by J D Stone
After looking both ways up the road, he walked over to the logs and, without struggling, dragged them to the side. He then moved behind the minivan and lifted a hollowed-out tree stump.
Under the stump was a wheeled hand-crank attached to a chain. Ben cranked the wheel, and the minivan began to slide with a soft creak on a hidden track as if on ice.
Within the minute, the minivan was moved to the side, revealing a two-wheel track that dipped and turned deep into the shadows of the grove.
As he got back into the car, he turned around to check on the stranger, who was sitting quietly in the back seat, blindfolded.
“I think he’s asleep,” Danna said softly, clutching both her knife and the gun.
Indeed, the stranger’s head was fully resting on the back seat, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. By the looks of him, he mustn’t have slept for days.
Ben pulled the car through the gate just past the minivan and stopped to reset the hidden cover. Two minutes later, after scanning the road one last time, he steered onto the pitted track and descended into the woods.
The old trees hung low over the track, and their gnarled branches twisted together to create a murky tunnel that appeared to be leading to nowhere. This place always gave Ben the creeps. His dad said the grove formed a natural barrier to prevent an organized ground attack, particularly from large assault vehicles and troop transports.
Cameron used to scoff at their dad’s schemes. But to Ben, who was seven-years-old when his father started to build the retreat, such defenses were critical to keeping the nasty people out — whoever they were.
He glanced at Danna, who was watching the Stranger in the rear-view mirror. She never took chances.
“It was stupid of us to use the flashlights,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I know,” Ben said, after a pause. “Live and learn.”
“Except Ron didn’t get to live.”
“That’s not on us, Danna.” He gazed into her glistening dark eyes. “Ron’s death is not on us. He had his orders; he didn’t follow them.”
Ben knew he was trying to convince himself just as he was telling it to Danna.
“Yeah, but if we never used those flashlights, then maybe that vagabond would have never shown up, and Ron wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
“Ron isn’t the first one that we lost. You know that.”
Danna pursed her lips and looked out the window.
Several hundred feet past the gate, the track ran beside a small, dried-up creek that wound through the middle of the grove. It followed the creek northward into the hills, curving and twisting, until it finally smoothed out and descended into a narrow ravine bound on both sides by abrupt cliffs fifty feet high.
After another half-mile, the track sloped into a flat, wide basin, about the length of three football fields and surrounded by sheer cliffs of various shades of gray, brown, and burnt orange. The flatland was scattered with cactus, tufts of wild grasses, and stunted, shriveled trees spurned by the rain gods.
At the far end of the basin loomed an isolated, otherworldly small mountain several hundred feet high. The mountain face overlooking the basin was a two-hundred-foot vertical wall that dropped and crumbled into a steep mound of broken basalt.
The mountain was part of a volcanic vent created millions of years ago when lava had hardened inside the vent and caused an extreme build-up of trapped magma, which triggered a massive eruption that blew off half of the vent.
The Spanish explorers who first discovered the area called it la montaña embrujada — the haunted mountain.
As Ben drove out of the grove, two grim-faced teens stepped out from nowhere. They were both wearing ghillie suits — camouflage garments that were covered by scraps of sand-colored material to blend in with the environment — and armed with semi-automatic rifles.
One guard stepped in front of the car as it came to a stop, and the other stood next to the driver’s side door. Both leveled their rifles at Ben and Danna.
“Stop!” one of them called out sharply. Ben recognized the guard: Marcelo Apolito, his classmate.
The Stranger stirred in the back seat, awakened by the sound of the guard’s voice.
Ben rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “Ben, Danna, and one pilgrim,” he said, stony-faced. “Danna is injured and the pilgrim is unarmed and secured.”
“Driver, please exit the vehicle with your hands up and take two steps forward to be recognized.”
Ben followed the order.
After circling the car, the other guard, Lena Martin, another classmate of Ben’s, walked up to him and whispered, “Clipboard.”
“Consequence,” Ben whispered back.
