by Paul Teague
The lights come on. I am dazzled and confused for a moment, my eyes are used to the blackness and I’m now immersed in bright light. As my eyes struggle to adjust, I look up to see that I am no longer where I thought I was. This is still the long corridor, but it has somehow been transformed since I last saw it.
I don’t have time to question that. Three figures wearing virus-protection suits are running towards me and, as they do so, the small, red lights from the laser targeting on their weapons come to rest in unison on my forehead.
Part Two: Disconnected
Chapter One
Revelation
I have never had a single gun pointed directly at me before – let alone three – and it’s not something that I’d recommend. On TV, people wave guns around as if they’re toys. Right now, it’s pretty terrifying having these three red dots directly above my eyes and knowing that at any second – should a trigger be pulled – it’s all over for me. These aren’t regular guns though, they’re certainly weapons and they’re definitely modelled on guns. They belong to a science fiction world rather than the twenty-first century.
It doesn’t help that these guys are dressed in virus suits. I’m no expert, but I know that can’t be a good thing for me. They’re completely sealed off in these suits from head to toe. The suits are bright yellow, there’s no missing them, that’s for sure. As the three figures get closer I can see that I’m being approached by two women and a man, each looking deadly serious, intent but concerned. That’s a considerable improvement on hostile, but I’d still rather those laser dots were not trained directly on me. And what’s happened to this corridor?
Before the doors closed and the lights went out, this was just a gloomy, concrete-lined passageway. Was I unconscious for a while? Did I fall asleep? Did somebody move me? No, I can tell that this is the same place, the same long corridor, but before the lights went on, it completely changed. It’s as if a team from one of those TV decorating programmes popped in while the lights were off and gave the corridor a total makeover. Only this looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Let’s put it this way, it belongs more to the realms of imagination and fantasy than a Cold War bunker in Southern Scotland.
Either I passed out for a while, or this is what I thought was the vibration of the power coming back on. What I believed to be movement in the building must have been this internal transformation taking place. It’s quite incredible. Gone are the grubby, cold, concrete walls; they’ve now been replaced by some light, plastic or metallic, substance. If I had to describe it, I’d say it looked just like the interior of a space station. Not that I’ve ever seen one, mind you, but it’s what I’d imagine one would look like.
I should have concentrated on the three figures approaching me. One of the women has pressed the trigger on her weapon, a ray of some kind strikes my head and my thoughts stop dead.
The Missing Host
Needless to say, our family visit to the bunker was a huge success. I’ve seen it on adverts many times, but in this case the slogan was true. There really was ‘something for everyone’ here.
The scale of the bunker was astonishing. Rooms and corridors the size of a football pitch over two levels is quite some feat. When you’re walking along that rabbit warren of passageways – with no natural light – you understand what an amazing structure this is. And how much concrete they must have used. They certainly won’t have mixed that all by hand.
Had there been a nuclear attack, life could have continued here virtually as normal. Everybody would have had a job, of course, and the Control Room was where all activity would have been focused. We had a good hour looking around until Mum reminded us that we were due to meet our hosts in the café area on the top level. We’d been shushed quite a lot as we walked around the bunker.
Harriet and David loved the lengths of the corridors, and had used that as an opportunity to go running off into the distance, then charging back at Mum and Dad. I couldn’t be completely certain about this, but I’m pretty sure that I sensed a hostility from the other adults who were in the building. I didn’t know why, as this was a tourist attraction, it’s not as if we were in a church or someone’s office or anything like that. But I did wonder why were there no other children there except for us.
The Jigsaw Puzzle
The black car had been driving directly at us. There’s no mistaking something like that. I was equally sure that I had seen Nat moving. And I knew that Mum had been distracted by that man, the one who went to help Nat. Was he helping Nat? The ambulance workers accepted his authority, they knew exactly who he was. Or maybe they didn’t know him, but they understood and accepted his position. There was no challenge or argument from them, no resistance at all.
Three parts of a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit. As if they belonged somewhere else, pieces of another puzzle. I’d been troubled by this for three years now. But when you know that your twin is dead, when you’ve learned to accept that, because all the evidence confirms it, there’s not much that you can do about it.
Unresolved issues never go away. As humans, we need closure, we can’t just forget things. Life would be much easier if we could, and just delete a section of our memory that is no longer required or wanted. So although I couldn’t do anything about them, these memories troubled me.
But in the events that followed in the Secret Bunker, I was going to get all the answers I needed.
Chapter Two
Revival
I don’t recall anything between the weapon going off and waking up in the medical area. I’m not even certain as to how long I was out – asleep, knocked out, unconscious or whatever it was – but it must have at least been overnight because I feel pretty well rested after the gruelling events that I’ve experienced alone in that corridor. It doesn’t hurt, so that’s a relief. Whatever those weapons were, they weren’t there to hurt me. I’m not even sure if they were weapons now – seeing that I’m here, healthy and unhurt.
