Shelter

by C A Bird

  Many of these things they hoped to see again, the natural phenomena at least, but the cultural aspects of their previous lives, the things created by man, the things that had made it America were probably gone forever. All the denial, all the pretending that life would be the same when they left this place, all the wishing that it would be so, ended that evening.

  They talked into the night, for hours, each person telling of something personal that was gone forever, talking of loved ones lost, of experiences they would never have again, of places that, if they ever saw them again, would not be the same. They were conversations and tears that cleansed wounds, a catharsis drawing them together, knitting their group closer and helping to alleviate the pain of the recent tragedies that had affected them all.

  EIGHT

  May 6, 8:30 a.m.

  Sandi laughed and reached out to catch Jeremy as he circled her, Ashley in hot pursuit, but seizing him in her present condition proved impossible. She placed her hands on hips, leaning slightly backward, attempting to relieve the strain on her back caused by her bulging nine months pregnant abdomen. She had temporarily relinquished her teaching responsibilities, and although chronically tired as a result of her pregnancy, she continued to supervise the children at daycare, trying to stay busy and get some much needed exercise.

  “It would be so wonderful to just stay in bed until this child decides to make its grand entrance,” she had told Pete and Jim at her prenatal appointment three days ago.

  It was already early May. Dr. Jim calculated she was full-term but the baby still hadn’t dropped. She’d experienced some minor contractions, at times thinking she was beginning labor, but they’d ceased, leaving her bitterly disappointed.

  “Don’t worry,” Jim had explained to them, “This often happens with a first pregnancy. You’ll go into labor in due time.”

  “I just never considered I’d be overdue.” And she had burst into tears leaving Pete feeling powerless to console her.

  ***

  Sniffing the morning air, the creature that at one time had been Arby Clark ran, hunched over, up the trail following the scent of its prey. The others trailed behind, their insides twisting in agony, needing food to absorb the acid in their bellies. They had consumed the food in the cabin two days before and were starving.

  The creatures were quick but there was still no chance of their catching the deer, though it was sickly and weak. Not realizing the need for stealth they pushed and shoved each other, crashing through the underbrush, each trying to be the first to sink his teeth into the yielding flesh of the deer. Snow still lay about in large patches but some had melted leaving new, green growth straining up through the wet earth to seek the warmth and light of the sun.

  The harsh winter, with heavy unremitting snowfall and months without sun, had kept the pack inside the lodge until, finishing the food, hunger drove them from their lair to seek sustenance. Although the air was bitter cold at this early morning hour, the creatures didn’t notice. Hairy rugs blanketed much of their bodies that were growing at an unprecedented rate as other changes continued to take place in them. But the hair had begun to fall out in chunks.

  Radiation had altered the balance of their endocrine systems. Production of Growth Hormone had resumed and all twelve of the creatures exhibited unheard of degrees of acromegaly, gaining several inches to almost two feet in height as growth plates on the long bones of the legs were reactivated, their spinal columns curving as their bodies became almost serpentine. Foreheads thickened, bulging outward, cheekbones became prominent and hands and feet became oversized for their bodies. Their hair continued to fall out in clumps leaving raw reddened patches of skin. Most of the men were bald due to an overproduction of hormones from their stimulated pituitaries and, in turn, testes. Two of the smaller men had borne the brunt of the hormone changes being raped repeatedly whenever the urge struck one of the larger creatures. Stringy, long hair hung from fringes around some of their skulls and the skin on their heads, mottled with various shades of pink and gray, had thickened perceptibly, rough like that of an elephant but shedding in peeling patches of putrid flesh. Their teeth, especially the canines, had lengthened and sharpened, their thick, heavy lips unable to close over them completely and their nails had thickened, grown longer and became claws as lethal as any grizzly bear’s. Exposed skin was blistered and oozed a serous fluid that smeared and matted their hair. Huge brow ridges protruded over their eyes giving them a sunken appearance, with brows bushy enough to interfere with vision.

