by Jake Bible
“So we are being held prisoner,” Lu says. “This isn’t really a quarantine.”
“What? Oh, no, sorry, a bad choice of words,” Dr. Bennet says as a large drawer opens outside the cell. He places the pizza boxes inside then bends and picks up the jug of water. He looks in the drawer and sighs. “It’ll crush the pizza.”
He pushes the drawer closed and there are a series of whirls and clicks before a drawer inside the cell opens and the smell of hot pizza quickly fills the space.
“Sausage and onions?” Kyle nearly shouts as he rushes to the drawer and pulls out the boxes. “My favorite!”
“Yes, we know,” Dr. Bennet says. “The files on all of you are quite extensive due to your government employment or proximity.”
“You just got lumped in with me, kid,” Lowell smirks. “We are the proximity people.”
“Don’t put my kid in with you,” Bolton growls.
“Don’t call me your kid,” Kyle says, glaring.
“Kyle, be nice,” Lu responds.
“Holt? You want in on this?” Lowell asks, laughing slightly as the Navy SEAL sits on his bunk, watching everything happen.
“When do we get out of here?” Holt asks, his attention on Dr. Bennet.
“Eat first,” Dr. Bennet says. “Tests are almost complete.”
“Tests? We’ve been in here for hours,” Lu says. “This is the first sign of you. What tests?”
“Yes, sorry for the wait,” Dr. Bennet says. “As you can see there are three bunks, but five of you. The system is compensating as fast as it can, especially with the differences in ages, sexes, nutritional histories, physical conditioning, etc.”
“We just got etcetera’d,” Lowell says as he grabs a slice of pizza out of the box that Kyle is holding. “Nothing says human worth like being etcetera’d.”
“This facility is highly advanced,” Dr. Bennet says. “All necessary tests needed to determine if you have been compromised by the Substance can be done without human contact. Now, once you are released, if there are any specific health issues I need be concerned about then we’ll conduct more traditional exams in the infirmary. I can assure you I am more than qualified in all fields of medicine to give you an adequate work over.”
“Well, then color me assured,” Lowell says around a mouthful of pizza. “And this tastes like it was frozen.”
“Yes, well, no matter the technology available, no one can fix that, unfortunately,” Dr. Bennet sighs. “Fine dining is not one of the perks of living down here.”
“What are the perks?” Lu asks. “How are we any safer from those monsters down here than up there? From what I saw, they will eventually get down here and then what? Where do we go from there?”
“They cannot get down here, Marshal Morgan,” Dr. Bennet says. “There would be no need for them to get down here.”
“You sound pretty sure of that,” Bolton says. “Do you know what those things are? Where they come from?”
“What they are? No,” Dr. Bennet says. “Where they come from? Yes. They come from down here. From under the ground. They have worked very hard, for a very long time, to get above. Coming down here is not on their agenda. You can trust me on that.”
“Yeah, trust isn’t my thing,” Lowell adds.
“Nor mine,” Lu says. “Especially when I don’t even know the name of the person I am speaking with and is feeding us.”
“Oh, forgive me,” Dr. Bennet exclaims. “Dr. Ryan Bennet. I am the person in charge of all medical needs and medical research down here in the facility. I apologize for not introducing myself first. Having new people to talk to and interact with has me excited. I got into medicine because I am a people person. Being down here has not utilized that skill set of mine.”
Everyone waits. Lu and Bolton stare at Dr. Bennet. Holt just sighs and lies back on his bunk. Lowell and Kyle finish off the first pizza then look from the empty box to the full one.
“I guess this is yours,” Kyle says, prying the box from Lowell’s hands and offering it to his mother. “We ate the other one.”
“I can see that,” Lu says. “But I’ll pass.”
“At least drink some water,” Dr. Bennet says then snaps to attention and looks at his feet. The water jug is still outside the cell. “I am off my game today.”
There is a loud dinging and Dr. Bennet frowns.
