Phillip nodded. He ripped the sheet from the bed and draped it over the Chancellor. Phillip prodded the Chancellor's back with the gun. "Move, false prophet."
They stepped out of the Chancellor's quarters. A mass of panicked civilians, who were not engaged in the battle, ran for the elevators out of the bunker. Some fought over hazard suits and masks. Dr. Morgan realized that he shouldn't have worried about hiding the Chancellor. People were too distressed to notice anything. But still, he gave a warning.
"Cry out and I will drag you to the enemy, gift-wrapped as you are."
Dr. Morgan and Phillip tucked the Chancellor between them and went with the crowd. The cryogenics lab was nearer to the entrance. The hellacious battle drew closer. The conflict would spill into the area at any moment.
When they reached the Sleepers, Dr. Morgan saw the mob at the elevators that led to the top. They brawled and kept one another from escaping. Some were so desperate that they had rags tied around their mouths and were willing to risk the brown death.
There wasn't a guard at the cryogenics station. He must have abandoned his post when the chaos started. Dr. Morgan opened the entrance to the lab with an iris scanner. His lifebrand gave him access.
When they stepped inside, Dr. Morgan pulled the sheet off the Chancellor. "Let's go," he said. They took the stairs toward the control room.
As they made their way up, the Chancellor said, "You think you're clever having cut our communication, but the other bunkers will send people here to investigate. The topsiders won't hold it for long."
"We will hold it long enough to go through the main system so we can locate every box in the ground. We'll attack them and wake all of the Sleepers."
The Chancellor paused and turned back to Dr. Morgan. "What do you think that will accomplish? You're going to bring those poor bastards into this world that doesn't want them so they can suffer and starve? If you wake them, there won't be any food. It'd be kinder to let them lay where they are."
"The topsiders have survived a long time. There are things to eat out there. We'll start again with the Sleepers. They'll join the resistance and the topsiders and we'll persevere without the 45th's evil shadow."
Phillip nudged the Chancellor. "Keep moving. I want to see them wake."
The Chancellor turned and climbed in silence. They entered the control room and went to the computer terminal beneath the observation window. Dr. Morgan gazed out at them. He took them all in. The tribe of tomorrow.
"Do it," Dr. Morgan instructed the Chancellor. "But use voice command. I want to hear the code that will wake them."
The Chancellor used his good hand and twisted the microphone to his lips. "This is the High Chancellor calling for resuscitation protocol of the Sleepers."
"Pass code, please, High Chancellor," an electronic voice requested.
The Chancellor looked to Dr. Morgan as he spoke it. "Spring has come."
Dr. Morgan heard the whirring of machines. The hatches opened, hissing cold steam as they did. Red lights began to brighten the pods. The blue and nude Sleepers glowed in the warmth.
"It will take many hours," the Chancellor said. He seemed resigned to his defeat. "I don’t expect mercy from you or them out there. But I will die with the insistence that my cause was just. You have crucified your savior, Dr. Morgan."
"Explain it to God, who you will meet soon enough. He'll be the only one interested in your confession," Dr. Morgan said.
Dr. Morgan crossed the control room and stared at an array of security cameras. The topsiders and resistance cheered loudly in the corridor outside of the lab. Many coaxed the frightened civilians away from the elevators.
"The Elite Guard have fallen," Dr. Morgan reported with a smile.
"Computer! Target all but where I stand and initiate scrub protocol! Seal us in, shut us down and burn everything! Including the Sleepers!" the Chancellor said frantically.
Dr. Morgan shielded his face as bright blasting light came from hidden nozzles in the ceilings. He watched as every living soul in the corridor was instantly incinerated. The blast ended quickly, and scorched corpses between the steel walls glowed red from the heat.
"The Sleepers!" Phillip cried.
Dr. Morgan rushed over to the window. The pods and the bodies within had suffered the same fate. The cryogenics room glowed a red hue, and the Sleepers still burned. The sudden flash of death had ruptured the observation window in several places. Heat and the stench of burned flesh filled the control room.
