The Variables

Nate stalked forward, his gun on Grant. And Grant backed up.

“What’s happening?” Grant asked in a whisper. He was out in the hallway, taking wide steps behind him without looking where he was going. A cold sweat dripped down his neck. “What’s happening?” he asked again, louder.

Nate shook his head. “Grant...I’m sorry...”

“No,” Grant breathed.

Copia.

It didn’t exist. It had never existed. It was a lie fed to people unworthy enough to travel to the next world. He wanted to let go of Frank’s leash and run, but he couldn’t. Still his feet carried him backward as Nate followed him.

“All those people—”

“Just our orders, Grant,” Nate said. “We liked you, kid. You have to believe me.”

Grant raised a hand to his neck and tugged on Salem’s crucifix. He held on to it and started to pray.

“Help me, help me, help me,” Grant said. “Mother Mary and Lord Jesus, dear God, no, no—”

A rise and fall of screams echoed down the hall, but Nate didn’t flinch.

“Oh my Jesus,” Grant whispered. He closed his eyes. “Forgive us of our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls into heaven, especially those in most need of the mercy.”

Blair’s screams through the radio seemed to blend in, and Grant almost didn’t notice that she was back on. When Nate finally realized that it was Blair and not the Copia residents, he grabbed the radio and pressed it to his ear with one hand while keeping his gun on Grant.

“Help! Help! Can anyone hear me?”

Grant kept moving backward.

Nate looked confused and tentative.

“Sorry, Blair....can’t really discuss now...in the middle...” Mick answered her in spurts. There was now gunfire near the movie theater exit. People had managed to attempt an escape. Grant took another step back and realized that he had trapped himself up against the elevator doors at the end of the hall. He could feel that his cheeks were wet, even though he hadn’t been aware that he was crying.

“Can you confirm we are all accounted for?” Blair screamed. He could hear her muffled voice. “Confirm! Confirm!”

“I can confirm. All Copia. All guards. Grant. And your damn dog. Get up here, Blair.” Mick sounded angry and stern, panicked. The gas still poured into the Center, the guards looked at their watches. The deaths had only just begun. “Five minutes.”

“Then we have intruders. I repeat. I repeat. We have intruders. Private Ryley’s been shot and we are not alone down here!” Blair screamed. “I’m coming back up. I’m coming back up!”

In his own flustered panic, Grant hit the elevator button with his elbow. Nate’s attention was drawn away for a second down the hall, and Grant eyed the gun. He imagined himself attempting to pry the gun free. It was an act of pure bravado that he thought he might be physically capable of; if he could distract Nate for just a second, he could launch himself. Maybe buy some time.

But it was futile. Nate’s orders were to kill him. If he failed, there was an entire hallway of armed men ready to pick up where he left off.

Grant knew that the direct elevator was at the end of the hallway. He willed Blair to run faster. Maybe she would intercede for him. Maybe she didn’t know about the orders to kill him. He realized that Blair might be his only hope.

Nate tucked the walkie back into his uniform pocket and leveled the gun again. Grant closed his eyes. Then from down the hall, Grant could hear Blair ru

Twenty feet away. Fifteen feet away.

“Blair!” Grant called to her, but his voice caught.

“Frank!” she shouted. “I need Frank!”

Nate looked down at the ground and then up at Grant. “It’s time.” He leaned in and grabbed Grant’s shirt collar and began to pull him away from the elevator doors. Grant heard a tiny pop and felt Salem’s necklace snap loose—the chain had broken in the scuffle. With all his energy, Grant tried to duck out of Nate’s grip. The crucifix fell to the floor.

The elevator gave a tiny peal.

An a

There were more gunshots in the background. More screams.

Nate bristled and stared at the metal doors. They started to open and Nate let go of Grant and swung his gun in the direction of the elevator doors, and then back to Grant’s head.

The doors of the elevator opened fully and Grant could tell by the look on Nate’s face that there was someone in there. Taking his chance, he ducked down, and grabbed tightly on to Frank and waiting for the blast to kill him.

A gunshot rang out. Nate crumpled to the ground, his gun clattered to the tiled floor. The would-be-assassin held on to his leg and blood began to seep through his uniform.

“I need backup!” he yelled down the hall. Dylan and Jorge turned their heads. “Intruders! Alert!”

Blair screamed wildly and scrambled back to the far wall. She tumbled to the ground and kicked herself as far away from the elevator doors as she could. Nate reached out to her, his hands covered in blood.

“Get my gun, Blair! Dammit! The gun!”

Grant was faster. He scrambled forward and locked his hands around the barrel, and then turned to the open elevator. He didn’t know who he was supposed to shoot—the intruders or the people trying to kill him. Another shot rang out and Grant braced for the impact, but Nate tumbled over again, a hole gaping in his uniform just above his bicep.

Blair’s screams of terror, Nate’s screams of pain, and the march of footsteps ru

They were calling, motioning, but all he could hear was Blair, Nate, the footsteps, the dog barking, his ears ringing. His eyes adjusted. He could see them clearly.

It was Darla he recognized first.

She was gaunter than he remembered, but it was absolutely Darla; covered in blood, she held a gun pointed at Nate’s head and she screamed for Grant to climb into the elevator with them. Her screams barely registered above the other din and Grant felt sluggish in his response to her. Was this real? Was he already dead? He obliged and crawled on all fours away from the chaos as Darla pushed the button.

Behind her he saw the familiar face that looked so much like his own. A face that surfaced in dreams, but had seemed fuzzy in recent weeks—as if his entire family was just a series of old movies playing inside his brain.

“Dad?” Grant whispered. Time seemed to stand still. He collapsed on the floor and looked upward. He must be dead. Nate had shot him in the head and he was dying on the floor of the System. His dad and Darla were there to escort him to the afterlife. “Dad?” he asked again.

Frank barked. The bark pulled Grant back toward reality. He had never let go of the leash and the dog had followed him into the elevator as an unwilling partner; he barked at his owner, who was still screaming outside in the hallway, and he licked at Grant’s head. Darla looked at the dog and then Nate and discharged her weapon once again, this time hitting the wall behind the guard’s head.

The other guards were getting closer. Blair scrambled toward them on all fours. Her feet slipped on the blood.

His dad.

His dad was here.

“No!” Blair screamed. Her primal cries rang out as she propelled herself off the floor and into the elevator. She reached for Frank’s leash. Her legs passed over the threshold just in time for the doors to collapse behind her; the elevator began moving upward and away from the men below. Cuddling her dog close, she pushed herself into the corner and looked up at Dean and Darla with wide, wild eyes.

A walkie-talkie crackled.

Blair wasn’t holding hers anymore and Grant realized that his dad was holding one to his ear.