Someday Soon

by Brandon Zenner

  Finally, the guard continued. “Well, not so much a mistake, but a misjudgment. Those of us fighting with him since the beginning, we never questioned his orders or ambitions. Karl’s leadership has kept us alive. More than alive—healthy, well-lubricated with alcohol, methamphetamines, and pills. On the docks, Karl gave a speech, his hands still stained with the blood of the Russian commanders. He claimed leadership to wild approval from the mass of spectators. He spoke of Alice and Hightown’s villainous ways, and he promised that prisoners taken from Hightown would be looked after. Offered amnesty. You”—the guard pointed to Brian—“you are the villain, Karl told us, and after the battle, we would rebolster our numbers by allowing surviving enemies into our ranks. His misjudgment was that he thought the people believed him. And worse yet, that they wouldn’t care when those promises turned into lies.”

  “What are you saying?”

  The guard shrugged. “Don’t really know. When Hightown fell, the dockworkers began organizing the prisoners, but Karl ordered their immediate execution. Shot. Hung. Hundreds were decapitated. These sights …”—the guard shook his head—“have become such an accustomed ritual that it was peculiar seeing the looks on many of the new recruits’ faces. Shock. Horror. They’d never seen such a bloody spectacle, and it reminded me of days, years past, when I myself was not yet accustomed to the ease with which we kill each other.”

  There was a pause, and the guard turned to leave. “Why are you telling me this?” Brian asked.

  The man paused, looking back. “Because it doesn’t matter much what you know, or what I tell you. I left you something in the bottom of the bag. Just remember, it’s up and down, not side to side.” He pointed to his wrist.

  Brian felt the slick, comforting side of the plastic pouch. The thought of sinking his teeth in an actual piece of meat, savoring the protein and fats on his tongue, nearly brought him to tears.

  “What’s your name?” he asked again.

  “Jacob,” the man said.

  “You can come back, Jacob. They’d let you back in Alice. Unlike Karl, you—all of you—would be given amnesty.”

  Jacob huffed a quiet laugh. “No. No. We wouldn’t. And besides, there’s an element I left out of that tale. Many of the dockworkers might have been horrified by witnessing the executions, but others, probably most … they lusted for it. Their eyes sparkled; they savored the exhilaration of striking down those who opposed them. Bloodshed has a strange effect on humans; we either fear it or lust for more.”

  With that, Jacob turned and walked beyond the open cell door, closing it with a bang behind him.

  Brian wasted no time sliding the two pouches of food out, and marveled at them on the mattress. One read: Applesauce, Carbohydrate Enhanced. The other read: Menu Twenty-Four, Southwest Beef and Black Beans.

  He reached in the brown plastic bag, feeling something small and flat. He removed and examined a singular razor blade, the sharp point illustrious in the dim hallway light.

  No wonder you told me so much, he thought. Up and down …

  Chapter Nineteen

  Years Prior to Humanity’s Collapse: Soft Rebellion

  A hypnotic swirl of cotton ball-like snowflakes drifted in the wind and scattered over the pavement. The row houses of the Washington suburb appeared magical at the late hour, with shafts of the blustery white flakes luminescent in the streetlights. General Albert Driscoll’s car pulled to the curb, and the driver was about to get out to open the rear door for the general.

  “No need,” Albert said from the back seat, opening his own door.

  “I’ll be parked nearby, sir. Call when you’re ready to be picked up.”

  “Thank you, Tom.”

  Albert held the collar of his overcoat tight against the wind and walked fast up the stairs of the brick townhouse. The door was opened before he could knock, and Senator Jeffries welcomed him into his home. “Come in, come in,” he said. “Let me take your coat.”

  Albert brushed the flakes off his shoulders and stepped inside. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late. The highway’s a mess.”

  “No problem. We’re still waiting on General Davis. He should be here any minute. Everyone’s gathered in the living room; can I get you a drink?”

