Shelter

by C A Bird

  Karl made it to the elevator and managed to punch the proper button for the second floor. He was intermittently blacking out and regaining consciousness as he bounced off the walls on his way to his room. He opened the door and entered an apartment, stumbling forward to the hallway where he put his drink, and the bottle, on the counter before falling to his knees in front of the john and retching violently. Sweating profusely, he leaned against the toilet for a while, with his head resting on the seat. When he thought he could manage it he climbed to his feet and staggered back to the living area.

  Through bleary eyes he glanced around the room. “Goddamn forest isn’t mine.” He stood swaying, squinting at the print over the couch. His alcohol soaked brain realized he was in the wrong apartment and he re-entered the hallway, careening down the hall in search of home.

  October 26, 2:30 p.m.

  Mark and Lori perched on a rock in a dimly lit cave that overlooked a reservoir of black water. The cave was sufficiently illuminated to keep anyone from accidentally stumbling into the survivor’s source of drinking water, but the far reaches were lost in shadow. The reservoir, slightly irregular in shape and approximately one hundred feet on each side, extended into the mountain on the third, or bottom, level of the shelter. Across the water on the left side of the cave, Mark barely made out the hulking outline of the filtering equipment, which wouldn’t be used until the radioactivity diminished. He could just make out the pump for the well, which would be used if necessary, when the level of water in the reservoir dropped below a predetermined volume. Theoretically the water in the underground water table wouldn’t be contaminated by ground water for months. The reservoir was ten feet deep and held close to seven hundred and fifty thousand gallons of chlorinated water, enough to provide 25 gallons per person, including the animals, per day for at least two months. A secondary reservoir just off the top level, the only cave accessible from the top two floors, contained non-chlorinated water for the hydroponic banks and cultivated areas, and a second tank where water was pumped from the main reservoir to allow for gravity distribution to the shelter.

  The temperature at this level was much cooler than the main shelter and even though Mark and Lori were still warm from their run, he knew they would get chilled if they remained immobile for too long. They sat huddled together on the flat rock they had shared on numerous other occasions.

  He’d come to treasure these moments he spent with Lori, talking about absolutely everything, reminiscing about the old days and speculating what the world outside might be like now, and in the future. Usually they steered their conversation away from personal topics, but today Mark could no longer contain the pain of losing his sister. He explained to Lori about the phone call, how he begged Jill to come to Albuquerque and only now, in opening his heart about that horrible day, did he realize how the guilt had tortured him for leaving the airport without her. From the very beginning, he felt he should have waited for them, even if it meant his own death. Everything had just happened so quickly.

  “Mark, you have to think about the fact that you gave them a chance to be saved. It wasn’t your fault they didn’t make it in time. From what you’ve told me you never would have found them in that mob and you would have died too.” She reached over and gently laid her arm across his shoulder. Although she too had left someone behind she understood that the situation and the feelings were entirely different.

  Lori sensed that although Mark seemed to have it totally together, he was in reality a very lonely man. He’d spent his entire adult life in one meaningless relationship after another, always waiting for Chris to come to her senses and realize they were meant to be together forever. She wondered how long he was willing to wait.

  He leaned his head over against hers, his eyes closed. “I thought I had time to go back. I just didn’t believe the bombs were really coming.” He could feel the tears on his cheeks but this time he wasn’t embarrassed.

  Trying to comfort him she said, “If they had stayed in Dallas they would have been exposed to the tremendous radiation we’ve registered on the instruments. In Albuquerque, at least it was quick.”

  She slipped her arms around him and held him tightly in this dark private place, the only signs of his grief, wet tears against her neck.

  October 26, 4:20 p.m.

  “Hi, Sandi, come on in.” Dr. Jim was frowning over a tabletop chemistry analyzer wondering why his results weren’t in control. “Damn thing! Wish we had a Med Tech so I could be sure these results are accurate.” He glanced up, “It’s about time you came to see me young lady. I’ve been expecting you for two months. I was getting ready to come drag you in. Let’s go in here.” He indicated an examining room down a short hallway.

  He patted an exam table and she perched on the end. “How far along do you think you are?” He asked.

  “My last period was mid-July so I guess about three months.” She seemed very nervous. Jim thought there was more to this story than a pregnancy. He sat on a stool next to her.

  “Have you told Pete?”

  “No.” She started to cry and he handed her a tissue. “The baby isn’t his. I got pregnant by my old boyfriend just after I met Pete. I know when he finds out he won’t want anything more to do with me. He’s been hanging around with some of the other girls. Please don’t say anything to anybody, okay? I need time to decide how to tell him.”

  Jim had seen the young adults all hanging around together. These were unusual circumstances and people had a need to be together. He didn’t think Pete was being overly attentive to these other women and Jim had seen the way Pete looked at Sandi.

  “I promise, but I think you need to tell him so you both can decide what to do. I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about. Pete’s a very fine young man with his head screwed on straight. I could be wrong, but I think he’ll be just fine about it. He cares about you a lot”. He stood and fetched a gown, “Here, put this on and I’ll check you out.”

