It felt strange to Amari, though. She missed having conversations with him face to face, planning their next moves in his hovercar, on the way to meetings. Now everything had to be done via idatrons and most of the times Gary, the guys, or someone from Daniel’s or her team, were present. With the amount of work they had, they had to pull it together as a team and the more people they could get involved to help out, the better. It was completely different now, and she longed for the way things were before.
Amaranthine was still in her office at two o’clock in the morning, as usual after a big conference. The media were raving about the new facts that her and Ambrose fed them in the morning, adding on twice as much speculation. Her idatron kept updating the list of Carpe Diem’s unremitting stream of media appearances and even though her, Penny and Ambie did nothing else all day but go through them, it seemed like it would never get any shorter. She had sent her team home at midnight and stayed behind to finish off the remaining pile of reports. She had three to go.
She stood up from her desk to stretch out a little, yawning and rubbing her face, trying to stay awake. Shaping the band’s public image was an arduous job. I’m going to need to bring more people on board this project, she thought. This mayhem won’t stop any time soon, and I can’t keep going on like this for weeks on end. I’ll speak to Nectar about it at our Monday meeting; the sooner we get someone trained up, the better.
She looked out the window. It was a dark, windy night, and the lights of Manhattan seemed a little dulled. Traffic was still quite heavy for this hour. She fought with herself for a moment, tempted to leave the last three reports until Monday morning. She could just summon her hovermobile now and be at home, in her comfy bed, in a few minutes. But her sense of duty and her perfectionist attitude prevailed over her tiredness. She sighed, went back to her desk and opened the first report from the list. Three to go and I’ll be on my way home, she thought.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
An ear-splitting explosion ripped the air right outside her office. Amaranthine, sitting with her back to the window, was blinded by the blazing light that filled the room. The whole building shook like during an earthquake, pictures fell off the walls and her coffee cup got knocked off her desk. She instinctively dived under her desk with her hands protecting her head and covering her ears, in an attempt to block the ear-drum-bursting noise. Completely disoriented, she tried to figure out what had just happened. The explosion must have taken place in one of the neighboring buildings. Before she could take a guess which one it was, she heard another blast.
Her office shook again, the furniture bouncing along the floor, including her desk that she was hiding under. She screamed with fear and cowered in the far corner of her shelter. She heard another, smaller explosion, and then another. Then a round of machine gun fire. Her eyes were shut tight and her head buried in her lap, but she could still see the flashes of light. She heard the sound of sirens in the distance.
Then there was one more blast, as deafening as the first two combined, at which moment the entire plastglass wall of her office shattered, a shower of glass splinters cutting like a colony of furious wasps. Fortunately she was still hidden under the desk and her big office chair saved her from most of the glass pieces shower. She didn’t avoid all of them, though – she felt a sharp, cutting pain in her right arm and immediately after she felt warm moisture trickle down to her elbow.
She screamed from fear and clutched to the chair, pulling it closer and using it as a shield. She could feel the heat of fire coming in through the smashed window. The sirens were deafeningly loud now, and their frequency got much higher – they were getting closer.
Amaranthine was unable to move or think, completely deafened and disoriented; her brain seemed empty, offering nothing in way of explanation of what was going on around her. All she was capable of was clutching to her chair and trying to stay alive.
After a few minutes, as if through a thick wall, she heard screams of people; somebody was crying for help, someone else urged for an ambulance and the police. She was unable to figure out where the voices were coming from. Then one loud, echoing voice cut through the pandemonium. A man was speaking through a megaphone, his voice perfectly calm. He spoke slowly and made pauses for the echo, making absolute sure that he was clearly heard and understood.
‘This is not a game!’ the man declared. ‘We came here to take what we deserve and which you have denied us. Stay out of this and no one will be hurt. If you attempt to stop us, there will be blood – a lot of blood. We have planted bombs in buildings all over this island, so if you try to test how serious we are, we will detonate them all at once and Manhattan will turn into a very big pile of ash in a split second. We are warning you – if you dare come in here and try to stop us, you will regret it.’
There was a short pause, after which the same voice started to deliver the same message. The recording played over and over again.
The meaning of the message was slowly sinking in. Amaranthine started remembering all the news reports she’d seen about the potential danger of a terrorist attack from countries that were denied access to the Cure because they weren’t prepared to reform to meet the requirements in terms of human rights, environmental care and demilitarization; dangerous, mainly religious regimes, which had never accepted the loss of their status and leverage on the world, when cold fusion became the main source of energy and the fossil fuels lost most of their value. They had nothing to lose.
The issue kept coming up in the news, but the rumors of an actual, real danger were always firmly denied. The public was reassured that both the formula and the stocks of the Cure were perfectly well protected and the risk of them being stolen was practically non-existent. But despite the government’s and Dr. Life’s confidence, the media wouldn’t stop drilling the issue, especially in silly season when they had nothing better to go on about. But as it turned out, the rumors weren’t unfounded; the evidence was surrounding her. The man’s accent on the recording was unmistakable.
