The Cabin in the Woods

To their right as they entered, the upper level resembled a scaled-down version of a Houston control room, with banks of computers, flashing lights, switches and dials. Two large desks contained a riot of communication equipment and computer monitors, and two other desks housed a swathe of smaller computer screens, wires and cables snaking out of sight like a strange sea-creature’s tentacles. Two comfortable wheeled chairs sat side by side not far from the doorway, ready for Sitterson and Hadley to occupy. They, too, were of identical design, but Sitterson could already tell that the one on the left was his. He’d sat in it enough to know it by sight.

On the far wall at the other end of the lower space, three huge screens hung side by side, with digital time displays and blank flat screens above, each empty at the moment, glowing a faint silver as they awaited the power surge and the images that would tell their story for today.

Hadley led the way up the short curving staircase, Sitterson behind him carrying a small cooler. The soldier followed them, obeying regulations to the letter. He had to see them sat down and plugged in before he would be permitted to return to the door.

He even walked stiffly, Sitterson noticed.

Maybe it’s time to start fucking with him, he thought, but Hadley beat him to it.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Daniel Truman, Sir.”

“Well, this isn’t the army, Truman, so you can drop the ‘sir’ shit. But Sitterson likes to be called ‘ma’am.’”

They’d reached the top of the stairs, and Sitterson slid the small cooler beneath one of the communications desks. “Or ‘Honey Toes,’” he said.

“Yes, he will also answer to Honey Toes.” Hadley wheeled Sitterson’s chair over to him and took his own across to the other sizeable desk. He fiddled with the height lever and back regulator, as always, and returned them to the exact same position they’d been in when he first touched them. As always. “Are you clear on what’s gonna be happening here?” he continued.

“I’ve been prepped extensively,” Truman said. Still very formal, still very military. This’ll be an easy one to crack, Sitterson thought.

“And did they tell you that being prepped is not the same as being prepared?” Hadley asked, not looking at the soldier. He tapped a touchpad and lights flashed on his panel.

“They told me,” Truman said. “I’ll hold my post Mister Hadley. I’ll see it through.”

“Not much else you gotta do,” Hadley said. “Stand watch, check IDs, shouldn’t be a lot more than that. And you have to get us coffee.”

There was a pause for a couple of seconds, and Sitterson couldn’t help but glance back at the soldier standing behind them. He was smiling uncertainly.

“They also told me you would try and make me get you coffee,” Truman said.

“Balls,” Hadley said. Sitterson giggled, attracting his friend’s attention. Hadley pointed at him then, speaking from one side of his mouth back over his shoulder, asked the soldier, “Can you make him get us coffee? With your gun?” “And that you would try to make me do that,” Truman said, his tone remaining unchanged.

Well I’ll be damned, Sitterson thought. He’s not as uptight as he looks. “It wasn’t funny last time, either,” he said aloud.

Hadley moved over to a bank of electronics, flicking switches all across the face, seemingly at random. The hum in the control room rose in volume and tone, becoming something like a soft moan, and the click and beep of electronic activity erupted around them.

Sitterson tapped away at his computer, the familiar tingle of excitement blossoming into a vague burning sensation that coursed through his body. It was all about to begin, and here at his fingertips sat the heart of everything that was to come. He accessed his internal emails, and confirmed that the clean-up had already been done. That was step one complete.

Glancing across at Hadley, he nodded once so that his companion-his friend-knew to initiate his own systems. In this room where so much was computerized, mechanized, and recorded, it was often the understanding between these two men which ensured that everything ran smoothly from beginning to end. Any monkey could press buttons, but it took someone special to understand the implications of each pressing.

Sitterson pushed away from his desk and swung around as he went, landing perfectly against one of the rear control panels. He felt Truman’s eyes on him, and flushed with a flicker of pride. He shoved that down quickly. This is nothing to be proud of, he thought, and he frowned, not sure where that had come from.

Screw it.

He lifted the cover from a row of three buttons and rested his thumb against the first.

“Let’s light this candle up, boys,” he said. “Up is go on your command.” He flicked the buttons.