Remington 'Remy' MacAfee, 28, was running for her life, just as she'd done the previous two days. Those same robotic, obese women wielding electric whips were chasing her down a hallway approximately 200 meters long, 10 feet wide, 50 feet high. After traversing the aforementioned distance, those crazed women would simultaneously stop, pivot, then disappear through a side panel in the wall. This was a nightmare from which there seemed to be no awakening.
Only four days ago, she'd been a successful engineer with a private concern in downtown San Francisco. Living in a small house near El Granada, she was happier than she'd been in years. Life was good, at least until now. She remembered arriving home last Wednesday night around 8:30, and watching a little television before crashing out. She recalled a dream in which shed been drawn into a flying saucer with flashing orange and white lights. When she arose the next day, she found herself lying on a strange, thin mattress in a stranger-looking oblong room. Lighting was provided by a diffused source in the ceiling; there were no windows. Aside from the weird bed, the chamber was devoid of furniture. Like an efficiency, it had a bathroom area, but nothing that would pass for a kitchen. Also, there were no mirrors. Though she'd never been incarcerated, she thought the room resembled a jail cell. As for her appearance, Remy was wearing running shoes of unknown brand and/or origin; she was naked, and her head had been shaved. All of her long, blonde locks were gone. Albeit sans clothes, she found the chambers temperature comfortable. Meals were delivered down a tube by a cable-driven dumbwaiter, which would return 30 minutes later for the removal of waste. She could hear muffled voices beyond the walls, but the language was definitely not English; something guttural, perhaps German. However, no matter how much she screamed, no one responded. There was a multitude not far away, engaged in lively debate, completely oblivious to her vocalizations. 'Some of my friends used to give me the silent treatment',she mused, 'but this is ridiculous.'
If it weren't for Remy's clockwork-like sleep/wake cycle, she'd have no idea how long shed been here. As it was, without anything to write on or with, she'd been using food scraps to keep track of the date. Certainly, not the most hygienic stratagem, but itd have to do for now.
And what was the deal with those robotic bitches who chased her each afternoon? They reminded her of the manikins in Robert Palmers Addicted to Love video, except they were obese, and wielded whips instead of guitars. Her first day of captivity, while lying down and pondering her plight, an irritating high-pitched noise filled the room. The only way to escape that sound was to exit into the outer hallway. A few feet into same, she discovered a barrier which prevented her from going further. Approximately two minutes passed when a bell rang, and the aforementioned impediment dropped into the floor. Without warning, those women from hell materialized out of nowhere, directly behind her. At first she didn't know what to make of it, and turned to speak to them. That was a mistake. On cue, they began to crack their whips. One of them struck Remington on the left thigh, which made her jump a mile. Whatever those lashes were made of, it wasn't leather; and they were electrified. The engineer-turned-prisoner had to run for her very life.
So here she was, having just completed her third race, and being forced back to her bedchamber by those piercing decibels. Her patience strained to the limit, MacAfee screamed, "Whats going on? Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?" No reply, as usual. If something didn't change soon, she thought, she might have to consider ending her life; but that would prove to be a challenge. "What are you going to do, dummy?" she asked herself. "Stuff bread down your throat until you choke to death?" What she wouldn't give for a set of cutlery.
After shed been held for eight days, something unusual occurred. Removing food from the dumbwaiter, she thought she heard a woman speaking French. And, from the tone of her voice, cursing in that tongue. Though not fluent in the language, Remys 11th grade French class had provided her with enough of the basics to know when someone was speaking it. In point of fact, this irate individual was harshly critiquing her lunch. Waiting for the other party to take a breath, Remington shouted, Bonjouras loud as she could. She barely had time to grab her food, let alone have a conversation, when the dumbwaiters door closed. I wonder if she heard me? Remy mused. "Please, God, let her have heard me".
Approximately 30 minutes later, the panel opened to receive garbage. A voice called out, "Qui etes vous? Quel est votre nom?"
"Je mappelle Remington MacAfee," she returned, I'm an American. Who are…? The small door closed again before she could finish her sentence.
Several hours later, again at mealtime, Remy had the opportunity to formally introduce herself to Marie Fontenelle. Fortunately, her new friend spoke English; high school French could only take her so far. However, even speaking a common language was no guarantee of fluid communication. It took the pair another four meals before they'd worked out a system where one would ask a quick question or two, and the other wait for the next food exchange to answer. In this manner, albeit slowly, they were able to carry on short conversations.
After three days, Remy learned that: Marie was a 29-year-old optometry student from La Rochelle, France; her abduction had occurred in similar fashion to her own; she was being forced to run daily; and both wanted out of this place as soon as possible.
It was Remington who devised a plan for them to meet in person.
Calculating the volume of the dumbwaiter's open compartment minus food, MacAfee knew she could fit into same. Once shut, she'd have to 'wing it,' looking for any means of crossing over to Fontenelles tube. "But you have no idea if such an opening exists," Marie cautioned. "You could wind up anywhere; you could wind up dead."
"And would that be any worse than this?" Remy countered.
"No," Marie agreed, it wouldn't. "Bonne chance, mon amie."
The next day, close to the arrival of breakfast, the intrepid engineer was nervously pacing back and forth. She wondered if she was being watched by whoever brought her here, but at this point, didn't really care. Suddenly, she felt a slight vibration in the air, and knew her mornings nourishment was on its way. MacAfee readied herself for what was to come. As soon as the air stilled, the panel popped open. Remy threw the food on the floor, and jumped in. She could hear Marie nearby, praying for her success.
