“They look so solemn,” Jill said. “Like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. I can’t stand it. They shouldn’t have to be going through this.”
“No one should,” Trevor said as he put his arms around her. “But—”
“I know. They’re alive. And I’m so thankful that’s true. So thankful that . . . that all of us are here and safe, at least for the time being.”
“We’ll be all right,” Larkin said. “Everything’s worked just like it was supposed to so far.”
Susan said, “Except for the thirty-three people who couldn’t get here in time.”
Larkin put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly as she dabbed at her eyes. The brain couldn’t really grasp the millions of people who had died today, but it could understand a number like thirty-three. Thirty-three people who had gotten up this morning to go about their lives and now were nothing more than ashes tossed around on a nuclear wind.
“Come on,” Larkin said quietly to his wife. “Let’s go on and let the kids get settled into their place.”
“That’s right,” Trevor said. “This is our place now. And for who knows how long . . .”
He and Jill went back into their quarters while Larkin and Susan walked on toward the entrance to Silo A at the end of the corridor. People were moving around, but with a little less than four hundred of them spread out through the two main corridors and the huge lower bunker, it didn’t seem crowded now. Once folks settled into their lives here, Larkin mused, it would be possible to go for long stretches of time without seeing very many of their new neighbors. He knew from talking to Moultrie and Deb that there would be activities to help maintain a sense of community and social connection, but those wouldn’t be mandatory. Larkin had always had to fight the hermit tendency in his own nature, but at least he had Susan to goad him into not being completely antisocial.
Larkin had both of their bags slung over his shoulders and carried the AR-15 in his left hand. The Colt 1911 was still holstered on his hip. All guns were supposed to be locked up in one of the vault rooms except for practicing or if they were needed for defending the project, but no one had asked him for the weapons yet. He supposed they would come around and do that later.
He wanted to talk to Moultrie about volunteering for the security force, too, although the idea of wearing one of those dorky red vests didn’t appeal to him that much.
Besides, red made a good target. Somebody needed to talk to Moultrie about that, and maybe advise him about a few other things, too. Larkin wasn’t going to be pushy about that, however. Anybody who made too many noises about the way things were done often wound up being put in charge, and he sure as hell didn’t want that.
They walked through the double doors at the end of the corridor. The entrance to Apartment 1 was directly in front of them. The elevator was to the left. Back in the days when this underground chamber had held a Nike Hercules missile ready for firing, that had been a service elevator, so it was fairly large. Susan pushed the button to open the door, and as they stepped in, Larkin said, “Jim and Beth Huddleston have the place right under us, you know.”
“Really?” The door slid closed as Susan went on, “I didn’t think Beth would ever agree to getting involved in something like this.”
“Jim did it behind her back.”
“He did?” Susan laughed hollowly. “I don’t mean to be offensive, but I never would have thought that he had the balls.”
“They’re lucky he did. Beth may come around to seeing it that way sooner or later. From the brief conversation I had with them earlier, she’s probably still waiting for the announcement that there really wasn’t a war and it was just some dirty, underhanded trick of the right-wingers instead.”
Susan sighed. “Do you think that now, down here, people will just forget about all that nonsense?”
“We can hope, baby. We can hope.”
Larkin wasn’t convinced of it, though. Some prejudices were so deeply ingrained that maybe not even a nuclear war could blast them out of existence.
Not without blasting humanity completely out of existence as well.
Today might have been a good start on that. It was too soon to tell.
The elevator stopped and let them out into the reception area on their level. Larkin set down the bug-out bags to get the chip-enabled key card from his wallet. Residents in the Hercules Project were able to lock their doors, although Moultrie and his security and main-tainence staff could get in wherever they needed to, of course. Larkin and Susan went into the apartment. Larkin thumbed a switch on the wall.
The indirect LED lighting sprang to life, revealing a small but comfortably furnished living area. A love seat, two armchairs, a desk. Some framed photographs and paintings they had brought from their house hung on the walls. A bathroom and storage area was to the right, kitchen and dining area straight ahead, and the bedroom and second bathroom to the left.
Larkin heeled the door closed behind them, set down their gear again, and put his arm around Susan’s shoulders as she stood there looking at the place.
“Home, sweet home,” he said.
Chapter 24
It had been early afternoon, a little after one o’clock, when Jim Huddleston had told Larkin about the North Koreans nuking Seoul. As incredible as it was to believe, not quite three hours had passed since then. Three hours that had changed the world forever.
Larkin and Susan were sitting on the love seat, leaning against each other, quietly drawing strength from the human contact, when the soft chime of the doorbell sounded.
“Are you expecting company?” Susan asked.
“Actually, yeah. Somebody’s probably come to tell us that we need to lock up any guns we brought in with us.”
“I remember you saying that nobody would ever take your guns away from you.”
