The Inner Circle (56 page)

A good portion of the Fillmore was destroyed in the blast. The next day what little news the Kid could find claimed that the theater had burned. Faulty wiring. No word about any bodies found inside. No word even about any bodies found outside.
 

By the second day, officials were still trying to get an estimated count of the fatalities throughout the city.

•
   
•
   
•

W
E
KNEW
BETTER
than to all stay at the same motel.
 

Mason and his wife stayed in one motel, with Beverly taking the room next door. It was an adjoining room, so she could slip back and forth to treat Gloria Coulter’s wounds. The Kid had talked Carmen—a certified nurse—into bringing what supplies she could from the nearest hospital. Gloria would live, but she would not live well.
 

Drew, Carver, Ronny, and I stayed at another motel three miles away. Carver and I shared a room on the first floor, Ronny and Drew a room on the second floor. Carver had given up the line that he didn’t need the wheelchair. It was clear that he did need it, and that he would need it for quite some time.
 

Bae and Ho Sook and Chin stayed at a motel two miles away from ours. Bae and Chin shared a room, Ho Sook got her own.
 

We used disposable cell phones to communicate when needed. But there wasn’t much communication between any of us that first day.
 

Tuesday came and went and we all mostly stayed in our rooms, licking our wounds. Maya’s body and Mason’s son’s body were still wrapped up in their individual trunks. They couldn’t stay in there much longer.
 

I called the Kid and proposed an idea.
 

He said, “Fuck, dude, it’s my fucking
house
.”

“You said that before.”
 

“Do you know what I’m doing right now? I’m going through all the shit you brought back from the city.”
 

The laptops and flash drives I snagged from the Fillmore, he meant.
 

“Anything helpful?”
 

“Can’t say quite yet. It’s all encrypted.”
 

“That shouldn’t be any trouble for you.”
 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t. But these people, dude, they’re hardcore. Don’t worry—I’ll be able to break it eventually.”
 

“We don’t have forever. It’s a good possibility Caesar made it out of that place alive. Speaking of which, did you look into it?”
 

“I did. Congresswoman Houser is an only child. And she has only one cousin, but it’s a chick.”
 

“Doesn’t make sense. They’re definitely related somehow. He even admitted she was his sister.”
 

“Don’t know what to tell you.”
 

“Keep working on the encryption. Even if Caesar didn’t make it out alive, it doesn’t mean they aren’t prepared to continue with the Pax Romana.”
 

“Dude, I fucking know.”
 

“We need to know what it is.”
 

“
Dude
.”
 

“And we need the backyard.”
 

The Kid was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Fuck.”

•
   
•
   
•

A
SIX
-
FOOT
FENCE
surrounded the Kid’s entire backyard. It wasn’t a nice fence—the paint was peeling in many places—but it would do the trick.
 

That Wednesday morning, we brought Maya and Anthony Coulter to the Kid’s house. Fortunately, the Kid’s house wasn’t very close to his neighbors. Unfortunately, he still did have neighbors, so we had to be careful. We backed up the cars, took out the bodies, walked them through the garage to the backyard.
 

There Drew and Chin and Mason had already dug the two holes. There everyone else waited.
 

We couldn’t put the bodies in caskets. Not without arousing too much suspicion. In the past, Graham had made the caskets, but he was still driving east, at least another day away. Even if he was here, it wasn’t like he could build the caskets in time, not without the proper tools and supplies. So we wrapped the bodies in even more plastic wrap, secured them, and lowered them into the ground.
 

The sky was clear. The sun was bright. Those of us lowering the bodies and digging back in the holes were sweating profusely. When we were done, Beverly and Ronny both said short prayers. Everyone bowed their heads, even those atheists and agnostics among us. There was a long moment of silence, and then we all drifted away.
 

I drifted toward one corner of the backyard and lit up a smoke.
 

Mason approached me. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
 

I watched him carefully, thinking this was it. That he knew the truth. That I had been in the same room with his family before they were tortured. That if I had done more, his son might still be alive.
 

But he said, “When she ... when she died, I was there in the back of the truck. I was holding her hand. She ... she tried saying something and I told her not to, to save her breath, but she kept saying a word.”
 

I took a long drag on the cigarette, blew the smoke out through my nose. Waited for him to continue.
 

“I wasn’t even sure if it was anything, but I told Ronny about it and Ronny said I should tell you, and I meant to earlier, I really did, but I just ...”
 

“What did she say?”
 

“Your name. Or not really your name—she tried to say your name, but she couldn’t, not with ... well, she couldn’t. But I could see her lips. I asked her if she meant you. And she nodded and closed her eyes and she ... she squeezed my hand three times. Just three times, that was it. And then ... then she was gone.”

•
   
•
   
•

W
E
HEADED
BACK
to our separate motels. Carver stayed with the Kid. Ronny and I helped Carver down the stairs into the basement. The Kid’s mother was in the living room with Carmen. The Kid had asked Carmen to keep his mother in the living room for a few hours. Carmen, of course, agreed. After the Kid’s previous request of the medical supplies, it was clear she knew more than she let on. From what I understood, the Kid paid her very well for her services. So well that she knew to keep her mouth shut.
 