"Purging files, shutting down system, unable to release distress signals to network," the computer reported. And then it went dark. The only light came from red emergency lights.
Dr. Morgan grabbed the Chancellor and slammed him against the window.
"You bastard! You are as bloodthirsty as the 45th! If you can’t control the world, you'd rather see it snuffed!" Dr. Morgan shouted.
Though he had to know that death was a tick away, the Chancellor smiled. "The only reason I didn't point the hot death at this room is so you'd see your failure. I won't let them have my home. Or my files. I have protected the other bunkers. You'll never find them. And when the military comes here and sees what was done, they won’t rest until the topsiders are eradicated. Like I told you, boy, the war will never end. God loves a bloody good show."
Dr. Morgan screamed. He jerked the Chancellor back, pulling him over his shoulder as if posing with a bat, and sent the old bastard through the window. The Chancellor screamed, his body catching fire as he descended to where the heat was still powerful. He disappeared into the center blaze, adding to its growth. Dr. Morgan peered through. His hair and clothes began to smolder.
Phillip tugged on him. "Get away from there! It'll kill you!"
Dr. Morgan withdrew and followed Phillip to the control room door. He pressed a palm against it. "There isn't heat," Phillip said.
Dr. Morgan opened the door and they saw that the stairwell had been spared. He shut the control room door and they sat on the ledge.
"It's all ruined! We'll die here!" Phillip cried.
"No. There is a way out that wasn't part of the system. When things have cooled enough, we can escape," Dr. Morgan explained.
"And then what?" Phillip asked anxiously.
Dr. Morgan was heartbroken, but determined to honor Vivian and wake the Sleepers. Although he had no idea how to advance the plan.
"I don't know," Dr. Morgan admitted. "Rest and I'll try to think of something."
***
They slept, having nothing better to do until the corridor cooled.
Dr. Morgan dreamt of a lush garden. He stood below its fruit-bearing trees that reached high for the sun. He was nude, but not at all self-conscious. Birds sang merrily in the air. Bees and butterflies floated around and paid him no mind. A breeze touched him, tenderly.
Hello Morgan. My child.
It was the woman's voice. Soft and close to him.
Dr. Morgan looked around, bewildered.
"Hello?" he said, checking the trees above him. "Where are you?"
I am everywhere, child.
"Who are you?" Dr. Morgan asked.
I am Gaia. I am the forgotten Goddess. I am the mother of all life.
Dr. Morgan sobbed; he had never cried harder. He was ashamed. "You are the earth, aren't you, Mother?"
I am that and all forms which inhabit it.
"I've dreamt of you. So often. My kind are despicable, for all we've done against you. And I don’t think it can ever be undone."
Life always conspires. Even in a corpse, there are seeds of it to be found. I can prosper again. You have to make them understand, Morgan. You will never see me as I was before. Except in dreams. And I will visit you there often. But generations from now can enjoy all I have to offer. You must pledge yourself to me, my child. Serve me, and Eden can return.
"I pledge thee my life." Dr. Morgan's heart swelled.
Dr. Morgan woke. His face was damp. He dried his eyes and woke Phillip.
; "Let's see if it is safe out there," he told his sleepy aide.
***
The cryogenics lab door was sealed, but Dr. Morgan pried it open from the inside. The heat had diminished, but the smell was a thick cloud of horror. They pulled their shirt collars up over their mouths. Faint emergency ceiling lights helped them navigate the corridor. It was a wonder they had survived the heat blast. There were no survivors. They had to climb small hills of corpses on their way. Dr. Morgan was well acquainted with the aftermath of mass murder. But this vile display would haunt him.
They went to where the tram ended and took the stairs to maintenance. The dead were no longer strewn here, and they could suffer the hot air. The secret door in the wall had been left open. Phillip followed Dr. Morgan to the top of the stairs. The wind of the death storm howled outside.
Dr. Morgan snatched two hazard suits from the wall. He handed one to Phillip.
They dressed and hoisted small oxygen tanks on their shoulder. Dr. Morgan checked the respirators and masks. Everything seemed to work.