“Supply run password is correct; proceed slowly.”
Marcelo waved them through.
Ben turned into the basin. Past the sentry was a vast field of planted cactus and thorn bushes. This area was a funneling defense system — natural barriers like cactus and thick brush would “funnel” attackers into a clear line of fire for the defenders. In this case, the cactus field made it impossible to enter the basin except through the track or by descending the steep cliffs by rope.
Hidden among the cacti were several “spider holes,” shoulder-deep dug outs covered by a camouflage lids, where, in the event of an assault, two defenders could stand and fire.
Further, trip flares were spaced every fifty feet; one step would shoot off a blazing flare two hundred feet into the air, all but eliminating a surprise attack. At first, the flares were a problem because deer and other animals would set them off unexpectedly in the middle of the night; but in the past six months most of the wildlife either had been eaten or had fled into the high deserts to die.
The retreat maintained two observation posts — OPs, as the group called them. Located at the highest points on the basin’s western and eastern cliffs, they commanded a high ground and clear line of fire while staying protected from enemy sniper fire.
The OPs were rectangular holes, six feet deep and three feet wide. Inside, the defenders had the comfort and freedom to sit, stand, and shoot. Two feet to the front and sides of the hole were thick oak logs which formed a bullet-proof protective wall with openings cut in them through which to shoot.
On top of and across the OPs were more thick logs sealed with rain-proof material and covered with dirt and sand to provide shelter from the elements and protection from grenade or artillery fire.
To communicate with the retreat, the OPs were equipped with TA-1 military field telephones, which had built-in, battery-free pump action generators. For visuals, the posts were illuminated by two angle head flashlights with red, double-thick lens filters and armored binoculars. Most importantly, each post was equipped with a .50 caliber long-range sniper rifle that could pick off any intruder from any part of the basin.
As part of the duty schedule, each post was manned 24/7, with group members alternating every four hours. To prevent grumbling, those who were assigned the night shift in the OPs got an extra ration at dinner time.
The third and final lookout was near the mountain’s summit, and it was accessible by a short climb aided by ropes and ladders. On cloudless days, the lookout offered visibility up to sixty miles in every direction, including the city, forty miles to the west, and behind it, that deep blue horizon.
For the first few sunsets after they had arrived at the retreat, Ben and Cameron watched as human civilization burned in mayhem while the machines and the deadheads brought millions of people to their apocalypse. But they were far away. For now.
The retreat itself was partially constructed on the north side of the mountain thirty feet above the basin floor. Like an old adobe home, the walls were mixed from the local earth, making the building blend in seamlessly with the landscape. It was protected by a six-foot perimeter wall, which contained several viewing holes that could fit a rifle for protected fire. Only six windows were visible from the outside, all of them secured by one-inch ste
el plates that could open to allow in fresh air and sunlight.
The only way up to the building was a small steel staircase, carved and bolted into the side of the mountain and undetectable from the ground. The staircase ended at a two-inch titanium-alloyed door.
While seemingly small from the outside, the interior of the retreat was cavernous. The volcanic vent had bored several small lava caves, known as lava tubes, inside the mountain, particularly in the northwest side.
Ben’s father discovered that the three largest lava tubes were stacked above each other, so he designed the retreat to have three levels joined by several shafts and fitted with light ducts for sunlight to shine deep into the lower levels.
Unlike the rest of the known world, the retreat maintained electricity after the Surge. Ben’s father designed the building as a giant Faraday cage, capable of repelling electromagnetic charges by absorbing and distributing the charge around the cage's steel exterior. Thus, the cage kept the charges from frying the electronics; and when the EMP hit, the retreat was spared from the carnage except for the replaceable telecom equipment in the OPs.
To generate power for the retreat, a well was drilled into a geothermal reservoir of hot water one hundred feet into the mountain. Pressured steam was funneled into a small turbine, which generated an unlimited supply of electricity.