Larkin frowned. “I know, and honestly, I don’t like it very much. But I understand. In such a confined area, under such high stress, Moultrie doesn’t want people running around armed. Besides, there’s a range down here, and we’re supposed to be able to get our guns whenever we want to practice.” He paused, then went on, “Actually, it would be a good idea to set up classes so that all the people who don’t know how to shoot can learn. There may come a day when we’re relying on everybody in here to defend the place.”
“From what? You heard the things Graham said about the damage and the radiation. There’s no one left up there, Patrick.”
“Probably not,” Larkin said. “But I wouldn’t want to bet my life on it. I especially don’t want to bet the lives of you and the kids on it.”
The doorbell chimed again. Larkin sighed, stood up, and went to answer it.
A tall, burly black man with graying hair smiled and nodded as Larkin opened the door. Larkin had never seen him before. The man wore one of the red security vests.
“Patrick Larkin?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
The man stuck out his right hand. “I’m Chuck Fisher. Graham asked me to come and collect you. We’re having a meeting in the Command Center.”
Larkin shook hands. Fisher had a strong grip, and he also had the brisk air of a military man that Larkin instinctively recognized. Larkin said, “Corps?”
“Army,” Fisher replied.
“Dogface, eh?”
“That’s right, jarhead.”
Susan had come up behind Larkin. She said, “You two aren’t going to fight, are you?”
Fisher smiled again and sketched a little salute to her. “Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Larkin. We’re on the same side. We’re just upholding a long tradition, that’s all.” He looked at Larkin again. “You need to bring any firearms you have in your quarters as well.”
“Yeah, I expected that.” Larkin had leaned the AR-15 against the wall near the door. He picked it up and said to Susan, “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here,” she said, and her tone made it clear enough that she didn’t have to add, Where else w
ould I be?
As Larkin and Fisher went up one level in the elevator, Larkin commented, “I’m surprised Moultrie didn’t just send somebody around to collect the guns. I didn’t figure I’d have to turn them in in person.”
“It’s not just about the guns,” Fisher said.
“Then what is it?”
“I’ll let Graham explain that.”
“You retired or active duty?”
“Retired. You?”
“Same.”
Fisher nodded. Larkin felt an instinctive liking for the guy. He came across as tough, no-nonsense, and not the type to waste time with unnecessary talk.
The Command Center was at the eastern end of the upper-level corridors, a huge complex of offices, hallways, and chambers that began between Silos C and D and extended deep under the rolling hills. The generators and air- and water-purification systems were located here, along with the medical and dental facilities, the pharmacy, the hydroponics gardens, even the big warehouse-like space where rabbit hutches and chicken coops were located.
Those animals were not pets. Over the coming months, they would be a vital supply of fresh food. The people entrusted with raising and caring for them had very important jobs. A great deal of nonperishable food had been stored down here, but the chickens and rabbits, along with the gardens, meant the difference between mere subsistence and a truly healthy diet.
The Command Center was also the beating heart of the Hercules Project, where staff members monitored the equipment that measured surface conditions, along with all the life-support systems. They also searched for any signs of life coming from the surface, any communication via Internet, wireless, broadcast, or amateur radio. All the surveillance cameras up top had been destroyed by the blast, so the project was blind . . . but not deaf.
Larkin was able to pick up on that when he and Fisher entered a large room reminiscent of news coverage he used to see on TV of Mission Control at NASA in Houston. Most of the big monitors on the walls were dark. The ones that were lit up displayed data, not visual images. Ranks of computers were set up on tables where men and women worked with them.
“Looks like you could launch a rocket from in here,” Larkin commented.
“There was a time you could,” Fisher said. “Or a missile, anyway. This was the original fire control center. Graham expanded and updated it, of course, and added a lot of equipment.” He pointed to a steel door. “The meeting room is over there.”
As they went in, Larkin saw ten men seated at a long conference table that looked like it should have been in some corporate boardroom. The place could have passed for one of those boardrooms, in fact, with its dark paneling and a few sedate landscapes hanging on the walls. All that was missing was a fancy portrait of the chairman of the board and maybe the company president. Graham Moultrie wasn’t really the sort to indulge in such vanity, though.
Adam Threadgill was one of the men at the table. He grinned when Larkin came in but didn’t say anything. The other men had the same sort of competent, experienced look to them.
Moultrie stood at the head of the table with his hands resting on the back of the leather-upholstered swivel chair positioned there. He said, “Come on in, Patrick. You’re the last of the men I’ve summoned here right now. You can put your rifle over there.”
He nodded toward a smaller table next to the wall. Several rifles lay there already, so Larkin assumed they had been brought in by the other men. As he added the AR-15 to the collection, he said, “What about my Colt?”
“Keep it for now,” Moultrie said.
Larkin wasn’t going to argue with that. Even though he didn’t expect to need the .45 down here in the bunker, the whole experience was nerve-wracking enough that it felt good to have the gun on his hip.
