by Won, Mark
“How did your antenna get broken?” I wondered if I might be able to help fix it.
“Well, that’s a story in and of itself. When this all started...”
Part 3: Survivalist Grandpa
Chapter 1: Honeybee, House Under Hill, and The News
“Gampa Althaus, why do you got a house under the house?” That came from my great granddaughter, Deborah. I liked to call her my honeybee, or Bee for short.
“Yeah Grandpa, why do you have a house under your yard?” And that was from my smart ass, know it all, grandson, Irwin. His absolute confidence that the world, or at least our part of it, could never suffer a trouble necessitating the use of a fallout shelter was arrogant, and in my opinion, quite foolish. I know that’s easy to say now, but I don’t see how anyone could’ve argued with me even at that time. I blamed his father.
“Don’t goad your grandpa, Irwin. It’s his house. Besides, it’s real nice down there. Very retro, like something out of the 1970’s.” My grandson’s wife, Spring, thought I was crazy, just like everybody else, but she was real nice about it.
I suppose from her point of view it was ‘retro’. My dad started building it with me in the late 70’s, and neither of us really cared about the decor. It’s purpose was to help the family survive an intercontinental thermonuclear war, which at the time seemed all to imminent. We did a fine job, if I do say so myself. It had four bedrooms, two full baths, kitchen, and a family room. We had a fully stocked pantry fit to last years, if need be.
I told my little honeybee “I have that extra house as a spare in case anything happens to this one.” Which was absolutely true, if you think about it.
She opined, “I think it’s real fun in the dark. Let’s go play hide ‘n’ seek, Gampa!” How could I resist? So off we went. Spot, my pit bull, joined us. He just loved kids.
The trip to the underground house (I called it the U-house) was not as straightforward as you might think. First the basement had a secret door right next to the burner/boiler. Then down some steps that date back to prohibition. They lead into the old still room, the source of the family’s first fortune, but in the 50’s my grandpa had converted it into a simple, cramped bomb shelter. It was about 580 sq. ft. and alright for it’s day. Then through another door and a short corridor and finally into the utility room of the U-house.
It measured sixty feet by thirty and was intended to house the extended family, if needed, until the Geiger counter said things were safe. My dad and I had even built in a well (though we also stocked plenty of potable water) and a separate septic system.
Deborah loved playing down there. To her it was like a life sized dollhouse and museum all rolled into one. If she remained Grandpa’s little girl, then I’d show her all the improvements that I’d been making over the years. Maybe when she was sixteen.
Of course, certain events did accelerate my timetable.
Given Irwin’s loudmouth ways I’d made sure to keep all the additions secret. Especially the illegal ones.
To the north, behind another secret door in the pantry, and deeper down, I had a state of the art bunker. The house my dad and I built was great, and set to last the ages, but I had to spend the fortune on something. The super bunker had its own internal air system that could last ten people a week. It had a retractable concealed antenna, massive air filters, EMP shielding, it’s own well, generators, full and primary access to all my security cameras and listening devices, sole access to my concealed gun turret, separate septic, and everything else those bunker builders could sell me. The only drawback was it’s size. It was only 600 sq. ft. The size issue was why Dad and I built the U-house in the first place. I made sure the installation crew had no idea about the U-house, the 50’s bunker, or anything else. I dug the connection myself.
To the south I’d put in yet another concealed entrance. It led to a pair of 42 foot long cylindrical shelters joined by a small hall. About 675 sq. ft. It had beds and a bath, but it was a failure to me. Too cramped. I used it mostly to have an excuse to connect it to another secret passage. My masterpiece. It lead about 100 yards to a small generator room. A water fed generator room. I had tapped into a pond (back before I was forced to sell that land) and that brought the water right to where I needed it. From there it got dumped into an eight foot wide shaft that went right down to the water table. If the water ever filled the shaft too high I had an automatic cut off, but that had never been a problem. Those generators provided almost enough juice to power the U-house. More than enough if I turned the heat off.
Deborah and I played for a couple of hours before bedtime. I tucked her in and read one of her favorite bedtime stories. She thought it was hilarious how I changed the wolf into a werewolf and the woodsman into a vampire hunter. Honestly, my version’s better.
Then I went to my room, locked the door, opened my secret safe and got out the parts for my ‘listener’. That’s the device I plug into a hidden wall socket that lets me hear every room in the house (and outside the front and back doors, too). After assembly I plugged in and switched through the rooms until I got to my grandson’s room. That’s how I listened in on my grandson and his wife. And that’s how I knew that they loved me. It’s also how I knew Spring thought I was crazy and Irwin was considering having me committed. Heh, good luck with that.
What poor Irwin didn’t know was that the city’s mayor loved me. Rightly so, too. Some pictures I had taken and some e-mails I had fabricated. Now, all my enemies on the former town council were either locked up, dead, or run out of town on a rail. And he knew it. On the one hand I was a healthy campaign contributor and on the other he had to suspect I had the dope on him, too. Which I did. Not much, really, but enough. The family motto has always been ‘Leave us in peace or we will leave you in pieces’. Sometimes, back in the prohibition days, those weren’t just pretty words.
