Dusk of Humanity

by M. K. Dawn

  “Is it just me, or did it get a whole lot brighter?” Evelyn asked.

  “It’s not you. The lights must be set to emulate daylight.”

  Evelyn scanned her wristband to open the elevator and they boarded. “I believe the other surgeons will be on our tour. Maybe the rest of the medical professionals as well. My understanding is all the similar occupations will tour together. And let me tell you, there are all sorts of people here. From farmers to computer geniuses to clothing designers. Pretty much any profession you can imagine.”

  The elevator doors opened to level one not thirty seconds later. A group waited in the hall so similar to the living quarters that if Sloan hadn’t paid attention to the number glowing above the door she wouldn’t be sure they’d moved at all.

  “There are the stragglers,” a familiar voice said. “Glad you could join us, Slash. Who’s your friend?”

  Sloan checked her wristband. Nine-o-one. “Major Archer, sorry for any inconvenience our tardiness has caused.” She gestured to Evelyn. “This is my roommate, Evelyn Williams.”

  Archer, dressed in what Sloan would describe as casual military attire, lifted his tablet and pushed a couple of buttons before returning his attention to the group. “As Dr. Sloan said, I am Major Lee Archer. As head of military operations within The Bunker, I pretty much know the whole damn place backwards and forwards. I’ll be your tour guide for the next few days, here to answer your questions to the best of my knowledge or as much as the government allows. You’ll hear the words, ‘that’s classified’ more often than not. Are there any questions before we get started?”

  No one spoke. Who would with a speech like that?

  “Good. As you probably figured out, The Bunker is a massive fallout shelter—a prototype of sorts—designed to protect a large group of people in case of a major catastrophe. Floor one—this floor—is the Recreational Floor.” Archer did an about face and headed down the hall. “It’s designed to ease the angst of people who’ve been sequestered here. We have a bar with a dance floor, a two-hundred-person theater, a library, a golf simulator, and a game room. All are open for you to explore until eleven when we will break for lunch.”

  Groups formed and people began to wander in and out of the different rooms. Travis and Vicky joined her and Evelyn in the hall.

  Vicky was the first to speak. “Sloan, I thought you said the gorgeous Major Archer merely escorted you to The Bunker. You never mentioned the two of you were close.”

  “We’re not close.”

  “Your nickname begs to differ,” Travis added.

  “A poor attempt to get under my skin.”

  “Well, I guess that makes him fair game.” Vicky fluffed her hair and tugged down her black V-neck shirt. “And I believe he entered the bar. Anyone care to join me? I could use a wingman.”

  Travis trailed after her—as did Evelyn before she noticed Sloan hadn’t moved. “You coming?”

  “I think I’ll check out the library first.” It had always been her place of solace as a child. “Before the crowd.”

  “Yes,” Evelyn mumbled, “before the crowd.”

  Sloan ignored the sarcasm and headed for the end of the hall. The library was as she expected: a large room with rows and rows of books; a few reading nooks with plush chairs and couches. It was a typical library aside from the wall of Kindles.

  “On the operations floor, there is an entire server dedicated to the storage of e-books.” The rough voice startled her. Sloan turned to find Archer leaning against the doorframe. “If you can find it on Amazon, you can download it on any one of those devices.”

  “There are probably no more than a few hundred Kindles. And this place can hold—”

  “That number is classified.”

  Sloan rolled her eyes, a habit she’d broken years ago. “Of course it is.”

  “Kindles are checked out, I believe, a week or two at a time. The library sends the Kindle a notification if it needs to be returned due to a waitlist or if you can keep it an additional week.”

  As Sloan walked down the non-fiction row, she ran her fingers over the spines of the books. Many were old—older than she would expect from a place like this. She felt Archer’s eyes on her, watching as she scanned each title. “Why are you here, Major?”

  “Is this an existential question or a literal ‘why am I in the library’ question?”

  “The latter.”

  “I saw you come in here. You were the only one in the group who ventured this way, and I thought to myself, why? The majority are in the bar enjoying the…well…open bar. I thought medical professionals would be—”

  “More professional?” Sloan grinned. “Analytical? Focused on the task at hand?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “We have extremely stressful jobs, from the nurses to the doctors. It’s only logical our relaxation techniques are just as extreme.”

  “But here you are, the famous Dr. Sloan Egan. While the rest of her colleagues are getting tore up in the bar, she is meandering through the library. The most boring part of the whole damn Bunker.”

  Sloan huffed. “First: I hate being referred to as famous. Second: the library is anything but boring. These books,” she couldn’t help but touch them again, “they are everything.”

  “I’ve never heard books described quite like that, Slash.”

  She wanted to snap at him for referring to her yet again as Slash, but instead she ignored it and thought an equal jab would be more productive. “Can’t imagine the crowd you associate with does much reading.”

  “Wow, burn. I’m impressed, Slash. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

  The teenager buried deep inside her wanted to scream at him to shut up. Why he brought that level of immaturity out of her, she had no idea. “How did you get the job of tour guide this weekend?”

  “I asked for the medical rotation.”

  Sloan couldn’t imagine why. He seemed annoyed with her and her inquisitive mind. How would he handle a couple dozen equal to her? “Glutton for punishment?”

  Archer laughed. “Not quite.”

  A group of surgeons wandered in at that exact moment, including Vicky Maxwell. “Archer,” she cooed, “there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought the second shot of tequila may have done you in.”

  “Nah.” Archer flashed a classic boy next door smile. “Just making the rounds.”

  “Well.” Vicky ran a finger down Archer’s chest. “I believe our bet was three drinks. So I still owe you one.”