  “Please.” Albert followed the senator out of the entryway. Just a few steps beyond he met the familiar faces of what at first would have been considered a resistance movement, but with recent developments, they were now perhaps the only people left in the United States with a genuine plan to ensure humanity’s survival. The ten members consisted of high-ranking military brass and a few senators and congressmen. The world was on the brink of a disastrous war, with the president brushing his finger aloft the nuclear button, and these men and women shared similar opinions and strategies on how to weather the inevitable storm. However, the events first reported in the Middle East, and now throughout Europe, China, and Russia, split their priorities to not only surviving nuclear annihilation, but how to rebuild society after the unrelenting disease would soon blanket the earth. As the current administration was keen on escalating the threat of warfare, and largely disregarding the scientists’ foreboding of the disease, having these meetings in secret was a necessity.

  The group turned and nodded to Albert, and he shook hands with his comrades as he made his way across the room. It was strange seeing his fellow service members out of uniform. He himself felt odd in his plain slacks and wool sweater, as if this were a casual affair, a relaxed social event. But the Rolex watches, pearl necklaces, shiny loafers, and high-heel shoes did little to mask the grim expressions and sense of dread blanketing the officials.

  Senator Jeffries returned with a rocks glass filled with a dark liquor. “Thank you,” Albert said, sipping at the rim. Scotch. Good scotch, with a vibrant earthy aroma. The senator left to wait by the door for the last arrival.

  A middle-aged man wearing a tan sweater and holding a tumbler of liquor shook Albert’s hand. “Any reports from the border?” he asked, holding his firm handshake for a moment.

  “I’ll go in detail during the meeting,” Albert replied. “But yes, I’m afraid there are reports. It’s reached our shores. The quarantine has done little to nothing. And if it’s airborne, well, closing our borders won’t make a lick of difference. What about you, General Barnett? Any word on your end?”

  “Please,” the general said. “Call me Nelson.” He pinched at his sweater. “We’re not here on official terms. But, no, there’s been no reports of the disease in the Southwest, or anywhere along the southern border.”

  Albert nodded. “That’s good.”

  Nelson sipped his drink. At forty-two, the slim and graying-haired man was the youngest among them, and responsible for so much. His colony would be one of the three that was landlocked. And with the harsh temperatures of New Mexico, his people would have to rely on an elaborate hydroponic system to ensure crop production. The only other member still in her forties was congresswoman Laila Beaumont, who would be heading the Montana initiative. Albert noticed her when he arrived, speaking to General George Clifton, who was in charge of the largest of all the settlements—California. Albert was eager to hear General Clifton go into detail about the bunker he’d constructed, which could hold upward of ten thousand. The California initiative was the boldest construction in development among them.

  Albert felt a light buzz creep in from the few sips of scotch when Senator Jeffries returned to the room with Senator Davies in tow. The old senator navigated the plush carpet with a mahogany cane and offered a thin smile. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. After the man was offered a drink, the rest of the gathering found seats in the parlor, and Senator Jeffries stood center beside the spectacular marble fireplace. The talking subsided to a few murmurs and a subdued cough as the senator first turned his attention to the fire burning in the mantle, placing another split log atop the blaze.

  Then he turned and smiled, his palms held upward, just like he’d been known to d
o when speaking at forums and debates throughout his long career.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “here we are, once again. It saddens me that this may be the last time we’re all together in one place at the same time for quite a while, and in such pleasurable comfort. But because of the work we’ve accomplished, I’m confident that we will meet again, in one capacity or another. No one in the world has worked harder than this gathering. Each of you is responsible for directing hundreds, if not thousands, of men and women, to ensure that at least a fraction of our civilization will endure to see the world repopulate and once again thrive.”