In case the turbines failed, a colossal lithium air powered generator served as a backup, and the last resort was a one-thousand-gallon gasoline tank, which also fueled the vehicles.
The cave walls were naturally insulated to keep a constant inside temperature of 65 to 70 degrees year-round. To regulate the moisture in the air, which is a common problem with cave dwellings, Ben’s father installed several large dehumidifiers, which in turn produced more than one hundred gallons of water per day to supply the retreat’s water needs.
There were three primary levels to the retreat, all connected by an elevator shaft and several ladder cases with fire poles. The top level, L1, was the only level that had windows; and with its sweeping views of the basin, it served as the retreat’s “command center” — or OPSEC room.
L1 also housed the retreat’s main armory. Ben knew the armory’s weapon cache by heart: ten Ruger 10/22 autoloading rifles; five Remington 870 Special Purpose Marine Magnum shotguns; five Bushmaster Carbon 15 M4 Carbine semi-automatic rifles; for the smaller and lighter people of the group, ten Kahr PM9 handguns; three Smith & Wesson Model 629 revolvers; and finally, two McMillan TAC-50 long-range sniper rifles. In addition, all group leaders and those on patrol carried SIG Sauer P226 handguns. To round it out, the armory carried an array of silencers, scopes, night vision goggles, and two cases of M67 grenades.
L2 was the living quarters, which housed a small kitchen; a common area; four bedrooms, two for the boys and two for the girls, with bunks and extra fold-up cots as needed; two small bathrooms, one for the boys and one for the girls; and two utility rooms, one of which served as the retreat’s infirmary.
Everything was military grade — sparse, metal, and grim. No doubt the quarters were tight, but everyone had a job to do, so only at nighttime did it get a bit too cramped.
Except for those who had patrol or OP duty, the group always ate dinner together. Afterward, they would spend time playing cards or throwing darts. Some group members learned chess for the first time; others held marathon Scrabble tournaments, and a few discovered the lost joy of reading.
Boredom was perhaps their greatest day-to-day challenge, which is why everyone had jobs to do at all times and why spending time together as a group was mandated. In fact, Ben’s dad warned that boredom leads to bad decisions or depression, both of which pose serious internal threats to a functioning team.
L3, the lowest level, housed the supply rooms, another utility room, and the garage. The largest supply room was the green room, twenty by thirty feet, which held the indoor hydroponic vegetable garden. Under bright lights, the group grew tomatoes, carrots, broccoli, spinach, and a variety of herbs. There was even a small lemon tree.
The garden wasn’t designed to support more than eight-to-ten people, so the fresh vegetable rations were meager, but somehow they’d been making it work. Ben often pushed this part out of his mind, hoping the day would never come when someone would say the dreaded words: We’re low on food.
L3 also housed the food pantry. Along with thousands of canned food items, including soup, meat, condensed milk, and fruit, the pantry was stocked with dozens of five-gallon buckets of wheat, oats, corn, and rice. Including the food brought from Danna’s family’s retreat, the group would be able to feed fifteen people for nine to ten years.
The garage was the mechanical heart of the retreat. In addition to an old Volvo station wagon and the van, it kept a John Deere XUV Gator, two Honda Rangers ATVs, the robotics workshop, a small armory, and Ben’s power suit, HULC. The Subaru Forester, which Ben and Danna used for the supply run, would now be marked as a loss.
Ben’s father sunk his life’s fortune into building the retreat. The family used to call it Rockburg, after the underground home in Swiss Family Robinson. But it was more than that: it was a fortress. Fire resistant, earthquake proof, and virtually self-sustainable. Ben’s father built the retreat to be impregnable. And so far it had been.
Ben stopped the car ten feet in front of the flattest wall of the mountain. The retreat loomed twenty feet to his left and thirty feet up. Once again, a camouflaged guard emerged from a hidden spot and yanked several shrub trees to the side, revealing a large, fortified door — the entrance to L3.