“Tests are complete,” he says as he picks up the jug and places it in the outside drawer. A second drawer opens inside the cell and Lowell grabs out the water. “Please, hydrate. I will be back shortly with the results. If all of you are clear then I can move you to your new quarters. If Dr. Burkhorst gives the okay then I can even show you around. Give you the nickel tour.”
“That’d be swell, doc,” Lowell says, swigging straight from the jug. “Just gosh darn swell.”
“Yes, well, be back in a few minutes,” Dr. Bennet says, smiling. “Please. Drink up. Staying hydrated down here is very important. The environmental conditioning system can be very hard on the body.”
“Hydrating right now, doc,” Lowell says then burps and hands the jug to Kyle. He receives a disgusted glare. “I don’t see any cups, do you?”
Dr. Bennet nods and hurries off.
“Dude, you got pizza grease on the jug,” Kyle says. “Gross.”
Lowell shrugs and sits back down.
“Mom?” Kyle asks, offering the jug.
“No, thank you,” Lu replies, her eyes locked on the clear wall.
“Connor?” Kyle asks Bolton.
“I’m good,” Bolton replies.
“Holt?”
“No, kid, you and Lowell keep it,” Holt says. “That way I can watch you two freak out from whatever drugs they put in there. Never eat or drink from what has been offered to you by the enemy.”
Kyle looks at the jug and sets it down quickly. Lowell picks it right up and takes a swig.
“Man, talk about paranoid,” Lowell laughs then belches. “They aren’t going to put drugs in the food and water. Why would they? They could easily gas and knock us out then inject us with the exact amounts they want. Trust me. I know how this incarceration thing works.”
“I’m sure you do,” Holt says.
Lowell looks at the second box of pizza.
“So…I’m guessing this all mine then,” he smiles.
“Bullshit,” Kyle says, grabbing at the box. “In for a penny, in for a pound my grandmother always said.”
“Smart woman,” Lowell says as the two of them tear into the second pizza. “Mmmm, pepperoni. Nice.”
***
Secret Service Agent Paulo Alvarez sits on the stark cot, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. His eyes study the grey tile floor of the bunk room provided for the agents being housed down in the presidential bunker. It is grey tile he’s seen in a hundred different government facilities across the country and across the globe.
His debriefing had finished over an hour ago and he was told he could come and go as he pleased, just be sure to keep his radio on and ready to be called when needed.
His radio is lying next to him on the cot, turned off. He has no desire to come and go. He has no desire to do much of anything.
The thoughts of the other agents that died above, of Zackarian and his team, of Alvarez’s own team, and what happened to them, tear at his soul. Such a waste of great men, loyal men, capable men that had so much more to give for their country.
He chuckles at the thought that they gave everything in the end, right up to the last minute. The chuckle chokes in his throat as he thinks of the creatures that forced those ends.
His mind tries to close itself, force the images of the ooze creatures and all the death and destruction they caused to go sit in a dark corner of his grey matter. He almost succeeds then something, an inkling of what he saw above as he and Dr. Hall sprinted towards the White House.
He simultaneously wants to grab at the thoughts and reject them. The agent in him knows there is an answer, or at least
the right question, in the thoughts. But the human in him wants nothing to do with the nightmare that had taken place far above on the surface in DC.
It takes all his willpower to stand up from his cot and move towards the bunk room door. Just as he reaches it, it bursts open and six fellow agents come hurrying in.
“Alvarez, man, you have to come see this,” one of the agents says. “We’ve patched into the main feed and are watching what the situation room is watching. This shit is crazy.”
Alvarez stares at the men. He recognizes them, knows he’s seen them at various agency functions and briefings, but they are all part of a different division and he can’t quite remember their names. The men stare back then begin to get a little nervous.
“Alvarez? You alright, buddy?” the first man asks. “You need to go to the infirmary? Talk to one of the doctors there?”
“I’m fine,” Alvarez replies. “Just exhausted.”
“Tell us about it,” the man laughs. “We’ve been pulling double shifts down here for days. I could sleep a week straight, am I right?”
“Yeah,” Alvarez nods. “You’re right.”