  Albert felt the weight of the world crush upon him. At times, he wasn’t so sure any of their projects would work. He had to direct dozens of architects and laborers to construct the elaborate bunkers needed to house his men. Sadly, most of those responsible for the construction would not make it through the coming days. As the senator finished with his opening remarks and gave the floor to Doctor Hopper, Albert was reminded of the last time the doctor had addressed the crowd. “The Middle East is expected to fall within a month,” the man had said. And he was right. The disease killed indiscriminately, finding the soldiers that bullets could not: senior military, officials and clerks included. It was hailed as a victory to those already at war with the region, but soon the epidemic spread.

  “I’ll get right to business,” the doctor said, passing out a stack of manila envelopes. “Please take one and hand them back.” He waited a moment for the papers to be dispersed, and then resumed, “On the first sheet, you’ll see the estimated tallies and figures of the contaminate thus far, beginning with the Middle East, and ending on the last page, with the US.”

  Albert scanned the numbers and statistics. His eyes fell and stuck on one: Estimated Mortality Rate: 87.69%, and he thought, That’s from the disease alone. He tried tallying together the other estimated mortality rate he’d read in other reports, from the inevitable war, nuclear fallout, rioting, and looting. The combined statistic was catastrophic.

  “We have made progress learning how the disease operates and spreads. We know that it is highly mutable, and did not begin airborne. We are still trying to trace its origin, but we have reason to believe it was transmitted via touch at first, which explains the slow spread in the beginning stages, and the recent explosion we’re seeing in Europe now. It’s changed and adapted as needed, making it difficult, if not impossible, to treat.”

  “Have there been any developments on a vaccine?” Laila Beaumont asked from the crowd. Her voice had a pleading quality, a hope that perhaps they could scrap everything they’d been working on if only a cure could be doled out in time.

  The doctor’s chest expanded in a large inhale, and he closed his manila folder. “To put this as bluntly as possible, the answer is no. But to be more specific, if we had sufficient time, I’m convinced the scientists working tirelessly at the CDC could concoct a cure. But going back to the outline presented in the report, the disease is spreading too rapidly for a treatment to be produced in quantity. A limited batch is possible, but by then I fear the majority of America will already be experiencing ill effects. The virus operates by staying dormant for upwards of thirty-six hours, and then, when it appears, it comes in full force. The body gets eaten from within, and the infection does everything in its power to populate. The sufferer will experience severe stomach and intestinal ruptures, which is the bacteria’s way of freeing itself from the confines of the body so that it can find new hosts.”

  At previous meetings, the group had been shown images and videos of the afflicted. Similar videos had recently become widespread, despite the media’s attempt to stifle the grotesque nature of what they projected, and help to qualm the panic pervading the general public. But with nearly the entire population of the earth having high-quality cameras in their pockets at all times, and an easy means to share anything online, the videos made their way out.

  “I fear the only way to proceed at this juncture is to continue in the direction we’ve been planning. The best we can do is hope that the small percentage of those left unaffected will manage to survive until the disease runs its course.”

  The doctor took his seat, leaving the room in silence. As Senator Jeffries retook the stage, Albert was reminded of all the dates and statistics the doctor had shared over the months. He had confirmed what Albert had been told by other high-ranking government officials—that the virus would die off in about thirteen months. After fourteen, it would be safe to venture out again, as long as the scientists gave the all-clear. For anyone without the scientific instruments needed to detect the disease, two years was a safe amount of time.

  The doctor finished his presentation and gave the floor back to Senator Jefferies. “It might do to brighten our spirits by reporting on the current state of the colonies. Let’s begin on the East Coast and work westward.” The senator looked to the general from Maine, and the frail old man stood on wobbly legs.

  As the man spoke, Albert was reminded that not everyone in that room would make it through the coming years. There was a statistic shared early on, as the bunkers were in the midst of construction: a third of the settlements would fail. Either at the onset, because of the disease, or in the later years to come. Surviving the apocalypse was step one; enduring the aftermath was phase two.

  The general from Maine was quick to give his report, and a full rundown of the amount of fuel and supplies still needed.