All in all, life was good for me. Yes, my sainted Emma had passed on. Sure, it would have been nice to keep the family land. But I made sure that I got top dollar, and that I had adequate vengeance on all my foes. Here I was surrounded by family, respected/feared in the community, and in possession of sufficient wealth for the foreseeable future. I even had a dog. What more could a simple man ask for out of life?
Of course, in one day the concept of the abstract ownership of land was obliterated, my money was worthless, all those who had stolen from me were worse than dead, there was no ‘community’, and the ‘foreseeable future’ was unforeseeable. On the plus side I still had my grand kids, my dog, and my beloved Emma wasn’t walking around. Not everyone could say that last part about his deceased wife.
Come the next morning, I was making breakfast when my emergency system alert went off. Nothing to worry about. Every time some mad dog killer exploded a bomb or crashed a car through a crowd my phone emitted an alarm. Still, I had to check it out. So, I apologized to Deborah for turning off her cartoons and switched to the news.
That’s when I saw the Change happening.
It was one hell of a thing, no blasphemy intended. At first the news people were telling us that communications had been severed with several areas around the country and around the world. That’s when I hit the house alarm, grabbed up my little honeybee, and ran for the U-house. I just hoped those two slugabeds took the hint and followed. Spot remembered the drill and got downstairs before us.
Once we were in the U-house family room, I grabbed up the intercom and yelled at Irwin and Spring to get down below with us, immediately. It took them four minutes and fourteen seconds.
They both came in looking pretty irritated at the crazy old man, but I just pointed to the TV and they kept their mouths shut and watched. I took the opportunity to make sure the doors were locked and we were in Full Emergency Lock Down Status.
By the time I was done with that, both my grandson and his wife were in a more pliant mood. I got all the computers fired up and cast a wide net for anything informative. That’s how we watched the fall of nations.
The
re was some sporadic contact made with those in the affected areas. Some amateur footage came through over the internet. Mobs were roaming the streets, murdering everyone in their path. News crews on the spot were unresponsive, so new news crews ventured in. I wouldn’t have. One moment a reporter lady was telling us all about a riot, and the next a howling mob overran her, her crew, and her military escort. Before the news feed was cut I saw them getting torn apart. Literally, not figuratively.
In another case I saw a bunch of soldiers open fire on the crowd as soon as it turned on them. Bullets had little or no effect. The assailants were all stumbling around very slowly, especially for a mob. The bullet riddled mob just shuffled up to the soldiers and rent them limb from limb. I was making sure to record all of that.
Then the reporting centers, the ones not already in the affected areas, began to suffer the same change. I saw famous anchor men and women morph into mindless killing machines in the span of fifteen to twenty seconds, depending on the individual. Then they all started shuffling around, just like the people in the mobs. Sometimes an occasional victim would just keel over and die, instead of changing.
In one case the news speaker behind the desk did not change. She was promptly surrounded and murdered by all of the affected around her. That was when April started crying.
Irwin asked, “But we’re safe here, right Grandpa?”
It didn’t look good but there’s a time to tell the truth and a time to be nice. I told him, “Absolutely. We are completely safe here.” It was past time to move into the super bunker.
I led them all through until we got settled into our new stainless steel quarters. All Irwin said was, “This is new.” Deborah was thrilled to have another secret door to play with. I curbed her enthusiasm with some more cartoons. We were all putting on our bravest faces for her, but any little kid knows something really bad is happening when her mom starts to cry.
Chapter 2: The Phone, Visitors, and Pets
One of my security features is a tie into local news. Another is my concealed perimeter cameras, which are mounted on my estate wall. Both told me the town had been affected, just like everywhere else. We had been in the U-house when it happened. My assumption was that the cause was somehow airborne and time released.
I called the extended family, and about half of them answered. I told them to wait for night and come to me if they could. I’d hoped the mob would be asleep by then.
One of my daughters, Delphi, called me first. So did my grandson, George. They wanted to know if I was okay, and I invited them over.
I kept my ears and eyes open for anywhere on earth (or beyond) that was still communicating. I figured that whoever did this would want to capitalize on the situation, or at least talk to each other. I got nothing. By my best estimation it took fourteen hours and eighteen minutes between the first report of communication failure and the last news feed showing me anyone unaffected by the change.
There was still contact between a few survivors and myself via the internet. I did my best to give them sound advice. They were scattered all over the world. A few of them were survivalists like myself, though without the same means. I tried contacting other people with similar bunkers. We were a tight lipped and highly secretive community. Out of ten attempts I contacted only two. I had to assume the worst for the rest.
I managed to get ahold of a few survivors on ships and boats. Some lucky few had fled to the water after the attack had affected their regions, and had achieved some measure of temporary safety. Most of the people who had already been on ships when the disaster struck had been changed just like everybody else. Those survivors with boats, who were willing, I directed to those along the coast who could use a lift.
I wondered why some people were unaffected. I wondered if it were a natural resistance. I wondered if it were genetic. I wondered a lot of of things. All I felt I could do was wait and see. I was amazed by my powerlessness. All this preparation and still powerless. It seemed unbalanced, somehow.