“Have a seat,” Moultrie went on. Larkin took an empty chair diagonally across from Threadgill. Moultrie stepped away from the head of the table and walked along it as he continued, “I would have gotten around to talking to all of you in the near future, if events hadn’t unfolded the way they have. I’ve been putting together my security force slowly and carefully, making sure that I have just the right personnel. You men will complete that force, if you agree to take part.”
This came as no surprise to Larkin. In fact, it was what he’d expected as soon as Chuck Fisher showed up at his door and told him about the meeting.
“Every man in here is experienced, either in law enforcement or the military. You’ve dealt with trouble. You’ve dealt with bad actors. You’ve put your life on the line to protect others. That’s the sort of man I want responsible for the safety of the Hercules Project.” Moultrie gestured toward the man standing at the other end of the table. “Chuck Fisher is the director of this group. Chuck was an Army Ranger and since retiring has worked as a private contractor on a number of high-risk operations. He’s an old friend and the top man at what he does.”
So Fisher was a mercenary, Larkin thought. He had known men who wanted to get into that line of work. Some were as solid as could be, others . . . not so much. Fisher struck him as the solid sort, which was good.
“Of course, you don’t have to accept appointment to this force. It’s not mandatory, and needless to say, the job doesn’t pay anything.” Moultrie smiled. “Not financially, anyway. You do get the satisfaction of knowing that you’re helping keep everyone safe, and you get more leeway in being able to have firearms in your possession. Right now, people are too stunned by what’s happened today to cause any trouble, but starting immediately, I want all of you to be armed whenever you’re on duty—and you need to have a gun pretty handy when you’re not on duty, too. Because we’re all going to be on call, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Understood?”
Nods came from the men around the table. Moultrie had started pacing back and forth as he spoke, but now he paused and rested a hand on his security chief’s shoulder.
“Chuck will be in charge of setting up duty shifts. In this area, he’s my second-in-command. He’ll get together with all of you and make sure you know the schedule. I’m hoping you’ll all see fit to join this effort, but like I said, it’s up to you and if you choose not to, it won’t be a problem. Anyone who doesn’t want to be part of the security force can go ahead and return to your quarters now.”
None of the men at the table stood up.
Moultrie grinned and went on, “That’s just the response I was hoping for. But I’d understand anybody who didn’t want to throw in with us right now. It’s been . . . a bad day. Everyone is shaken up. Horrified. Some have lost loved ones. I think it’s important for us all to settle into our new routines as quickly as possible, but folks who have been through what we’ve been through today . . . well, you’ve got to give ’em a little leeway.” He rubbed his hands together briskly, looked around the table again, and asked, “Any questions?”
“Not a question, really, but a comment,” Larkin said. “I look around the room, and one thing strikes me right away.”
“Go ahead, Patrick. I’m very interested.”
“You don’t have any women here. Having the security force be a boys’ club is gonna cause trouble somewhere along the way.”
Chuck Fisher frowned and said, “This is a chance to get rid of those politically correct notions that never really worked but were forced on us anyway.”
“But, as a matter of fact,” Moultrie added, “there are a couple of female members of the security force. They’re on duty now. We didn’t set out to exclude females, but you’ve got to work with the best personnel you have available.”
Larkin nodded and said, “In that case, you ought to talk to my daughter Jill. She was out on the gun range with me when she was in elementary school, and she’s as good a shot as I am. I raised her to be able to kick my ass, too.” He smiled. “She can’t quite do that, mind you, but she can give it a good try. Most guys, she could put on the ground without much trouble.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Moultrie said. He looked at Fis
her. “Chuck, you’ll talk to Mrs. Sinclair?”
“Sure,” Fisher agreed. “If she doesn’t have any military or law enforcement experience, though, I’d have to see enough to be sure she can handle herself.”
“She’s a pharmacist,” Larkin said dryly, “but I don’t think she’ll disappoint you.”
Moultrie nodded and said, “Fine. If any of you know anyone else you think would be a good candidate, talk to me or Chuck. We want things to run smoothly down here.” He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t have to tell you men that it’s going to be rough, even if everything works just like it’s supposed to. Put this many people in close quarters, throw in all the emotional turmoil they’re going through, and there’s going to be trouble sooner or later. All of you saw the incident earlier with Mrs. Ruskin.”
“Yeah, how’s she doin’?” Threadgill asked.
“She’s fine. We had to give her a sedative for her own protection. She’s in her quarters now, resting. There’s a staff member with her to help her in case she needs anything.”
A tiny frown creased Larkin’s forehead. Moultrie’s response sounded reasonable enough on the surface, but it could also be interpreted to mean that Mrs. Ruskin had been drugged to shut her up and locked in her quarters with a guard on her. That was probably stretching things and not giving Moultrie the benefit of the doubt, but at the same time, somebody like Beth Huddleston, with her paranoia, might see it that way.
Susan might, too, Larkin realized, and that thought was even more disturbing.
So far, though, he had no reason to suspect Graham Moultrie of anything except wanting to save humanity.
The Doomsday Bunker Page 15
