Stuck

by Samantha Durante

  Just for a nanosecond, the whole world seemed to illuminate around Alessa in just the briefest flash of brilliant white light – it was so quick, she wasn’t even sure she’d really seen it.

  And then there was just static.

  Carlos, who had been looking down at the comm device, smacked it a couple times against his palm. “What’s up with this thing?” he grumbled.

  Alessa looked to Isaac, and noticed with alarm that he was doubled over in agony, the heels of his hands pressed into his eye sockets.

  “Isaac!” she called, bending and taking his face in her hands. He just moaned in response, still clutching at his eyes.

  She heard something drop into the grass behind her, maybe the comm device.

  “Alessa,” Carlos uttered, his voice eerily calm. “Alessa.”

  “What?” she spurted, not able to tear her eyes from Isaac.

  “Alessa.”

  “What?” Finally she stood up and glanced toward Carlos, who was standing there, frozen, pointing at something behind her, back in the direction of the base.

  She whipped around, and her mouth dropped.

  In the exact spot she’d glimpsed Raptor Defense Systems just moments before, now stood only a massive reddish-brown plume of debris and smoke, rising rapidly into the sky.

  Alessa gaped, her mind spinning, trying to process.

  She watched silent and still as the cloud stretched higher and wider across the clear blue sky, quickly taking on the distinctive shape of a mushroom.

  This isn’t possible, she thought, reeling. This isn’t possible.

  And then finally the sound waves caught up with the spectacle unfolding before her eyes, and her ears were assaulted by an impossibly loud BANG and a deafening ROAR that crescendoed and crescendoed and crescendoed until her entire being was just a blur of hot, white noise.

  She turned to Carlos, whose similarly disbelieving eyes locked with hers.

  She watched his lips – in slow motion, it felt – as he mouthed just one word through the earsplitting howl of the bomb.

  “Move.”

  13. INSTINCT

  The aerial view zoomed over the large corporate park, so seemingly innocuous with its grassy fields and patches of trees and sterile, structural artwork – but something more sinister lurked underneath. And before their eyes, the buildings transformed into fire and ash and dust, rendering the dangerous resistance seeking to overthrow Paragon’s sanctuary all but obsolete.

  “Whoa,” Alex uttered, his eyes – like everyone else’s in the common area – glued to the massive projection screen hung off the three-story warehouse shelves.

  “I did not see that coming,” Deion agreed under his breath.

  He glanced around the room and found his unit-mates with their mouths agape, entranced by the rolling clouds of debris dancing across the screen. He could only imagine how captivating this might be to someone whose drug-laden mental processing was near-overloaded just by routine activity.

  “Wow,” he heard someone whisper, breathless, behind him.

  Deion shook his head. “How did they film this?” he whispered to Alex.

  Alex shrugged. “Computer graphics?” he guessed.

  The episode cut to a pair of fatigue-clad military officers leaning against a familiar stone wall on a recognizable corner of Paragon’s compound. Alex elbowed Deion gently in the ribs and lifted a smug eyebrow.

  “Still standing, I see,” Deion murmured.

  Alex stretched back in his chair, gratified.

  A third officer approached the first two with urgency. “Our satellites have detected a disturbance at the rebel base.”

  “What kind of disturbance?”

  They followed their mate back towards the building.

  “An explosion. Might have been nuclear.”

  “Nuclear!” the first two officers exclaimed in unison.

  Alex slapped his knee. “I knew it!”

  They entered a command center, more of Alex’s handiwork.

  “You think the military dropped the bomb?” Deion speculated quietly.

  Alex shook his head. “No way.”

  “Then how?” Deion questioned.

  “Shh,” Alex hushed, pointing at the screen. The three officers had sat down at a table that was lined with a map Deion knew Alex had drawn.

  “We think they may have been working on a dirty bomb,” the actor continued. “Something must have gone wrong.”

  “Well I’ll say,” one of them scoffed.

