of seed was a fool's errand. He had tried on many occasions to dissuade his Lord from continuing his course. But Lothar clung to the idea doggedly. Once that stubborn man got something in his mind, changing it was difficult.

As the days passed in the oppressive heat, all the seed had been sown. Victor grew restless to depart. He had to think of some good reason to necessitate his return to the fortress. It appeared to his disappointment that Lothar was content to sit the growing season out. Something that Victor couldn't feasibly do. He must return to check on his beloved daughter. The only scenario he could come up with was that he needed more medicines. He still had plenty of the necessary medications in his bag to treat his Lord's fragile condition, but if Lothar thought he didn't? That might be the impetus that could get Victor out of here and back home, at least for a few days. However, little did Victor know that none of these deceptions would be necessary.

The scouting party had located the almost-expired man on one of their routine patrols. One of the men recognized him, and Merton was rushed to the infirmary. On seeing his understudy, Victor's mind tumbled into a cataclysm of jagged thoughts. Why was Merton here? What had caused him to travel out into the desert? It could only be something catastrophic.

Victor spent that evening sitting by Merton's bedside. He had left it to the scouting party to report the news to Lothar. He was sure his Lord was not taking it at all well, and Victor wanted to keep his distance. He couldn't sit calmly right now and absorb his Lord's blustering stupidity without backlash. So it was better he remained here. He felt tense as he wondered what on earth would have led his orderly to make such a trip across the wastes. He knew the man was an outright coward. It had to be something dire.

It was imperative that Victor nurse Merton back to health and learn of his news. Fortunately, he had ample supplies of Ringer's lactate. Merton was very dehydrated and hovering near death, but in a few hours, his vitals were much improved.

Victor had nodded off in his chair by Merton's bedside. As a Doctor, it was something he had become increasingly good at. Often, he needed to remain close to his critically ill patients. He didn't have all the medical machinery at his fingertips. So vigilance was his lot.

Merton sat up and looked about. He was in a clean hospital bed with a drip in his arm. He no longer felt the raging thirst that had overtaken all his senses the day before. However, he could feel the steady heat of his sunburn. It was then he saw his boss, Victor, with his death's head cap shielding his eyes, head lolling forward, asleep on the chair beside his bed.

"Sir..." Merton said rather softly and hesitantly. His furry tongue did not want to obey. Almost afraid to wake his sleeping superior.

His feeble utterance was enough to wake the sleeping doctor. Victor's merciless blue orbs locked onto his patient.

"What has happened!" Victor snapped, sounding more severe than he had intended, as he came abruptly awake.

"Sir, the fort... it's been taken..."

"Taken! How!"

I...I...don't rightly know, Sir. I was in the infirmary...."

"Yes, yes, I need to go and report this to Lothar." Victor rose, cutting off the rest of Merton's irrelevant ramblings and hurriedly left the room.

*****

Merton had barely had time to sufficiently recover before he was whisked off to the large house that sat perched on the hill. He stood on unsteady legs before the four uniformed men. They didn't ask after his health or tell him they were glad he had survived. They only wanted to know about one thing: the invasion.

"How many, and who were they?" Lothar questioned.

Merton could see that all the men were worked up. Lothar in particular. The sheen of sweat was prominent on his forehead.

"I didn't see anyone. I heard gunshots and people dying. Then the alarms sounded." Merton honestly didn't have much to report.

Victor sighed in frustration. As usual, his blundering understudy was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. He felt a modicum of relief, though, to hear that someone had triggered the alarms. That meant his daughter would be safe, at least for the time being. He knew that the blast doors would be all but impenetrable to anything but a well-organized force.

The high-ranked officers looked at one another, and it was Hawkins who spoke. "My Lord, every settlement in fifty or more miles from our base has been neutralized. Yes, we had many enemies, but none of them could have breached the fortress's defenses, even with the few that remained to guard it."

Then followed an uneasy, protracted silence.

Merton felt weak and clutched at the chair back. He just wanted to lie down. A glass of water would have been nice. But the commanders began to talk among themselves as though he were not present. He decided to just sink down into the chair and rest.

"We will have to return," Lothar stated in an undertone of panic. "Leaving a few men here to keep control of the slaves."

"If the slaves rebel, it will cost us everything, Sir." Major Hawkins pointed out.

Lothar nodded. "But I don't see us having much choice. We could use the concealed sally-port to gain access. I'm pretty sure that my quarters have withstood any attempt to breach them..."

Victor had not contributed to the conversation as yet. He was, though, calculating many options in his mind. Some of them being extremely perilous.

"My Lord..." He finally said.

"Yes, Victor?"

"I have an idea. It's risky, but hear me out. We could consider deploying the fire suppressant system. We don't know their numbers or their strength, but the CO2 could potentially neutralize any enemy forces inside the fort. Leaving us an easy mop up."

"That's quite a brilliant plan, Victor. The idea has merit." Lothar almost looked pleased. "If we could get into my quarters, we could activate it from there. We would be safe, as there is only an oxygen depletion system in that area. Most life within the rest of the fortress would, though, be suffocated."

"But the civilians too, my wife's in there!" Major Hawkins interrupted, clearly in opposition to the idea.

"You are right, Major." Lothar interjected. "We wouldn't want to risk losing Harrison. He's the only one who can keep those engines alive."

"Could we send someone in to warn him?" Captain Greyson suggested.

"It's something we should at least consider." Major Hawkins interjected. "We need those civilians, how the hell would we live without them?"

Victor, with a look of complete smugness, waved his black gloved hand at the Major in a gesture of dismissal. "Major, I think you forget. If we have no fortress, it hardly matters if the civilians live or die; they are rather replaceable. Our home isn't." Chillingly cold was the Doctor's assessment of the situation.

The Major was about to argue with Victor. But Lothar cut both men off.

"Victor is, of course, right; without the fortress, we are nothing. Tell me... who of you is prepared to live here, like this..." He gestured about him, to the cozy but simple abode they occupied.

The men were silent. Though Major Hawkins was visibly upset. Merton had fallen asleep on the chair.

"I know that fortress by heart, as I built it.' Lothar, now in control of the meeting, announced. "I will draw some maps, can you find me some drawing materials, Captain?"

Greyson nodded, saluted, and left.

"We will plan our assault. In a few hours, I will address all the men."