My mind is feeling a little fuzzy, no worse than having to wake up on any other day, mind you, but it quickly accelerates from zero to one hundred miles per hour. So many questions … what’s going on here? What happened to the bunker? Who were those people who came out to get me in the corridor? Why were they wearing virus suits? But most important of all, where is my family?
The room is well lit and extremely modern. It’s more hi-tech than anything I’ve seen before. This is a room for medical purposes, but it doesn’t look or feel anything like a hospital. There are data screens everywhere, similar to computers, yet not like anything I’ve ever seen in a regular hospital.
There is no sinister, metal, torture-like medical equipment set out on trays and I can’t see any containers or medicines. And there are no syringes anywhere, which is always a good thing. Everything in this room seems to happen electronically. I am alone, but I see that I am being monitored on a camera which is pointing directly at me.
I am comfortable, warm and not in any immediate danger, so in spite of all my questions, I can only assume that whatever is going on is not a threat to me. I also hope that it means Dad, Harriet and David must be on the receiving end of the same treatment. I’m desperate to see them, but it doesn’t appear as if that’s going to happen at the moment.
And what about Mum? If those guys came out into the corridor in virus-protection clothing, what the heck is going on beyond the bunker doors? And what does that mean for Mum who’s currently trapped outside?
Waiting
At the time, I’d assumed that there were no other children in the bunker because we were here during term time. But that only excluded families with school-age children. What about those with toddlers? It’s very unusual not to see any other children. But that wasn’t the only thing.
There didn’t seem to be any couples in the bunker. There were men and women of different ages, but none of them seemed to be together. It was as if it was an open day for childless and friendless people. There were plenty of people visiti
ng the bunker; I’d even go as far to say that it was quite busy.
But none of them seemed connected – and here’s the other thing that struck me. Most of them weren’t engaged in the exhibits in the same way that we were. It was almost as if they were just hanging around waiting for something to happen.
Control Room
The terminal was active now, and all was as it had been during the training. The location was different of course, much more modern than that grey and functional building. But this was exactly how they said it would be. He’d trained alone, in isolation. There were no colleagues to laugh and joke with, it was important that each person knew their role completely.
His workstation was an exact replica of what he’d had at the Orientation Centre. Everything exactly the same, including the framed photograph of his family. He’d been trained thoroughly and precisely, so he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. He understood that his instructions would arrive at the appointed time.
All was as it should be, except for the long delay activating the lighting. But he couldn’t help worrying about Trudie and the kids. They said that his family would be okay on the outside. It would only be for a limited time, they said. And he didn’t really have a choice. ‘No families!’ was the strict policy on this mission. So long as they were in their home when the darkness fell, they’d be okay.
Outside
The darkness began at 15:00 BST on 15 May. It was undetectable at first. Just like the weather had changed and the skies were going grey. Only this was a weather pattern that was happening globally. It had been preceded by high winds and extreme weather conditions.
It was the sort of weather that grounds planes and stops ships setting off to sea. This was a global phenomenon. The same weather forecast would have covered the entire world. It appeared that somebody wanted as much of the world as possible locked up safely at home.
Chapter Three
Kate
While I’m thinking about Mum and what might have happened to her, a screen in front of my bed jumps into life and positions itself directly in my view. At a perfect focal distance. Very clever. A face appears on the screen.
‘Hello Dan,’ says a very official looking lady on the screen, ‘I’m sorry if we worried you.’
‘That’s fine,’ I reply. ‘But what’s going on? And where is my family?’
‘Sorry Dan, there’s a lot to explain,’ she continues. ‘Would you prefer to get some food first, then I can brief you fully on what’s been happening?’
I’m really hungry and I’m never very good on an empty stomach. The thought of sitting down with some decent food and getting some answers is just what I need right now. But I want to know about my family first.
‘Where is Dad?’ I ask. ‘He must be here with David and Harriet still. Is this still the same bunker or have I been moved?’
‘Dan, your dad and your brother and sister are fine, but I’m afraid we can’t let you see them just yet,’ replies the lady. ‘You’re in a classified military area; we have to follow certain protocols, I’m afraid,’ she continues. ‘But let me reassure you, they’re absolutely fine.’
‘And my mum?’ I ask, relieved that at least I seem to be safe now, and things are looking more hopeful by the minute.
The face on the screen changes slightly. She tries to hide it, but I can see that she is suddenly concerned. I have caught her out; she wasn’t expecting that question.
‘Dan, were you with somebody else when you got caught in the bunker? Other than your brother and sister, and your dad?’