  Deion considered for a moment. It was the rebels’ own bomb? But why would they want to destroy Paragon if they were trying to take control of the compound?

  He caught Alex’s eye and raised his shoulders in question. Alex brushed him off, and looking around the room, Deion realized no one else seemed to take issue with this plot point, either.

  “Were there survivors?” one of the officers asked.

  “We’re watching the feeds closely to find out.”

  “Good. These resistance fighters are dangerous – if even a few of them survived, we could still have trouble on our hands.”

  “The safety of Paragon’s citizens is our top priority, always. We’ll be vigilant.”

  And later, as the episode closed, it left them with a cliffhanger: a brief and foreboding flash of a satellite image showing two shadowy figures lurking among the trees outside the blast zone. The music blared a warning track, and then the shot faded to the credits.

  The audience sat stunned in their chairs for a few moments before anyone moved.

  Deion and Alex, as usual, waited until a couple of their unit-mates got up first before following the crowd headed back towards the bunks, hanging back in the group so as to discreetly discuss the episode.

  “A nuclear bomb, huh,” Alex wondered aloud.

  “Definitely a twist,” Deion concurred, “but I don’t know – seems a little far-fetched. Shouldn’t everyone know better by this point? Nuclear weapons are what got us into this whole mess.” He motioned at the world at large.

  “Yeah, but these rebels are nasty! They don’t care,” Alex argued. “Got what they deserved, I think.”

  Deion shook his head. “Something just seems… off. A lucky accident takes out all the enemies in one shot?”

  “Almost all,” Alex reminded him.

  “It’s too contrived,” Deion complained.

  His thoughts drifted off for a moment as they began climbing the ladder to the converted warehouse shelves that served as their sleeping units. He pulled his curtain aside and crawled to the pile of blankets that acted as his bed, waiting for Alex to catch up. “Then again, it is just a show – I guess it’s supposed to be contrived,” he admitted.

  Dismounting the ladder behind him, Alex said, “Hey, as long as they keep blowing things up, I’m not going to complain!”

  14. RETREAT

  Well, they were alive. But after three nights holed up in a dank cellar agonizing over the meaning of what exactly they’d witnessed in that fireball, Alessa wasn’t so sure that was actually a good thing.

  At Carlos’s direction, they’d all quickly taken shelter in an old ice house dug into the side of a hill. The lingering scent of ozone filling their nostrils, they’d sealed the door behind them, blotting out any trace of light leaking in the front wall with a thick layer of crumbling stone and mud dug up from the ruins of the walls and floor. Then they’d stripped off their contaminated clothes and tied them up in a garbage bag – which was swiftly and unceremoniously buried deep under the dirt floor – and used some soap and as little of their water supply as possible to rinse off their skin and hair before dressing.

  Luckily, the planned mission had required a few days’ worth of supplies, so they were fairly well equipped. And thanks to Carlos’s quick thinking, they’d only been outside for five minutes after the bomb went off, and seemed to have escaped any major damage from the radioactive fallout.

  Everyone except Alessa, that was.

  “How are you f
eeling, babe?” Isaac whispered, brushing a sweat-streaked strand of hair from her cool, clammy face.

  Her cheek was pressed against a cold stone in the floor, a balled up t-shirt shielding her nose from the noxious fumes wafting from the makeshift “potty tent” they’d set up in the far corner of the room. It wasn’t helping.

  “I need the bucket,” she choked out under her breath, before violently vomiting the days’ rations into the bowl that Isaac slid promptly under her barely-lifted chin.

  Someone on the other side of the room groaned.

  “Is it time to leave yet?” insisted a voice from the same vicinity.

  “Seriously, man,” another grumbled.

  “No,” Carlos stated with finality.

  “Who put you in charge?” another soldier challenged.

  Alicia stood up and eyed him fiercely. “The Commander did.”

  “The Commander’s dead,” the soldier argued back. “Along with everyone else.”

  “You don’t know that,” Alicia growled.