  He went back to his analyzer and got out the manual to see if he could troubleshoot it. Checking the expiration dates of the reagents, he realized that some of them were becoming short-dated. He knew manufacturers made the dates shorter than necessary to be on the safe side, nevertheless, they would be running out of some of materials in a few weeks.

  The population of the shelter had been in fairly good shape physically and the overall health status was improving. Most of the overweight residents had lost a few pounds and it was amazing how many people were using the gym. It had become one of the social spots of the shelter, along with the pub, the church and the multipurpose room. Of course, everyone had to give up smoking immediately upon descending into the shelter two months ago. He and Aaron had done physicals on about half of the residents including most of the children and had brought the kids’ immunizations up to date. Three of the residents were diabetic, but only one, Jack Iverson, needed insulin. He had come to the shelter with someone else. They had enough insulin for about a year. After that, if they didn’t find more supplies or learn how to synthesize it, Jack would be in trouble. Jim often wondered if Will had evaluated the individuals for chronic diseases before sending them devices since there seemed to be so few with chronic problems. A dozen residents had hypertension but since many of them had been overweight they were getting better with diet and exercise.

  Vernon Richenour had come to him a month ago and asked him to put out a bulletin telling everyone to come have a physical and insisting that they be tested for infectious diseases, especially HIV. Jim had laughed at him. He made it clear to Vernon that he took his orders from Will Hargraves and he would never force anyone to have testing they didn’t want. Vernon had been furious and left Jim’s office insisting that he would ensure that it got done. He hadn’t been back and was distant whenever they’d met, which was often. With a small population in a confined space individuals ran into each other almost daily.

  He went back to the examining room to check on his first pre-natal patient since
they’d entered their new home.

  October 26, 8:40 p.m.

  “What was your alternative, dear?” Mrs. Claret hugged Kevin as she prepared to leave Lori’s apartment after babysitting the children, allowing Lori to attend the concert.

  “I’ve asked myself that same question a thousand times.” Lori replied. “You kids go play in your room.” She patted Kevin’s butt as he ran by.

  “I honestly don’t miss him much. Sometimes I think I should have told him about the device and brought him with us, but life would have been just as miserable as it was before the war. I don’t think I could have endured the abuse any longer.”

  “Was the device sent to you or to him?” Mrs. Claret sat down on the sofa, realizing Lori finally needed to discuss this situation further. She had been reticent to talk about it ever since they’d arrived in the shelter. When she returned to the apartment after spending the evening with Mark, and Kevin had mentioned his daddy, she seemed to need to explain to Faye what had happened that fateful day.

  “My father sent it to me. I only received it the morning before it was activated. John never knew about it.” Lori had had an emotional day, comforting Mark earlier in the afternoon, as he poured out his feelings in the semi-darkness of the reservoir cave. Then they attended a moving performance by the Cavern String Quartet. She started to cry, finally relieving the tension of the past two months. “Oh Mrs. Claret, you have no concept of how difficult life has been living with someone like him. The worst part was never knowing what kind of mood he would be in, how he would react to what you said or what you did. One minute he would be nice, and the next, he would turn into a veritable monster. I still can’t get over the guilty feeling, though, of leaving him to die.”

  “You didn’t do anything to him, dear. Are you responsible for the war?”

  “Of course not, but I left him there.”

  “Precisely. What you did was leave your husband. It sounds to me that you would have done it eventually. It just happened that after you left him there was a nuclear war and I don’t see how you can blame yourself for that. I know you feel, that as spouses, it was your responsibility to care for each other, but it sounds to me that he failed in that responsibility long before you did. The device was yours. Your obligation was to your wonderful little ones. None of us knows exactly what the future will bring, dear, but at least they, and you, will now have the opportunity to find out.” Lori was sobbing now and Mrs. Claret intuitively knew it was time to leave and let her finish working it out on her own. “You go ahead and cry it out, dear, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Mrs. Claret,” Lori managed through her tears.

  As Faye walked down the hallway, Karl Dohner stumbled toward her, staggering from one side to the other. As he approached, he became aware of her and swung wide to avoid a physical confrontation, managing a feeble wave in her direction as he looked down at her with his bloodshot eyes. He smelled of sour whiskey and vomit. She considered helping him to his room but reconsidered. After all, there really wasn’t much chance of his getting lost. She turned down the corridor leading to her room.

  The minute she entered the apartment the smell of vomit assailed her and she immediately realized Karl must have entered the wrong apartment on his way home. Maybe she should have helped him after all. She started to go back out the door when she froze, her eyes resting on a dark shape sitting on the counter across from the bathroom.

  “Oh God. No.” She murmured aloud, her voice cracking, her stomach lurching at the sight of the bottle of whiskey beckoning her, enticing her. She wanted to flee, tried to force herself to turn and run from that place, from the demon that threatened to drag her back into the hell she had emerged from when nuclear warheads scoured the earth and cleansed her soul. She put her hand on the doorknob, tried to turn it, but her gaze never left the bottle. As if in a trance, she released the knob and took a step toward the bottle, tried to stop, fought the craving, the yearning, but was drawn inexorably forward.