  And the eyes - deep set, beady, the irises glowing red.

  The trail swerved right, around a small dam, but the deer scampered left, the pack following it around the dam and climbing slightly to the south side of a lake. On the left the land dropped off precipitously.

  Bennett, or what had once been Bennett, crossed a patch of icy snow, excited by the sight of the receding deer. His foot slipped on the ice. He lost his footing, and flailing his arms to regain his balance, disappeared over the edge. He slid and cart wheeled twenty feet down the slope, striking a tree trunk that had lodged against a large boulder. The trunk was covered with protruding branches, one catching him on the inside of the left leg and lodging in his groin after it ripped through the femoral artery. A bright red gusher of blood spurted onto filthy, matted hair and covered the tree and the ground beneath him. Bennett screamed, his voice echoing through the canyon to the south, and grabbed his exposed genitals, attempting to staunch the flow of slippery blood from the jagged wound.

  Several of the others slid down the slope scattering rocks and dirt before them. Bennett’s screams were already diminishing as his heart rhythmically pumped his life out through the gash in his leg. Arby reached out and punched Bennett on the shoulder; jarring him, as if to say, “Get up. What’s wrong with you?”

  Bennett screamed again and the others jumped back becoming increasingly agitated and excited at the noise. One of them touched the blood and brought his hand up in front of his face, staring at it stupidly. He licked it. His eyes widened and he plunged his hand into the wound and, cupping it, brought hot, fresh blood hungrily to his mouth. Another, larger creature pushed him aside and grabbing the edge of the wound he savagely bit into it, tearing the wound open, shaking his head to tear off a piece of the flesh. Bennett’s screams had mercifully ended.

  Pandemonium broke out as the beasts jerked the body from the tree limb and tore it to pieces, fighting for a share of the meal. The creatures that originally stayed at the top of the slope plummeted downward, catching themselves on the fallen tree and joining in the feeding frenzy.

  Covered with blood, leaves and dirt adhering to the sticky coating, they climbed back up the hill to the lake, some still carrying bones, tearing the remaining flesh with their teeth. A few waded into the frigid water rinsing themselves off. The others didn’t even bother. They all drank their fill of water, washing down the remains of the meal.

  Now that they had ventured forth from the lodge they felt compelled to stay free. They followed the lake’s shore around toward the west. The sun rose higher in the sky and warmed them after their plunge into the frigid lake. The Arby creature followed the deer tracks where they veered from the west end of the lake, through a thin stand of Ponderosa Pines until they disappeared over the side of the plateau. He could see the leaves disturbed where the animal had gone down the slope past junipers and scrub oaks.

  He grunted, disappointed, and turned to go back to the others but stopped when something caught his eye. Approximately ten feet below his position was a flattened area. From the angle he could barely see a portion of a metal grate in the side of the hill. Carefully slipping over the side he slid down the slope, reaching the flat area where a grate in the vertical wall closed off a small cave. The grate had two hinges on one side and was padlocked on the other. With the curiosity of an animal he considered the grate.

  He cocked his head and grunted again. Taking hold of the bars he rattled them, tentatively at first and then
more violently when it didn’t budge with his efforts. Two of the others descended to his side. Arby put a large hairy foot on the rock beside the grate, took hold of the bars and bent his back into the task. The others jerked on the bars and, with dirt and rocks showering them, the hinge attached to iron rods driven deep into the rock pulled loose. They renewed their efforts and soon had the lower hinge pulled out of the rock as well. The grate was now swinging loose, held only by the hasp and lock.

  The creatures looked at one another, trying to decide what to do next. Arby crouched down and stuck his head into the cave, sniffing the air. He crawled forward slowly, his eyes adapting quickly to the dark. The opening immediately widened and he had room to stand up within six feet of the entrance. The others were bending over looking into the opening. Unable to recall how to articulate words the beast gestured a “come on” to them and they went down on all fours and slipped through the entrance into the cave.