  Albert was next to take the stage. After giving a report, he added, “I’ve developed plans to spread my colony to a second location following our rebuilding stage. Several miles to the south of Hightown is a fertile park called Alice, with a running reservoir. You’ve all met Tom Byrnes, who’s been perhaps my biggest asset in developing our strategy. He will lead Alice to produce, in time, enough food to feed not only our settlement but any others who need it. First, though, we will need to get the reservoir back on line.” Albert gave a quick estimate of the number of people needed to keep Alice in working order, and then sat so that the delegate from Louisiana could speak.

  Out of all the colonies, Louisiana, led by General Greg Ubel, was perhaps the most important for Hightown’s continued survival. Greg and his soldiers were geared to populate a naval base alongside the Mississippi River. His armada would be responsible for fuel transportation to the eastern colonies. The petroleum would begin its journey in Texas, and make its way to the South and then the East. California was also to benefit from Texas’s production, as would New Mexico and Colorado. Montana would be responsible for producing fuel for the northern colonies.

  In order, after Greg, the following colonies gave their reports: Kansas, Texas, Montana, Colorado, New Mexico, and finally, California. Afterwards, their glasses were refilled, and the men and women mingled in sober conversations. Albert checked his watch and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He finished the glass and stood off to the side of the room, peering out through the window at the dancing gusts of snow as it fell in the shafts of streetlight, and called his driver to pull the car around.

  Chapter Twenty

  Deluge

  The gates groaned open and a buzz filled the sky. Boats swarmed from the dock, following the canal that would bring them to the ocean, and then down to the snaking channels connected to Alice’s reservoir. The warship would offer artillery assistance from the open sea, far enough away so the hull was not in danger of scratching the bottom of the shallow trenches.

  Karl’s transport led the procession, with Liam in the front passenger seat and the Priest on his side, humming a hymnal tune. Hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers followed, with the might of the armored division acquired from Hightown.

  Victory was far from certain. Despite Alice’s defenses still in shambles, the soldiers manning the line maintained formidable munitions and were battle hardened. The attack would have to be precise and well executed, which was not something the bulk of Karl’s men were accustomed to. The infrastructure of the gardens and the reservoi
r were to remain intact, requiring artillery to be called in as needed. They would destroy Alice much the same as they had defeated Hightown—breaking the line and flanking it from the sides, with the aid of air support.

  Karl played out the various scenarios in which the battle might proceed, reveling in the images of droves of prisoners bound and kneeling before his feet: the line on fire, Jeremy Winter’s head on a spike, Simon Kalispell hung from a lamppost.

  Oh, Bethany, just wait until I show you a conquered Alice, and your pathetic little toy of a man defeated and lifeless. I can’t wait to break you, Simon Kalispell.

  The men were instructed to take prisoners, spare as many as possible. Karl told his army the captives would be offered redemption, a chance to join the brotherhood. The dockworkers were a soft bunch. Able fighters, but not hardened by the years of warfare and strife that his long-accustomed soldiers had grown accustomed to. And they would need prisoners, not to join in their ranks, but to man the gardens, produce the food and water for the Red Hands. The able bodied would be spared. The desirable would be taken. The elderly, children, disabled—they would be eliminated. The dockworkers had to become seasoned to Karl’s methods, especially when sharing in the spoils of war, the abundance of food, water, and fuel that made taking the settlements and risking their lives so well worth it.

  He patted his front pocket for his cigars and offered them to his officers. The Priest waved his hand dismissively, but Liam was eager to take one.

  “Give me—” Karl said, sucking a flame into the end of the cigar as he spoke, “a full report from the scouts.”

  “Quiet to the north,” Liam said. “Nothin’ from across the water. Same goes in the east and south. The scouts to the west were discovered and killed in a skirmish. They have since been replaced, twice. Don’t know what happened to the last batch; might have been captured.”