At about ten o’clock I decided that someone had to be available upstairs to let in any survivors, so I said my goodbyes, made sure that certain files were secure (I didn’t want either Irwin or Spring discovering my listening system) and went upstairs. If I turned into a monster then my family would see it on the porch camera and know going outside was not safe.
I could have remained in the super bunker and managed everything remotely but I didn’t want my family feeling distant at a time like that. It’s important for people, especially family, to stick together during terrible events.
The first cars pulled up to the gate at 10:15. I made sure to get them in quickly. Unfortunately, I had to let a few of the altered people in with them. The town streets were full of them.
I didn’t recognize the car as it sped up the driveway toward the house. It was leading some of the mob to me. Naturally, I’d armed myself by that time, so I tried taking a few pot shots. Those changed were as resilient as I’d previously seen. I stepped up my game then, and tried for head shots. That got the job done. One shot, one kill, just like granddad taught me.
By the time I’d finished off the last of them, my grandson, George, was out of the car with his girlfriend, Mia. They came charging up the steps and barreled through the porch door. I couldn’t help but notice my little great grandson, Issac, wasn’t with them. That brought me to tears.
I motioned them inside the house while I tried to get control of myself. This was not the time for emotional difficulties. Sorrow could come later.
I called through the opening, asking after George’s mother and father. He had no answers.
I figured I’d best man the gate personally, so I hiked down to it and started shooting into the mob. My intention was to clear the way for anyone else. The trouble was, my shooting seemed to draw more of them in.
I called on my radio to Irwin and told him to use the house intercom to tell George to bring me my halberd. I kept it with my plate mail just inside the front door. It took longer than it should have but eventually I got it. George had also taken a moment to arm himself, which was good. I was glad he remembered where I kept the keys to the gun safe.
With my trusty halberd I chopped and skewered between the bars of my gate. It was exhausting but worth it. Eventually, I cleared a way for anyone else who might show up.
They weren’t long in coming. George’s mom, Emily, and her idiot husband, Peter, came along next. Right on their bumper was my daughter, Delphi, with her teenage children, Erik and Elizabeth. Delphi had divorced a couple of years previously. I know it’s a sin to say it, but he was no good two-timing philanderer, and I only wish she’d seen through him sooner. Finally, along came my son, Greg, named after his grandfather, my father. He’d brought his wife, Margaret, and my granddaughter, Eve. I’d have to be careful not to imply an ‘I told you so’ regarding my life style choice. Greg could be prickly.
That was about all I could hope for, at least for that night. I had a number of cousins but they mostly lived out of state. The closest was a four hour drive away. The same could be said for various grandsons and daughters. I felt real bad about my sons, John and Andrew, and their families. They hadn’t picked up when I’d called so I had to assume they were part of the problem now.
Man, that was hard, to just give up like that. I wanted to rush out and save them even though I knew it was too late for me to do any good. And what about my other grand kids? Where were they? I had to let them go, too. I had people who I could help right there with me. Without me, how would they survive?
As far as my far flung family went, I had good hope for all who answered the phone. They were all armed and a level headed bunch. I started calling them all again and told them head shots were the only way to go if they wanted to kill the enemy quickly.
On my way back inside I noticed that most of the cars had blood covering their bumpers, hoods, and cracked windshields. I thought, then, that maybe it would be safer if no one else tried to make the drive. That meant I ha
d some more contacts to make. Thank God for e-mail.
I got a pleasant surprise then. My phone rang and it was Tony, a good friend of mine. The kind of guy who’d help you bury a body if you ever needed that done. The kind of friend who really knew how to keep a secret. I loved that guy. We’d known each other since elementary school.
He wondered if he and his wife, Martha, and son, Nate, could come over. I was relieved to hear from him and made my way back to the gate to let them in. Then I saw their car come around the corner, down the block, doing about 60 miles per hour. He had a huge mob behind him, like what I’d seen on the TV. I got the gate open in advance and he drove through like a madman. He lost control half way up the drive and almost tipped over when he slid off the driveway.
Some of the mob had broken away from the rest and were running faster than any human I’d ever seen. More like human shaped cheetahs. As they got closer, I noticed that they were all balding and it looked like their noses had fallen off. They could have gotten to me before I’d closed the gate, except that they tried to take a shortcut by bounding up the sheer surface of my wall, and through the coiled razor wire on top. Did I mention that it was electrified? As soon as I’d seen the mobs on TV, I’d turned on the power to my electric fence. It was no sissy legal electric fence, either. Mine was the real deal. Those runners jumped onto that wire and fried. They tried to let go but couldn’t. That scared me worse than their impossible speed. Any human who touched that wire should be dead, instantly. It was a very lethal current. I was beginning to think these affected people were something other than just brain warped by an unknown agent. Something more than merely immune to pain.
I ran over to my friend and helped him and his family into the house. I slammed the door (breaking one of my own rules and setting a bad example for the kids) and told George to arm everyone. Next I got help closing all the house’s metal shutters. I couldn’t help but feel that we were somehow under siege.