Once Carver was situated in the basement, Ronny and I headed back to our motel. We had just arrived there when the Kid called.
 

“Dude, you have to get back here right now.”

•
   
•
   
•

T
HEY
WERE
WAITING
for me in the basement when I returned.
 

The Kid said, “Pull up a chair.”
 

“What’s this about?”
 

“Dude, just sit down.”
 

I sat down as the Kid typed on one of the keyboards.
 

“Did you break one of the encryptions?”
 

“Not yet. But a message was just sent out. It’s addressed to you.”
 

“Me?”
 

He nodded and kept typing.
 

I glanced at Carver but he just sat silently in his chair.
 

The Kid said, “We can’t do any more than five minutes.”
 

“Before what?”
 

“Before they trace the call.”
 

“Who’s calling?”
 

“Not sure yet. But it’s video. Here, scoot over so you’re front and center.”
 

I moved the chair so I was sitting right in front of the monitor.
 

The Kid said, “Ready?”
 

I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be ready for, but I nodded anyway.
 

He hit a button and leaned back out of view.
 

The screen was blank for several seconds. Then an image blinked on, and a familiar face smiled back at me.
 

“Hello, Ben,” Augustus Caesar said.

•
   
•
   
•

“W
HAT
THE
FUCK
do you want?”
 

“Don’t be hostile, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. Tell me, is the Kid there with you?”
 

I said nothing.
 

“It’s simply amazing the skill someone like him possesses. He can do more damage with a single computer than most armies can do with a thousand soldiers. Speaking of which, were you impressed by the blackout? I will admit, I did not expect it to cause such a catastrophe. Granted, we knew there would be fatalities, but not such a high number. And to think, it all came about from someone like your friend pressing a few buttons on a laptop.”
 

“Are you feeling guilty?”
 

He smiled. “I should be asking you the same question.”
 

“What is that supposed to mean?”
 

“Killing poor Clark like you did. When I was told you were spotted in Times Square, I had them put a camera on you and give the Jumbotron power. I was curious to see what you would do. You did not disappoint.”
 

I said nothing.
 

“Did you notice there has been no mention in the news of what appeared on the Jumbotron during the blackout, even though hundreds of people saw it?”
 

“What’s your point?”
 

“There were witnesses outside the Fillmore during your attack as well. Many of them attempted to upload videos and pictures to different social media networks. Within seconds, those videos and pictures were deleted. Any slight mention of the Fillmore has been deleted.”
 

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be impressed?”
 

“No. I am simply giving another illustration of just how powerful we are. Tell me, did you ever figure out the hint I gave you in regards to the Pax Romana?”
 

“Actually, yeah, it was pretty simple. The greatest thing the Roman Empire gave to the world was roads. So ... what, you’re into construction now?”
 

Augustus smiled but said nothing.
 

I asked, “So what do you want, anyway?”
 

“For you to play the game again.”
 

I laughed. “You’re insane.”
 

“That’s exactly what Mr. Ellison called me. Is he there with you now?”
 

I said nothing.
 

“I guess it doesn’t matter if he is there or not. I’m done with him. You, however, are a different story. The Coliseum was ruined, no thanks to you and your friends. Many of those in the Inner Circle were either killed or injured. I feel I owe them something in return for all the suffering that was caused. And before the Pax Romana is finally initiated, I thought it would be grand if you played the game one last time.”
 

“I can tell you right now, that isn’t going to happen.”
 

“No?”
 

“Positive.”
 

“Are you sure?”
 

“There isn’t anything in the world that would change my mind.”
 

Augustus took a deep breath. “You see, Ben, I thought you would say that. And if that is your answer, then so be it. But before we part ways, there are two people who I think would like to say hello.”
 

He had apparently been standing this entire time. He started to move back, away from the camera, until the room came into view.
 

Behind him sat two people in chairs. Like back in the Torture Room, there were cloth bags over their heads.
 

My stomach tightened. My entire body began to shake. In my mind, a familiar voice whispered a question.
 

Are you ready for that secret now?
 

Then Augustus, with a flourish, tore off the cloth bags—and the ground disappeared beneath me.
 

They sat there, Jen and Casey, duct tape covering their mouths. Their eyes red and glassy. Their skin pale.
 

Augustus, standing between them, the cloth bags in his hands, smiled back at me.
 

“How about now?”

A
BOUT
THE
A
UTHOR

Robert Swartwood is the
USA TODAY
bestselling author of
The Serial Killer’s Wife
,
The Calling
,
Man of Wax
, and several other novels. His work has appeared in
The Los Angeles Review
,
The Daily Beast
,
Chizine
,
Space and Time
,
Postscripts
, and
PANK
. He created the term “hint fiction” and is the editor of
Hint Fiction: An Anthology of Stories in 25 Words or Fewer
. He lives with his wife in Pennsylvania. Visit him online at
www.robertswartwood.com
.

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