I can’t stay here, Amaranthine thought. Who knows how many more bombs they decide to detonate right outside my window or what else they have on their agenda. She had no intention of checking if their claim about bombs planted in buildings all over Manhattan was a bluff; from what she was seeing, they were extremely determined to get what they wanted. She had to find a way out and as far away from this place as possible.
She gathered all her courage, took a deep breath and very carefully crawled from underneath the desk and away from the window, trying to stay in the shade. The lights in her office had gone out with the first blast, but beams of light coming from the attackers’ hovercars swept against Manhattan’s skyscrapers every few seconds, as if looking to fish out the helpless victims like herself, imprisoned in the offices and apartments and unable to think or undertake any logical action. The glass cracked under her knees and hands, inflicting further cuts. She approached the hole in the wall and looked out, hiding behind the frame.
Just like she expected, it was Dr. Life’s headquarters that were the terrorist’s target. The octagonal building was surrounded by large, black hoverjets armed with massive guns fixed on both sides of them; they were all facing out, covering all the angles around the building. There was a fire on one of the floors of The Immortality Institute. Down below she saw a few police hovercars and ambulances, sitting on the ground, flashing red and blue lights, as well as a couple of dozen civilian vehicles. No other hovercars but those belonging to the terrorists were airborne.
I have to get out of here, she kept thinking. I don’t know how, but I must do it somehow, and immediately. I can’t stay here. There’s no way the authorities would give up the Cure’s formula without a fight; no matter what these psychos said about bombs being planted all over Manhattan, the US forces will try to bring them down. Soon half the Air Force will be here and if I’m stuck in this building, I am going to die.
She sent frantic mental signals to her hovercar, tryi
ng to summon it, but there was no response. She felt an overwhelming wave of panic. She was stuck, imprisoned in her own office, with no way out, and in a few minutes’ time she would be in the very middle of a full-on air battle.
She crawled back to her desk and grabbed her idatron, then hid under the desk again. She tried to summon the hovercar manually, but there was still no response. For the first time ever her idatron was offline. She felt cold sweat cover every square inch of her skin and she trembled uncontrollably.
What the hell have these bastards done? Could they have disabled all communication? Or was it the result of the explosions?
The answer came with the second recording. Clearly addressed to all the people in Amari’s position.
‘Those of you inside the buildings, don’t even think about trying to leave this area,’ the same voice announced, ‘your hovercars won’t work, we’ve taken care of that. If anyone tries to leave any of the buildings, we will shoot you down. And if your government doesn’t cooperate, we will blow you all up. Pray that we are taken seriously.’
Damn it, Amaranthine thought with despair. These bastards are going to kill us all if we don’t do exactly what they are demanding. As she remembered more details of the news reports, the hair on the back of her neck raised with horror. These men held death in contempt, as they all believed that if they died serving their cause, they’d go to ‘heaven’ where they’d be rewarded for their deeds. They were ready to die if anyone tried to stop them, and they would take as many Immortals with them as they could.
She crawled towards the door and out of the office. Once she was in the hall, she got up and followed the signs to the emergency exit. In her fifteen years working for Elixir Vitae she’d not used it once. During every fire drill hovercars proved to be the best escape option.
After following the sign through a maze of corridors, she finally saw the entrance to the staircase. A wave of hope rose in her chest as she rushed to the thick fire door and grabbed the handle.
The door wouldn’t budge. She pressed the metal handle down, then pulled with all her strength, but nothing happened. She pushed instead, to the same effect. Furious and desperate, she jerked and jerked at it, refusing to accept the obvious.
She was trapped.
The door wasn’t locked, she came to realize after a closer examination. There wasn’t even a lock in it. But the deep cracks in the wall surrounding the door indicated that it got jammed in its frame as the explosions damaged the structure of the building.
She jerked the door over and over again with frantic despair, digging her leg in the wall, tugging it sideways to try and get it out of its frame. But it remained motionless and indifferent.
Her legs turned into jelly as it began to dawn on her that there was simply no way out, unless she decided to end it on her own by jumping out the window. Why didn’t I just leave those damn reports and go home? Were they really that important?
But she wasn’t at home. She was in one of the most modern skyscrapers in the world, in the very heart of Manhattan and she was going to die because of some maniacs who wanted to be immortal, but wouldn’t give up their twisted ways to get the Cure the peaceful way, and decided to take it with force instead.
She slid down the wall and sat on the floor, paralyzed with fear. Her mind started creating the worst images; the walls started to close down on her in a sudden attack of claustrophobia; she couldn’t catch her breath. I’m having a panic attack, she thought with a horrifying sobriety, and I can’t control myself. Her hands, clutching her idatron, were so sweaty that it slipped out of her grasp and fell to the ground.
When she picked it up, she noticed a little green light it was giving out. It was a reminder that she had an unread message. She had disabled all message alerts and mental communication earlier on, so that she wouldn’t get disturbed whilst checking the press reports. It was so unexpected that she stared at it for a long while, as if she’d never seen it before. Did the normal world really still exist? From her perspective, everything that was normal, had been blown up.