Phillip lingered by the exit hatch. He stared out the small window at a furious world.
"I have lost all my faith. What do we serve now, Dr. Morgan? Does God still exist? Has there ever been one?"
"The Chancellor and Taima both spoke of God and his plan. But they were wrong," Dr. Morgan said. "They both looked to the sky, but God was in the soil at their feet. The world is our God, Phillip. Actually, our Goddess. Her name is Gaia and she is the mother of us all. She has spoken to me in dreams several times, though I wasn't aware. She gave us life and nourished us with her fruit before the cataclysm came."
Phillip digested Dr. Morgan's words and turned to the window again. "She looks very much like an angry Goddess at the moment."
"She has every right."
"So what shall we do?"
"We will awaken the Sleepers and start over. We will bring life back and pledge to never abuse Gaia again."
"How will we find the other Sleepers? We weren't able to get the coordinates of the other bunkers from the system."
"We will find the topsiders and implore them for help. They have infiltrated auxiliary posts. If we can get the systems running, we can find the other bunkers."
Phillip look horrified at the thought. "The topsiders have several clans. What if the ones we find have no desire to help us?"
"Then they'll kill us, most likely. And Gaia will languish. But I have a feeling they'll listen."
"We shall make the world great again?" Phillip suggested half-heartedly.
"No," Dr. Morgan corrected his aide. "The world will make us great again. Now put on your gasmask, Phillip. We have a gospel to spread."
As Dr. Morgan adjusted his respirator and donned his own gasmask, he felt Phillip tug at his shoulder. "Dr. Morgan, look."
He stared at the hatch window. The death storm had stopped. The night was still and the moon highlighted far away ruins.
Thank you Mother.
Dr. Morgan opened the hatch.
This tale was expanded from a short story titled All of the Flesh Served that was published in 2014 in the Silent Screams: Blood Reign Anthology. I have included it here as bonus content.
Dr. Morgan had no first name. His title was a label that had been affixed to his tube while he was still being engineered. His lifebrand was medicine, though he suspected a clerical error had occurred. He felt mercenary would have been a more appropriate calling. His large body could be quick and violent.
Dr. Morgan’s temperament was wrong for his job, but his superiors forgave the rough edges, for he had outlived every field doctor in service. He was not as tolerant and compassionate as he could have been. His anger could boil and he often envisioned himself unleashing his rage upon another in a glorious and grotesque fashion. But, bloody fantasies aside, Dr. Morgan played the cards in his hand like a good and obedient soldier.
Even though his hide wasn’t an always comfortable place, he knew there were worse skins in which to dress. Hell, he could have gotten a bad shake from the vortex mixer and ended up front line fodder for the military. Deficiencies didn’t spare you, Dr. Morgan realized, because all of the flesh served and there was no wasting it in these dark times. He had watched many soldiers become corpses, and he could see where stupidity fit in all of this. Still, he envied the dim men who could kill.
Killing was something he was sure he could be proficient at. He was a doctor, after all, and so he was very familiar with the brush strokes of death. His hands were grossly overqualified, he was sure.
Dr. Morgan hated furlough, but even his enhanced muscles needed rest. He despised retreating to the underground. It always felt like he was stepping into a cold tomb. And while this was a respite from the heat of the wasteland above, this scientific bunker caused claustrophobia in him and the recycled air always tortured his sinuses.
He had this one little chore to tend to, and then he was free to pace the smooth floors until his superiors saw fit to send him back to the front lines.
He followed Phillip, the scrawny tech assistant with crooked teeth. Phillip grated on Dr. Morgan. The young man always had. The aide assigned to him had been born, not grown. Dr. Morgan hated mutts. The ones spawned from biological breeding were often self-centered and quirky.
Phillip had a bouncy optimism that rubbed Dr. Morgan the wrong way. The little prick either had no clue what the world was presently like or he felt insulated and safe from it. Either way, it stirred Dr. Morgan’s disdain. So many good people lost, and this grinning rat was scurrying about safely underground. If it was up to Dr. Morgan, he would have tightened the restrictions on unsupervised breeding even further.