The door opened, sending a faint cloud of dust in the air. Two smallish armed guards stood inside an expansive, dimly lit garage, waving them in. Ben pulled in, stopped the car, and let out a deep breath.
The two guards, Joey and Cody, opened the back door, helped the Stranger out of the car, and sat him down on the garage floor.
Katie Chiang, the group’s medic, was already at Danna’s side. “Did you get everything I put on the list?” she asked.
“I think so,” Ben replied as he got out of the car. He paused. “We were a little rushed at the end.”
“Where’s Ron?” Joey asked.
Ben hefted the bags out of the car. “Didn’t make it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Revelation
LATER THAT MORNING, the group leaders gathered in the OPSEC room. The room was long and narrow with a low-slung ceiling; one main wall was hewn rock, the other was lined with control panels and television monitors and tacked with 3D maps of the basin and the surrounding area.
Ben sat at the rectangular table in the middle of the room next to Tomás, his best friend since elementary school and the retreat’s tactical officer, and Aiden, who handled logistics.
Ben rubbed his face. He hated these “debriefs.” After a month or so, he concluded that being a leader wasn’t his thing, but he wasn’t a follower either. Maybe somewhere in the middle. Or maybe not on that spectrum at all. A black sheep? Hardly. He didn’t know.
He’d only been at Sierra Madre for two weeks before the Surge hit. Still the new kid, still trying to figure out his place in the pecking order. Then It happened. And suddenly kids who never even said hi to him are piled into his family van and the next thing he knows, he’s in charge of guys that are bigger and older than him and girls who probably think he’s a loser.
They never say anything, but he wonders what they think of him. Whether they really respect him or trust in him. Whether they talk behind his back and laugh about how he’s weak or stupid.
For their entire lives, they were used to being told what to do, what to say, and how to act. Then suddenly the world collapses and that’s all gone. But it hasn’t been a year-long party: after the first couple of deaths, they realized that a world without adults had its downsides. And they still weren’t necessarily free.
Not as free as Ben, though. In reality, he can do whatever he wants. After all, it’s his place. His family’s place, that is. He doesn’t rub
it in, but they actually have to follow his orders. If not his orders, then at least Cameron’s.
But Cameron’s been gone. Ben’s the boss. He hates it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not here. Not in this world. It’s not his fault his family prepared for the end of the world.
And what if someone stops listening to both of them? Would he and Cameron have to kick that person out? He hadn’t quite figured out what to do if that ever happened.
Ben looked up as Danna walked in, followed by Katie.
“Where’s Alex?” Aiden asked, sitting up. He was the tallest and burliest member of the group, a stereotypical jock: blonde, tightly curled hair, chiseled jaw, Roman nose, and ears pulled close to his square head. True to form, Aiden was Sierra Madre’s star football player and the only sophomore in school history to be voted captain of the varsity football team.
“How am I supposed to know?” Danna replied sharply, holding up her bandaged forearms. She also had a small Band-Aid above her left eye.
“You were part of the team,” Aiden pressed. “We all need to keep an eye on each other, especially when we’re out there.”
Danna’s eyes flashed. “At least I was out there,” she hissed.
Ben smiled inside as Aiden slouched ever so slightly in his chair.
“I think the issue is whether Alex followed the plan,” Tomás asked, his eyebrows scrunching in thought.
Tomás was short and gangly, with deep caramel skin that was unhealthily pale, as if he’d never spent more than two hours outside in his life, and a matted mop of wavy brown hair fell over his narrow and angular face. His dark, intelligent eyes were quick, although he’d often stare at a single object for long periods of time while he was lost in thought in his “alternate dimension.” Snapping one’s fingers in front of Tomás’ face was a running joke at the retreat.
Tomás was the smartest kid at their school. Although he was a freshman, he could’ve gotten his college degree before his driver’s license. He never made a big show of his intelligence. Except when someone at school would hand him a Rubik’s Cube, then a crowd of kids would huddle around him and watch him solve it in seconds. Afterward, he’d just smile and give it back as if it were nothing.