  The air clotted with tension, and Alessa knew that, like her, they were all thinking of their loved ones back in Raptor. An image of Janie flashed in her mind, and her stomach knotted.

  Carlos sighed. “Settle down, everyone. Listen. Let me explain something.”

  There was some mild grousing, but months of training eventually overpowered their recalcitrance, and the dozen fighters that represented all that was likely left of the resistance leaned back against the walls as Carlos waited for attention.

  “It’s too soon to leave. Did anyone try the thumb trick?”

  Carlos’s question was met by a roomful of blank stares.

  “Well, I did,” he said, holding up his thumb out in front of him. “The cloud in the distance was bigger than my thumb – that means we’re in the fallout zone.”

  “But we’ve been in here 72 hours already,” one of the female soldiers contended. “Isn’t that long enough?”

  “It might be,” Carlos conceded, “but it might not. Our location is about ten miles west of ground zero. The wind is generally east/southeast, but we don’t know that for sure. And if we’re wrong –”

  “Vomiting,” Alicia chimed in. “Seizures. Diarrhea, headache, fever, cognitive impairment, blistering. I’ve seen radiation poisoning, and it’s not pretty.”

  “And we don’t have the tools to treat it,” Carlos finished.

  Alessa could feel the eyes on her, but she just squeezed her own shut and willed it – all of it – away.

  She never should have followed the rebels to Raptor. She should have stuck to her plan, and been long gone from here, even if she had to drag Janie and Isaac kicking and screaming.

  Now she and Isaac had lost everything, because she hadn’t had the courage to go. Because she’d opted for vengeance over the security of her loved ones. She hated herself.

  “We’re no good to them if we’re dead,” Alicia added quietly.

  No one had the heart to say what they were all thinking – there almost certainly weren’t any survivors of that blast. But they clung to their last few shreds of hope like a life raft, and pinned their mouths closed to keep it from deflating.

  After a heavy moment, Carlos walked over to the stack of food and water they’d assembled from their packs. “We have enough provisions to last us at least another four nights. That will put us a week out from the blast, and if the conditions have been at all in our favor, any remaining radiation exposure should be mild. We’ll head straight back to Raptor to search.”

  “In the meantime,” Isaac piped up, his hand still on Alessa’s back, “we have to stick together. We have to take care of each other.” He brushed the hair away from the sticky heat of her neck. “And we have to be smart. What would Regina want us to do? What would they all want?”

  Alessa knew he was thinking of Jo, and Al, and Martha, and her throat clenched with emotion.

  “They’d want us to survive,” Alicia sighed in resignation.

  “And,” Carlos closed, “they’d want us to fight.”

  15. INVESTIGATION

  The opening theme began playing, and Deion stalked off, heading towards the bathrooms. He glanced once behind him to make sure no one was watching – sure enough, every face was glued to the projection screen – and abruptly detoured toward the back door stationed beyond the restrooms.

  It was only once he exited into the alley that he realized he was being followed.

  Deion stopped and leaned against the dumpster, fanning himself as if he’d just come out for a little air. He was building up the courage to turn around and face his stalker when a voice spoke.

  “I thought you were going to the can. What are you doing?”

  Deion exhaled in relief – it was Alex.

  “Keep it down,” Deion whispered, and motioned for Alex to follow.

  “We’re going to miss the episode!” Alex protested in a hiss, trailing after Deion nonetheless. “Where are we going anyway?” he called out quietly, struggling to keep up.

  Deion was moving quickly – he knew their time was limited. In less than 60 minutes, the diversion of the episode would end and they would be expected to head to their bunk.

  They did not have a good excuse to be out past curfew. Even walking the compound now was highly suspicious – no one ever missed the drama airings. That was what he was counting on.

  “I want to check something out,” Deion replied over his shoulder.

  Deion cut through a few more alleyways that spilled onto a wide, open road lined with trees. He stuck to the shadows under the canopy, heading towards the outskirts of the compound where a large, burnt out dome loomed in a field up ahead.