She opened the message. It was from Daniel, received three hours ago.
Hey Amari,
Just wondered what the response was like to the press conference. Hope we can catch up Monday morning. Call me as soon as you can, regardless of the time. I also have to fill you in on some rumors that have started regarding Joe’s love life; we need to decide on the best approach to that.
I hope all is well with you. Speak soon,
Daniel
The press conference… Carpe Diem… Love life… Daniel…
It all felt like light years ago, and had now disappeared, smashed to pieces with the blast of terrorist bombs. Wiped out. How could her life, everything she did every day and cared about, be so fragile and vulnerable?
Amari read the message over and over, feeling hot tears gather under her eyelids. She didn’t try to stop them. What was the point? She was going to die soon and she would never see him or hear his voice again. The tears rolled down her cheeks one after another.
She heard a different announcement now; it sounded like the authorities were responding to the terrorists. She picked herself up and walked over to the nearest window; she opened a small portal to be able to hear what was going on. She poked her head out and saw a group of Air Force hovermobiles in the distance, forming a few rings around Dr. Life’s headquarters.
‘Surrender!’ a military-sounding voice demanded. ‘You are surrounded. You have no chances in a fight against us. If you leave now, peacefully, we will not pursue you. You have five minutes to leave. The countdown starts now.’
‘Back off!’ the response was so immediate that it was obvious the attackers knew exactly what to expect. ‘If you don’t clear off in sixty seconds, you can say goodbye to the Swiss Bank building. The countdown has already started.’
Amaranthine observed the Air Force vehicles which didn’t move an inch, still surrounding the danger zone with tight rings. It was suddenly surprisingly quiet, only the engines of the hoverjets roared in hostile anticipation. She looked at the Swiss Bank, a very distinct structure, one of Manhattan’s most recognizable landmarks since it was constructed in 2095. And then, all of a sudden, right in front of her eyes, this building was shaken by a few simultaneous explosions and within a couple of minutes collapsed like a house of cards, giving out a huge cloud of smoke and ash. Amaranthine’s heart sunk deep into her stomach.
‘You have been warned!’ the terrorist’s voice echoed. Every building on this island is planted with enough explosives to flatten it to the ground. If you attempt to attack us, we will fire them all at once. Now clear off or we’ll start another countdown.’
Amaranthine slid down to the floor again. She buried her face in her lap and started crying.
The noise outside indicated that the Air Force vehicles were backing off for now, but Amaranthine didn’t have a shadow of a doubt that they wouldn’t just give up like that. The decision on which her life hung was being made right this minute and she knew what it would be; every leader in president Rodriguez’s shoes would do the same thing. She would have to sacrifice Manhattan, and the lives of thousands of people in order to save the Cure’s formula from getting into the hands of these psychopaths. If she didn’t, soon millions would be killed, and the whole world would be thrown into chaos. Amaranthine didn’t blame the authorities for the only choice they had to make. She just felt deep, uncontrollable regret and paralyzing fear.
Death was not something she ever considered; she knew people died, she remembered that her parents were dead, but she didn’t even remember them and she’d never seen anyone die. And above all, she never once thought it applied to her, not since she heard about the Cure and the fact that she could be immortal. The Immortals died in traffic crashes and other accidents, of course, but she took such precautions and took her personal safety so seriously that the chances of her dying in an accident were virtually zero. She never took any risks, never did anything that could
compromise her safety. But how could she ever had predicted or taken precautions against what was happening a few hundred meters away right now? Something like this just did not have a right to happen to her.
But it did and now she was facing something so unfathomable as the end of her existence. What would she feel? Pain? Some force or chilliness that would squeeze breath out of her? Or maybe – nothing?
And what would there be afterwards? She never thought about that either. Before she met Daniel, she used to mock Mortals for having some silly beliefs about afterlife; from her perspective, there was no point even thinking about it, there was no reason one would ever have to, not in the world where the Cure existed. After her and Daniel became friends, she simply stopped bitching about Mortals, but still wasn’t really interested in their motivation to remain mortal. Or maybe she wouldn’t even know how to ask about it, so she decided to never mention it.
Now she regretted she’d never asked him. It now crossed her mind that maybe if you had some sort of belief about an afterlife, it would be true for you when you died even if it wasn’t true for anyone else. Maybe the whole point of having faith was just that – to give your consciousness, your ‘spirit’, or whatever you wanted to call it, an opportunity to go on, to create a world for itself on the other side. A world in which you could meet other people when they died, too, because you would be sharing the same world on the other side if you had the same beliefs.
But she didn’t have any of that. The only thing that existed for her consciousness was an enormous, petrifying, cold and dark nothingness.
She would never meet Daniel, or her parents, anyone she ever knew, on the other side, because as far as her mind was concerned, nothing existed out there. She didn’t share any afterlife visions with anyone, she didn’t create that world for herself. And she didn’t even know what Daniel’s beliefs were, so she couldn’t try and imagine something in the short time she had left. She felt like she was facing a big, indifferent black hole that would just suck her in without so much left as a single thought.