  The area wasn’t large, approximately an irregular dozen feet long by ten wide but had three other tunnels leading deeper into the mountain, each blocked by a wooden door. A few tools were discarded at the side of the cave; a shovel, two wrenches, a pick and some wire. Although the creatures poked at the tools they no longer were capable of identifying them. The Jaime creature approached the larger of the tunnels leading off the cave and poked at the door. He kicked it and Arby joined in until they had battered it down. Jaime grunted and disappeared into it. Arby listened intently, hearing Jaime’s shuffling growing fainter. Other creatures were entering the cave and before it became too crowded Arby followed Jaime into the darkness.

  May 6, 9:30 a.m.

  Mark searched through computer directories trying to locate any evidence of monitoring for seismic activity in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Earthquake activity was unusual in this area so the designers of the complex hadn’t provided external readouts for these parameters, nevertheless, the computer monitored and recorded a considerable amount of data and he fervently hoped it could give him what he needed. Staring at the screen, he suddenly realized he’d discovered what he sought. Seismographs, installed to monitor the effects of hydrogen blasts, were still sending data to the computer and Mark was shocked and dismayed at the graphical representation on his screen.

  Mark turned to Micah, “Wait until you see what I’ve got! Page Will and Gregory. They need to see this.”

  A few minutes later the four of them gathered around the screen. Dr. Whitehorse examined the data displayed on the computer monitor, very concerned about the implications. The graphs indicated a small cluster of earthquakes that occurred soon after their arrival, some major chicken scratches off the chart, probably a result of the Los Alamos blast, and additional clusters at approximate intervals of one month. Rather than decreasing in intensity, each succeeding wave of tremors increased in strength until, only recently, they had become noticeable to the residents.

  “We’ve seen increasing amounts of debris in the tunnels when we’re out jogging.” Mark told him. “And when we buried Faye, the fissure was wider than it had been when we buried Pierson. There’s a previously unknown crack in the reservoir cave, too.”

  “Maybe we better have a look.” Gregory said. “I might be able to ascertain how serious these geological changes are.” Micah stayed behind while the others went to the lower level of the shelter. They entered the cave and Mark showed them the area with the new crack just beyond the reservoir.

  Gregory examined the crevasse extending clear to the rear wall explaining the significance of the recent tremors to Mark and Will. “Small earthquakes, gaining in intensity and occurring in clusters, like the ones we’ve been experiencing, often precede a larger quake. This area isn’t known for seismic activity so I don’t know why it’s happening but it’s possible the blast at Los Alamos destabilized existing faults.”

  “You think we might get a larger quake? How bad do you think it might be?” Will asked. Mark noticed additional debris had fallen from the ceiling since the last time he ran through this area including rocks considerably larger than before.

  Gregory shook his head, “There’s no way to predict it.”

  Concerned, Mark asked Will, “Has the shelter been designed to withstand a major earthquake?”

  “The constructed portion of the shelter was designed to withstand the force of a hydrogen bomb exploding in close proximity but we always knew the natural caves could collapse if the hit was close enough. We didn’t anticipate earthquake activity but the same thing probably holds true.”

  “We’ve already used a large portion of the supplies,” Mark said. “And there are extra rooms for storage. Maybe we should move everything from the natural tunnels to the shelter.”

  “That’s a good idea. We need to make a general announcement that everyone’s to stay away from the dragons caves once we relocate the supplies.”

  Mark left the others to their inspection and reentered the shelter to assemble a work party.

  May 6, 5:45 p.m.

  Jerry Thompson and Richard Krieg loaded boxes on a hand truck, preparing to relocate them to empty apartments within the shelter proper. Both men were exhausted, having worked all day into late afternoon. This particular storage area was one of the most remote, leading off the back of the reservoir cave and extending approximately one hundred feet into the mountain. Typically, in most of the caves, side passages existed but most were not high enough to stand upright. Many of the boxes were too large to take on the hand truck and they had already loaded most of the smaller boxes they could locate. This cave had minimal lighting, a single bulb by the door and Rick was having to use a small flashlight to examine the boxes further back in the tunnels.