Remington moved her hands along the inside of the chamber, trying to find any structural weaknesses, but found none. A moment later, the panel closed, and she was moving in total darkness. Her ears popped from a change in pressure. Though blind, Remy continued to probe. Pressing against the ceiling, she found what she was looking for. The top of the compartment wasn't tightly sealed, but rather held down by an outside latch, one she could hear rattling. By her employing a series of powerful kicks, the hatch gave way. Using a cable to pull herself up, she was able to stand erect. And, though still cloaked in inky blackness, the Californian thought she discerned a light source above.
As the food unit continued to rise, the light became brighter and more defined. It did, indeed, demark a portal of some kind.
"Okay, Mac," she said to herself, your'e traveling at ten miles an hour, with approximately 30 feet to go before you reach that aperture. What should you be doing to prepare for a quick exit? Think, girl, think."
Our heroine thought hard and fast on the matter, and came up with a possible solution. Her plan was to move toward the tubes inner wall, just below the light. When she got within a few yards of it, she'd begin to lean against the wall, and simply fall into the opening. Of course, simply falling wouldnt be enough; she'd have to find the other dumbwaiters cable to grab onto, and pull her feet in before losing them. Remy had no idea if such an opportunity would present itself. All she did know was that time was running short, and whatever would happen would happen soon.
With the opening drawing near, MacAfee bent her knees slightly, and leaned against the tubes interior wall. Taking several deep breaths, she steadied herself. The light source was upon her! The initial falling process went well, but she missed the other cable on her first attempt. Throwing her left arm out in an act of desperation, she located her lifeline, and hastily pulled herself completely in. As her former food compartment whooshed by, she gave a sigh of relief, and thanked her higher power.
Holding onto the cable, she discovered the light was coming from a hot dog-shaped bulb hanging over the notch between tubes. It wasn't more than 150 wattsworth of illumination, but was certainly better than nothing.
Shimmying down the cord, MacAfee reached bottom nine minutes later. Operating again in the dark, she was nevertheless easily able to find and push open the tubes lower panel. As it swung wide, she was greeted by an enthusiastic Fontenelle, who embraced her. Though each cried and jumped with joy, they were keenly aware of their need to keep moving. Their keeper's might not be alarmed by their collectively skipping lunch, but the 'jig' was sure to be up were they to fail to appear at race time.
After a bit of small talk, it was Remy who first noticed something odd about their appearance; other than their being two bald, naked females in sneakers. "Turn around," Marie,Remington asked, "there's something I want to look at."
"What?!" Marie exclaimed excitedly, "is there a bug on me?"
"No, silly," Remy answered, "just do it, okay?" Fontenelle complied, showing her back to her companion. Between the Frenchwoman's shoulder blades was a letter or number tattoo. "You have a tattoo on your back," MacAfee told her, and I'll bet there's one on me, too." Marie confirmed her suspicion.
Choosing not to debate the issue at the moment, the pair discussed various means of escape. It was the Frenchwoman who came up with an idea. Leaving the living quarters, they ventured up to the translucent wall which prevented them from entering the hallway beyond. There was no way around it, but what about over? Fontenelle gave MacAfee a boost up, to see how tall this impediment might be. Remy shouted with glee as she found an upper edge to the barrier. With an extra push and pull, she was able to climb and straddle it. She then reached down, and assisted Marie. As they made it over, each scanned opposite walls for an exit. It was the optometry student who found the portal through which those whip-wielding bitches would appear. "Oh," Remy said, "they chase you too, huh? Ever get nailed by one?"
Finishing her sentence, Marie pointed to a raw line on her right thigh. "Oui," she replied, with a grimace.
Entering a dimly lit chamber, they found themselves surrounded by odd looking machines, some humming with electric heartbeats, others dormant. There was a strong scent of oil in the air. Stumbling along, Remington unexpectedly found herself face to face with those mechanical women from hell. She instinctively recoiled, but calmed down once she discovered the automatons were in sleep mode. Gingerly moving around them, the two continued to investigate the room. They began to feel a slight movement of air, and followed it to its source: a vent just a few feet above them. Entering that duct, with Remy in the lead, the pair crawled on all fours through a maze of passages. MacAfee used the freshening breeze and increasing noise level as her guide. About fifteen minutes later, the explorers, aka escapees, found themselves at a dead end; a plate blocked their forward progress. Turning herself around, the American used her feet to push it out. As they jumped to the floor, they noted far above them what looked like a large television screen. They were also standing between what Marie recognized as two, 30-foot tall speakers. That revelation caused an instant reaction in Fontenelle, who tugged violently at her friend. She could only imagine what might happen were they to come to life. She even forgot her English when she said, Nous devons sortir dici. "Nous devons sortir d'ici maintenant!" Even without subtitles, Remington understood her meaning. The pair raced in the direction of several large curtains. It took both of them pulling together with all their might to move them.
Once through, they beheld a most bizarre sight. The runners found themselves in an immense concourse, with huge video screens located throughout. There were also large tables, ticket windows, and stadium seating for several hundred patrons. And the language that MacAfee thought to be German, wasn't. All around them, oblivious to their diminutive presence, were giant aliens. The extraterrestrials looked exactly like earths greyhounds, except that they walked on two legs, wore chartreuse colored jumpsuits, and sported fedoras. Many were watching a live race between six human females taking place at that very moment, while others were viewing past races on overhead monitors. One large alien standing near them was staring at its ticket, shaking its head in disgust.
"Now," Remy said, "now I know why we were brought to this planet. Marie, were racing like dogs are trained to do back home. They're betting on us, dont you see?" Indeed, Fontenelle did see, but was unable to speak. Her visual and auditory senses were on overload, and she was in a state of shock.
Just then, the crowd barked loudly as win, place and show were posted. The sound was deafening. Close by, that canine from another worldtore its ticket in half, and with a pronounced growl threw it on the floor. Looking down, it spotted the real aliens, Remy and Marie."