“We’re just grabbing some chairs,” the man says, smiling. “Grab yourself one and come crowd into the conference room. We found a tech that doesn’t have clearance to be in the situation room during all of this and he totally hooked us up. This shit is insane.”
“Like the world is ending insane,” one of the other agents says.
“No shit,” Alvarez says, nodding again. “Which way?”
“Grab a chair and follow us,” the first man replies. “It’s gonna be sick.”
***
“She going to be alright?” Roy Waldruff asks as he and Terrie Morgan stand on the rocky beach of Haver’s Island, a tiny chunk of land in Puget Sound.
“Which one?” Terrie asks as she continues staring through Roy’s high-powered binoculars at Mt. Rainier. “Linda or Krissy?”
“Either. Both,” Roy says as he rolls a cigarette and tucks it behind his ear then begins to roll another one. “Those things doing anything new?”
“Still digging,” Terrie says, her eyes locked on the giant monsters that are tearing into Mt. Rainier with a strength and speed she didn’t think possible on Earth. “A lot of steam coming up from the holes they’re making. Some ash too.”
Roy glances over at Terrie and tucks the second cigarette behind his other ear. He reaches out, his palm up. “Let me have a look.”
Terrie sets the binoculars in his hand, placing her hands on her hips, her eyes switching from long distance viewing to short distance and the water that laps at the rocks a few yards in front of her. She watches carefully, waiting to catch sight of a shape or shadow in the waves, a sign that one of the mutated sea creatures is out there, possibly watching her as well.
“They sure are going for it,” Roy says as he pulls the binoculars down from his eyes and glances at Terrie. “Any theories?”
“Not a one,” Terrie says. “I ran out of theories when the beasts left Purgatory and started walking the land.”
“Beasts? The way you say that word I’m guessing you ain’t talking about lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” Roy chuckles.
“I am not,” Terrie says. “No fiction here. This is Biblical. The End of Days.”
“I don’t know nothing about that, to tell you the truth,” Roy sighs. “I’m Buddhist.”
“How is that working out for you?” Terrie asks.
“Can’t complain,” Roy says. “Keeps me from panicking. At least I know my karma has brought me here, to Haver’s Island. Probably to show you three ladies a safe place, a refuge from the end of the world as we know it.”
“Fate,” Terrie says. “God’s Hand pushing us in the direction we are supposed to be.”
“Could very well be,” Roy says. He hooks his binoculars to his belt and takes a cigarette from behind his ear. He pauses before lighting it. “You mind?”
“It’s your island, Mr. Waldruff,” Terrie says. “Considering all the ash and ammonia and crud in the air right now, I don’t think a little second hand smoke is going to be what kills me. If it is then God will have played one seriously funny practical joke on this old lady.”
Roy draws deep on his cigarette then laughs as he lets out the smoke.
“I wouldn’t call a fine-looking woman like you old, Ms. Morgan,” Roy says. “You got more life in you than most of the hipster chicks that flitted around Seattle going from coffee house to coffee house, trying to look important and intellectual.”
“Wrong tree, Mr. Waldruff,” Terrie smiles. “But I appreciate the compliment.”
“Wrong tree? How so?” Roy asks.
“Your flattery is nice, but it will get you nowhere,” Terrie says. “Not with me or with Linda. We play for the other team, if you get my meaning.”
“How about you just come out and say it?” Roy pushes. He takes a couple more drags and offers the cigarette to Terrie. She waves it away. “You ever said the word? Actually said it out loud to yourself?”
“Excuse me?” Terrie asks, giving Roy a sharp look. “You were gaining ground before, Mr. Waldruff, but now you’re sliding backwards.”
“Ms. Morgan, these are the days, whether the actual end of them or not, that we must be as honest with ourselves as we can,” Roy says. “I, myself, am an old man that has lived my entire life preparing for a day I never, ever thought would come. I prepped and prepped, squirreling away enough supplies to last me and mine for years, possibly decades. I railed against the morons that thought I was crazy, all the while not even believing my own horse shit.”