  “Hey Rick,” called Jerry, stacking the last of the boxes on top the others. “I’m ready to take this load. You coming?” He pushed the button and the door swished open.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Some of the labels indicate these boxes farther back have electronic gear in them. I’m going to check them out. We may be able to transport some of them directly to the electronics lab.”

  “Okay, I’ll take these boxes to the same apartment we dropped the last load.”

  “I’ll be there in a…” The room shook with a small tremor, dust drifting down from the ceiling. It lasted only a few seconds before settling down but both men, jittery from the last quake, ducked down and covered their heads with their arms.

  “Shit!” Jerry knelt down alongside the dolly. “Rick, don’t stay outside the shelter any longer than necessary. The place might collapse on you.”

  Once the tremor stopped Rick got off his knees. “Oh, you can count on that. I’ll be there in a minute to help you unload.”

  The door slid shut and Rick moved farther back into the cave, shining the light overhead to see if the ceiling looked stable. He hated caves. Tomorrow they would bring the shelter’s only forklift and get the rest of the supplies. Most of them had already been moved from the caves that were closer to the living quarters and it was their turn for the forklift.

  He shined the light on the crates toward the back of the cave, amazed at some of the stuff he discovered, things they had needed, that they had built from scratch, not knowing these boxes existed. Damn Old Pierson anyway.

  The tunnel turned left around a corner with more crates farther back. Rick went around the corner and his light dimmed perceptibly. “Damn, now what.” he murmured, banging it against his left hand. It brightened.

  Suddenly he froze. He had heard a noise farther back in the cave. He immediately aimed the light down the tunnel, but it curved and he couldn’t see anything moving. More dust and small rocks fell from the ceiling and he chuckled, whispering, “You chicken, afraid of your own shadow.”

  Squatting down alongside a row of boxes, he was examining the labels when the light winked out completely. “Damn it to hell!” He again hit it against his palm but this time it didn’t revive. Disgusted, he stood and turned toward the exit when he again froze, hearing a noise
that sounded like something shuffling in the loose dirt of the cave floor. Frozen in place, afraid to turn around, he listened intently. He heard another scraping sound and whirled quickly, squinting, trying to see into the dimness beyond the crates. He saw an enormous darker splotch against the wall and bright red eyes glowing through the dust-laden air. Irrational fear grabbed hold of him, his pulse quickening. He suddenly smelled something God-awful! A stench of death and putrefaction.

  He panicked and, with all his strength, launched the useless flashlight toward the eyes, simultaneously breaking for the door. A crashing sound behind him as boxes were scattered about, and a thunderous roar caused him to accelerate in fear. He rounded the corner and reached the door and the lighted area in seconds but the thing was incredibly quick. As he hit the button to actuate the door, he swung around, eyes bulging, breath coming in gasps. An incarnation of his worst nightmare loomed above as hairy arms enveloped him. Long incisors sank into his jugular vein, ripping his neck open and cutting off his impending scream. Rick’s head was ripped from his shoulders and flung aside as giant sinews snapped the spinal column. The thing carried Rick’s body, bright red, arterial blood spurting onto the ground, to the cave’s far recesses, to feed in the semi-darkness. Rick’s head had rolled into the doorway, preventing it from closing, the doors hitting it and reopening, closing and opening, again and again.

  Once the Jaime-thing had satisfied his hunger he noticed the door’s rhythmic thumping. Casting the remainder of the body aside he moved through the tunnel, cocking his head and studying the door. The creature slunk over to Rick’s head and reaching out tentatively, he kicked it, causing the head to roll toward the reservoir with the Jaime-thing following behind. The door finally closed one last time.