  “This is the set for the ghost drama,” Alex recognized. “Or what’s left of it, anyway. What are you looking for?”

  Deion stopped, hesitating as the cover of the trees ended abruptly. “I just… I have a feeling. I want to see if I can find anything.” He took a deep breath and jogged quickly towards the dome.

  Alex paced behind him, finally catching up – and catching his breath – as Deion stepped through a soot-covered hole in the side of the structure. “Find what?” Alex heaved after him.

  Inside it was mostly dark, the atmosphere controls deactivated, the only illumination provided by the lingering twilight pouring in through the various rips in the dome’s edifice. Deion grunted – he hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight.

  Alex exhaled noisily and suddenly a golden glow appeared in Deion’s peripheral vision. He turned around to find Alex holding a lantern.

  “Where’d that come from?” Deion questioned.

  “Props,” Alex replied, motioning to a pile of stuff in a wheelbarrow not far from where they’d entered.

  Deion nodded approvingly. “Thanks.” He snatched the lantern from Alex’s hand and marched up the hill toward the farmhouse.

  Exasperated, Alex followed close behind. “So are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

  “I don’t really know,” Deion admitted, slowing slightly. “There must be something here,” he added, mostly to himself.

  Alex shuffled through the dirt, grumbling under his breath. “You know this used to be a gorgeous field of crops? Crops I sowed with my own two hands!” he lamented. “I can’t believe they just let it all die.”

  “Well, the climate control is pretty trashed,” Deion reasoned, motioning at the gaping holes in the dome’s walls. “They said this was an accident, too, right?”

  “What do you mean, ‘too?’” Alex asked.

  “Like the bomb,” Deion answered.

  “Yeah, but that accident was part of the show. This was real life. Clearly.” Alex threw an incensed hand toward the ruined ground.

  “I wonder…” Deion replied, cryptically.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Alex questioned.

  “I don’t know.” He pushed open the front door to the farmhouse. “Yet.”

  Dust lined the floors and furniture, which no one had
bothered to cover.

  “Ugh!” Alex cried. “Look at this! All this work, destroyed!”

  “Shh,” Deion cautioned, holding up the lantern as he peered around the room.

  “Why?” Alex contested. “There’s no one here. It’s just props.”

  Just then something stirred in the parlor. Deion’s heart shot to his throat as a small, angry blur whipped past him towards the back of the house, yowling all the way.

  “Guess that damn cat is still here,” Alex shrugged.

  Deion sighed, the blood still pounding in his ears. “Come on.”

  Heading up the stairs, Deion led them through the study and bedrooms, and they even made a quick detour to the third floor bathroom. But, much to Deion’s disappointment, nothing stuck out as being anything other than ordinary, for an early 20th century farmhouse anyway.

  Returning to the foyer, a cloud of dust at their feet, Alex complained, “Are you satisfied yet? There’s nothing here but props, like I said.”

  Deion guessed he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t know what he was looking for – and they were running out of time. But something just felt off about this latest drama, and he couldn’t seem to shake it. He’d hoped this old set might provide some sort of clue.

  “Okay, okay,” Deion yielded. “Let’s just check the kitchen. Then we’ll go.”

  He paced down the long dark hall, a rustling sound pricking his ears from beyond the closed kitchen door. The cat must have somehow locked itself in.

  “Here, kitty kitty,” Deion called gently. “We’ll get you out of there.”

  But when Deion turned the knob and slowly pressed the door a few inches open, the glow of his lantern revealed something he could only have conjured in his nightmares.

  A strapping, sinewy creature with huge bulging eyes and alarmingly serrated teeth roared an unearthly growl and pounced toward them.

  Alex and Deion screamed in unison as the beast threw itself against the door, which closed and miraculously held, the wood shuddering against its immense power.

  Without a word, the two friends scrambled out of the farmhouse and sprinted back across the fields, their hearts hammering through their chests.