  “Maybe I can have just one tiny sip,” she murmured hoarsely.

  October 27, 7:50 p.m.

  “Everybody pays!” Chris yelled, spreading three eights out in front of her.

  “Damn!” Mark said, throwing his cards on the table. “I had twenty nine, and was going to knock this round.” The other five tables of card players, engrossed with playing their own hands and hoping to win more chips for the final round, ignored them completely. The other players at their table tossed their cards down and Mark gathered them up, his turn to deal.

  “I hate to deal,” he muttered as he shuffled the cards. “I always lose when I deal.” The weekly meeting of the “31" club was an extremely popular social event. It was week four of the five preliminary rounds and Mark had only accumulated four chips. Chris had eleven. This was the first time the random drawing had placed them at the same table and to his embarrassment she was thoroughly kicking his butt.

  “So Chris, are we going to have fresh vegetables for the Oktoberfest?” he asked as he dealt, hoping to distract her.

  “I think so. This crop is doing better than the previous one and we have some produce from the in-ground planting. The kids have worked really hard.”

  Faye scheduled special occasions approximately bi-monthly, an excuse to get everyone together for a good time. September was the summer barbeque, although that didn’t turn out so well, and October would be the Oktoberfest. Mark knew they were trying to kid themselves to a certain degree with these artificial “good times.” Nothing was ever going to be the same but at least they could try to keep their spirits up as they prepared themselves physically and mentally for their return to the real world. “What was it going to be like?” he wondered.

  A surprising number of residents played musical instruments, two were professional musicians and one had formerly taught music at the high school level. They’d put together a small orchestra that presented concerts weekly and provided music for the play the “Cavern Theatre Group” was putting on. Herbert Laskey, who’d been involved with his community’s performing arts center and also, passably, played the cello in his previous life, conducted the orchestra. At least twenty adults and most of the children were taking lessons. The music room was stocked with huge numbers of clarinets, saxophones, flutes, violins and other stringed instruments, percussion instruments and even electronic keyboards. A grand piano occupied the corner of the stage in the auditorium and could be moved to the center for recitals. Individuals who’d always wanted to play instruments but had been too busy were availing themselves of the opportunity.

  Faye had recruited several people to assist her in making costumes and decorations for the upcoming Oktoberfest on the thirtieth for the adults, and on Halloween, the thirty-first for the children. Mark knew one thing for sure, they had plenty of beer.

  Chris drew a card from the deck. “Everybody pays!” She threw down an ace, queen and ten of hearts.

  “I’m out,” Mark said disgustedly. “How can anybody be that lucky?” He tossed his last chip in the general direction of the basket, Bob Crowder catching it in mid-air and directing it into the basket with the rest of the lost chips.

  Mark walked through the room weaving his way past the other tables where players were laughing and enjoying the game. People were trying hard to cope but even with the myriad activities designed to keep them occupied and to assist them in retaining their culture, Mark knew they hadn’t recovered from the trauma they had lived through. Two months wasn’t nearly enough time.

  October 28, morning

  It was apparent to Lori that Jean’s physical condition was considerably improved in just the two months since the survivors had left their old world behind and entered the artificial environment they now inhabited. She no longer labored when using the workout equipment, her breathing was rapid but steady, and her face no longer turned beet red with exertion. Jean wasn’t a natural athlete like Chris or Lori, but like the other residents, had been encouraged by Will to get
in shape for the day they would abandon the shelter and re-emerge into the light of day, and so she visited the gym daily. Lori glanced around as she pedaled, hoping Mark would arrive for his workout. She knew she couldn’t get interested in another man this soon, and she was aware Mark wasn’t available but she felt exhilarated when she was around him.

  “What were you and Ron arguing about this time?” Chris asked Jean. The three women were side-by-side, lined up on Lifecycles, and pedaling at rates sufficient to keep their heart rates in the training zone. Chris was not one to mince words or shy away from delving into another’s personal business.

  Jean didn’t seem to take offense as these three women spent a lot of time together and had become good friends. “Oh, you know him. He was arrogant enough before we came here, but now that he’s been working out with Big Rambo and Little Rambo, learning martial arts, he’s insufferable. Thinks he’s Mr. Macho.”

  “Why, what’s he doing?” Chris asked.

  “He keeps telling me what he thinks I should be doing, what I should learn while we’re in here, who I should hang out with, where I should go. I just get tired of him telling me what to do, and that’s why we were fighting. He really annoys me.”

  “Well, it seems to me that he really likes you. Maybe it’s just his way.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible but let’s face it, it’s not as though this place is crawling with eligible bachelors. And look who’s talking. What’s with you and Aaron Brown?” Lori had been barely listening to the girl talk up to now, but her interest was piqued by Jean’s question. She wondered what Jean was referring to, considering Mark’s relationship with Chris.