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘My mum.’ I’m concerned now; I don’t like the look on her face. She’s referring to somebody off-screen, as if she hopes that they’ll give her an answer. This doesn’t feel like it’s going to be good news.
‘Dan, there was nobody else inside the bunker when the doors closed, where was she?’ the woman asks me uneasily.
‘She was outside,’ I reply, ‘running towards the blast doors.’
‘Oh,’ is the only word that she utters.
Recruited
He was pretty surprised when the recruitment call came. He was ex-military. Struggling to return to civilian life. It’s a big change when you leave the Army. One minute you’re in a foreign country being shot at, verbally abused and fearing for your own life and the lives of your colleagues. The next you’ve been made redundant and your military life is over. The routines, the discipline, the friendship. It takes some adjusting to.
It had only been three weeks when the call came, but he was ready for it. A few trips to the job centre and he’d known that civilian life was going to be a struggle. How can you be a waiter in a pizza restaurant when only a few weeks ago you were dodging sniper bullets and trying not to step on a landmine? So he was eager to get involved when they contacted him.
It was almost as if they’d been waiting. When they asked him to sign up, he was desperate to get back in action, there was no way he was saying ‘no’. Trudie would understand. And at least nobody would be in danger. Or that’s certainly how it had looked at the time.
Anticipation
‘Uncomfortable’ is not a good word to use to describe the person who’s responsible for medical procedures, especially if they involve you and your body.
But the woman had not really had a choice. When they put it the way they did, what else could she do? If it was your family, wouldn’t you be able to make tough decisions if it meant them being okay? And this didn’t seem too bad, it certainly hadn’t hurt at all. She’d had more discomfort from a filling at the dentist. Only once you’d had a filling it was all over and done with. And if you went easy on the sweets and drinks, you could even avoid it happening again if you really wanted to.
But she had a feeling that sitting here in this office, having this thing – whatever it was – placed into her body … she had a feeling that this was the easy bit.
Orb
Although the darkness had the appearance of an accelerated nightfall at first, if viewed from space, it would have looked much more startling. This had nothing to do with the sun, or the light that is cast over the planet, depending on where you are in the world, at certain times of day. This blackness fell over the entire planet.
From space you would have seen no land, no sea, no mountains or clouds. You would just have observed those familiar forms slowly darkening, until completely obscured by blackness. Nothing – just an orb of darkness – and no signs of life.
Chapter Four
Normality
The woman is called Kate and although I can’t get over my concern about Mum – and my eagerness to see Dad, Harriet and David – I like her and I feel safe in her company. It’s the security of being with someone who knows what’s going on. It seems to be my best bet at the moment. I have so many questions to ask, but I’m trying to stay calm and sensible. I know that if it all comes pouring out the way I’d like it to, we’ll get nowhere.
I want to ask a thousand questions at once and get all the answers right now. Unfortunately, I know that won’t happen. Also, there’s a sense of urgency in this building. Nobody is saying anything; there are no alert signs or anything like that. It’s just the way that people are getting on with their work: they’ve been trained for this and they know exactly what they’re doing.
And here’s another funny thing: all of these people were in the bunker when we were visiting as a family. They are the same people who appeared to be surprised at our presence there. Twenty-four hours earlier they had seemed to be in the wrong place. Now it is quite clear that they were all in the bunker for the same reason. They have jobs to do here. I’m not even sure that they knew each other before this all happened. They’re working together, but there is no easy chat or sense of familiarity. They seem bound now by a common sense of purpose, by work and activities that they all understand. They have all been trained for this. They were expecting it to happen.
The Military Approach
He looked at the picture of
Trudie and the kids, then placed it to one side. As a military man, he knew how this worked. Focus on the job and get through it. He’d been away from the family for six months at a time before. They were used to it. They didn’t like it, of course. Who would? So one month away from home – and in the same country? Well that was a luxury compared to a tour of duty. The training had been military in nature, even though he knew it wasn’t Army.
It was probably safer to say that it was a ‘government’ job. But the routines were the same as the Army. The Official Secrets Act and all that. They wanted ex-military people because of the way they’d been trained. This was not a civilian job, it needed military discipline and routines. The biggest difference was that you weren’t a unit. In fact, he hadn’t met anybody connected with this mission yet.
First it was the training. In isolation. He’d felt bad about lying to Trudie, but she knew the score.
It was no different to having to keep quiet about military operations abroad. Every part of him wanted to share this stuff with her, after all they were husband and wife weren’t they? But he’d just told her he’d had to go away for a week to an assessment centre for a new job. She didn’t ask too many questions. Just the obvious ‘Where is it?’, ‘Who is it with?’ and ‘How long are you away?’ She was used to being on her own with the kids, it would just be the same as life in the Army again. Only without the constant worry and the fear that there might be a knock at the door from someone bearing bad news.