He smokes until the cigarette burns down to the skin of his weathered knuckles then tosses it out into the rocks.
“I guess I was wrong and I guess I was right,” Roy continues. “My predictions came true. The world is ending. But it wasn’t because the governments collapsed and man turned on man like I had said a hundred times to my family. Nope. The world has ended because some giant monsters crawled up out of the ground and decided to tap dance on the little ant hill we built.”
Terrie frowns and shakes her head. “Mr. Waldruff, is there a point to all of this rambling?” she asks. “Exactly what does any of that have to do with being honest with oneself?”
“Simple,” Roy says. “I’ll admit I am a damned fool if you admit you’re a lesbian. Just say it.”
“You are a strange person,” Terrie says. “Is the rest of your family just as strange?”
“My girl and her son are considerably more put together than I am,” Roy laughs. A deep belly laugh that’s strained through a smoker’s throat. “They subscribe to neither religious dogma nor political propaganda. Damned if they aren’t the very same intellectuals I have mocked for most of my life.”
“You daughter looks more like the Earth Mother, hippy type than an intellectual,” Terrie says. “Your grandson, to be honest, looks like a slacker.”
“She’s a Professor of Botany and he’s some programming whiz kid just out of high school,” Roy sighs. “Academia and tech. Two of the biggest illusions forced onto humanity.”
“Now, that is something that makes sense,” Terrie agrees.
“She’s alright, though,” Roy says. “She has a lot of useful skills with that botany education of hers.”
“What about your grandson?” Terrie asks. “He seems withdrawn. Wasn’t very thrilled to see us come walking into the bunker.”
“Well, my grandson’s karma is to be wired different than others,” Roy says. “He doesn’t see the world like the rest of us.”
“Because we both seem to see the world in such a normal light,” Terrie smirks.
Roy responds with a nod and smirk of his own.
They stand there as the sky brightens and morning wakes into an early fullness.
“You aren’t going to say the word, are you?” Roy asks.
“Not right now,” Terrie replies. “Maybe once we get a little farther along in our journey. I could j
ust surprise you.”
“I believe you could,” Roy says and lights his second cigarette. “I have to finish this one up here. Belle hates it when I smoke. She threatened to throw away all of my tobacco if I lit up down in the bunker.”
“I don’t blame her,” Terrie says. “Nasty habit.”
“We all have them,” Roy says with a shrug.
***
Tony Rochester wipes his face with his hand for the fourth time then sits back, his eyes squinting in the gloom of the single lantern that illuminates the main room of the Haver’s Island bunker. He sits on a handmade wood chair and stares at the girl with the bandaged face that sits in a ratty recliner all the way at the other end of the room.
“Stop it,” Belle Rochester says, her mother voice in full strength. “You are being creepy, Tony.”
Tony jumps a little when Belle places her hand on his left shoulder. He tries to brush it off, but Belle only grips tighter.
“Are you listening to me?” Belle asks, crouching down so she’s even with her son. “You can’t stare at people like that. It’s rude.”
“She’s not supposed to be here,” Tony says in a conversational voice. It echoes against the metal walls and roof of the bunker. “She’s not family. Roy shouldn’t have let her in.”
“Well, your grandfather did and she’s here now, so be polite and be nice, Tony,” Belle snaps. “You need to work on those things if we are all going to be down here for a long time.”
Tony stiffens at those words.
“How long?” he asks, looking around at the space.
It is basically a large Quonset hut buried deep underground with access doors that branch off to other huts connected by large, and long, metal pipes.
“I can’t stay down here for more than two weeks,” Tony says. “Two weeks is when I am supposed to turn in my app to Herschel Industries. They paid me to build that app. I have been paid to do a job.”
“Sweetheart, Herschel Industries probably doesn’t exist anymore,” Belle says, stroking her son’s almost pitch black hair, brushing the long bangs away from his brow and forehead. “We’ve talked about this. When the volcano erupted things changed. When the monsters came out and—”