The boy was too pale to have ventured, but Dr. Morgan asked him anyway. “Been up top lately?” His deep voice echoed through the large but quiet corridor. He wondered if his helper knew he was being played with.
Phillip flashed those warped teeth of his in a curious smile. “What would I want with up there, eh? Everything I fancy is here. I got a cot and three dailies. I got purpose down here, right? In the wasteland, I’d just be mutant and terrorist bait. Wouldn’t last a day, I’d wager.”
“Not many do,” Dr. Morgan informed him.
“But you do, eh?” Phillip said, trying to pull off admiration, but it was a poor act. “You’re a tough customer, Dr. Morgan.”
“The enemy seldom fires on the flag of the cross.”
Phillip nodded, with a perception of it that Dr. Morgan knew would be wrong. “Reverence, then? You’re a bit out of bounds?”
“It’s something much simpler and more sensible than that,” Dr. Morgan explained. “You don’t waste ammo on something that isn’t there to kill you. I tend to the dying and the dead. I’m no threat to the living.”
The smooth marble walls of the corridor were reflective, and Dr. Morgan noticed the sunburned grimace he wore. He tried a more peaceful countenance that he knew wouldn’t last more than seconds, without his encouragement. Then he observed the blissfully stupid expression on Phillip’s face in the stone. He gave up on it entirely.
“Must be nice to come home though, eh?” Phillip said.
They were closing in on the entrance to the cryogenics lab.
“Truthfully, I don’t like crawling into this coffin,” Dr. Morgan admitted. “It makes me feel like a bone-gnawing ghoul scavenging the grave.”
Phillip frowned. “That’s just morbid, sir.”
“But apt, don’t you think?” Dr. Morgan said.
"We do important work here. There’s hope and life in this coffin, as you call it,” Phillip argued. “We all have our duty to God and country, sir; even the Sleepers in the cold.”
“I meant no offense,” Dr. Morgan said calmly, though he wanted to backhand the suddenly indignant and glorified fetch-it. He entertained the thought of killing Phillip, perhaps when the lights were out; but he doubted they ever slept. Dr. Morgan could find a way, of course, and it was easier still than filing a requisition form to replace the irrit
ant.
Phillip paused and sighed. He motioned toward the cryogenics lab. “We bring these important people in there from the freeze. And they unselfishly serve us,” Phillip said, sputtering around for the words. He finally settled on and concluded with, “We don’t deserve them, sir. And where would we be without them?”
“Top side, I suppose. Bathing in the sun and horror,” Dr. Morgan declared, tired of the dramatic posturing of his aide.
He walked past Phillip and punched his code into the automated security door of the lab. It hissed open, and the temperature plummeted drastically.
Phillip fussed around the doctor, taking the point back. He led Dr. Morgan through the cryogenics lab. They walked down the center platform of the storage facility. The walkway of the main corridor ran through the complex like a giant vein.
They passed doctors, lab assistants and technicians who were studying hundreds of cryogenic units. The fogged, circular windows on the chambers displayed faces, locked in frozen sleep.
"Wait,” Dr. Morgan said, stepping off the path and to a unit. He glanced at a fair-haired male. "What about this one?"
“It never takes you long,” Phillip said, glancing at his clipboard. He flipped through the pages, comparing the serial number on the storage box to his paperwork. “We lost the central computer last week,” Phillip explained as he rummaged through the pages. “We have to do it the old fashioned way now.”
“Was it a hacker?” Dr. Morgan asked.
Phillip chuckled. “Nothing so dramatic, I am afraid. The old system was kind of dodgy to begin with. And we had neglected it for quite some time. Didn’t seem like much of a priority, until the last war.”
Phillip ran his finger down the list and made a match.
"Ah," Phillip said, his eyes broadening with appreciation. "What an excellent choice. His name was… is Greg Habitt. He was a professional football player in the year 2017. He died from toxic shock after corrective surgery on his left shoulder."
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