  Sloan swore she saw Archer’s face turn red as Vicky sauntered out of the room. Then she thought with a laugh, Guess he’s not a cool as he pretends to be.

  ***

  After her extended visit to the library, Sloan quickly wandered in and out of the other rooms on the Recreational Floor before it was time to break for lunch. Grilled chicken salad with a light vinaigrette and a broth-based chicken tortilla soup were on the menu, each delicious and fresher than she expected.

  Their lunch break ended at one and they were to report to the second floor, which was accurately named ‘The Bunker’s Gym’. It was just that: a large gym packed with a variety of exercise equipment—both cardio and strength training—plus a track that circled the workout floor. There were also basketball, tennis, and racquetball courts, which Sloan thought more of a luxury than a necessity.

  Their time at the gym was short, because who amongst them hadn’t spent time at the gym? The final stop of the day was the third floor; Archer said it was nicknamed the ‘Mini-Mall’. There were two large stores, one on either side of hall one. The rest of the halls housed the shops where all the goods were made, none of which interested Sloan but she muddled through the tour nonetheless.

  “On the left is the clothing shop,” Archer said. “We’ve yet to give it a nickname. Here items such as shoes, undergarments, and outwear are provided and exchanged. There is no money in The Bunker. Everyone is given a certain amount of clothing—enough for a week or
so. Once they are worn out, they can be returned for something new. To purchase additional items, people earn credits depending on the number of hours spent working.”

  Most meandered around the store for a bit. There was nothing spectacular about the inventory ranging from t-shirts and cotton shorts to jeans and tennis shoes. All women’s and men’s undergarments were white, though there were a variety of cuts, which surprised Sloan. She guessed when faced with catastrophic events, thongs were still considered essential.

  “Not impressed with our clothing store?” Archer asked as she waited in the hall.

  “I’d be more impressed if it had a cool nickname.”

  He chuckled. “In all seriousness, what would impress you about this floor—or the Recreational Floor for that matter? My understanding is y’all are not just here to evaluate your specific areas but The Bunker as a whole.”

  Sloan raised an eyebrow. “‘Y’all’?”

  “Heard that little slip, did you? My mom’s family is from South Texas. My sister and I spent most of our high school years there after my parents got divorced. Some of the local lingo is harder to get rid of than others.”

  “Are your mother and sister still there?”

  Archer lowered his head and kicked the ground. “My sister, who was two years older, joined the Army right out of high school. She was killed about five years ago by a roadside bomb. My mother fought ovarian cancer most of her adult life and passed a few years ago. That’s when I took this assignment.”

  Sloan’s heart thrashed. “And your father?”

  “A military man himself. Still in, but we’re not close. Haven’t been in years.”

  “I’m so sorry, Archer.”

  The remainder of their group filtered out of the clothing store. “Thanks.” He ran his hand across the scruff of his chin. “Looks like everyone’s ready to move on.” He maneuvered his way to the front. “Next is the shop. Again, no cool nickname, but we’re taking suggestions. Here we have the basics—soap, hair products, toothpaste, mouthwash—”

  “Feminine products?” Vicky asked.

  Everyone howled. It wasn’t particularly funny, but Archer’s face was priceless. He didn’t strike Sloan as a man who embarrassed easily, but it seemed Vicky had his number.

  “Yes, a small selection of personal hygiene products as well.” Archer motioned to the door. “Please, look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

  This shop was about half the size of the other one. Aside from the products Archer mentioned, there were also what looked to be blankets, journals, and paints—all handmade. She wanted to ask how these items were attained—if Archer ever managed to break the conversational grasp Vicky had on him.

  “Looks like Vicky’s in love.” Sloan hadn’t even heard Evelyn approach.

  “Love? After a few hours? I don’t think that’s even possible.”

  Evelyn laughed. “You take things too literally, Sloan. I meant she finds him attractive.”

  Sloan eyed the woman next to her.

  “Lust? Desire?”

  “I understood what you meant. I just don’t get it.”

  Evelyn snorted. “Are you kidding? Archer’s gorgeous.”

  Sloan cocked her head as if a different angle would help her see things clearer. “I guess his features are what would be considered aesthetically pleasing. Though I do believe his nose may have been broken—more than once. I’m sure Dr. Morrison could confirm.”

  “I’m sure Travis could —”

  Sloan continued. “And what would they talk about? I can’t imagine they have much in common.”

  “Sweetie, I think you’re missing the point.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Which is?”

  “Haven’t you ever been with someone for no other reason than unadulterated carnal passion?”

  “No.” Sloan had been in very few relationships and all had been based on an intellectual connection. Over the years, when the demands of her job grew, she would take on a sexual partner to meet her physical needs, though none would qualify as carnal.

  “I would ask if you were serious, but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”

  Sloan folded her arms across her chest. “And you’ve been in one of these…relationships?”

  Evelyn forced her arm into the crook of Sloan’s elbow and whispered, “In college. His name was Isaiah. Six-foot-six. Skin as rich as coffee with the most amazing hazel eyes. He was the star athlete; I was his biology tutor. The first time I laid eyes on him— ”

  “If everyone is done looking around,” Archer interrupted, “we’ll move to the behind the scenes portion of our tour.”

  They left the shop and followed Archer to the end of the hall. “If you hadn’t noticed, all the items in our shops are organic and handmade. It would be impossible to stock enough items to last over an extended period of time.” He turned the corner. “The remainder of the halls consist of the workrooms. Everything you saw in those shops are made here.”

  “Where do you get the ingredients for all these items?” a man in the front asked.

  “The Bunker should be viewed as a self-sustained community. I see it as a step back in time, when people didn’t hop in their car and run to the store for items they needed. As for the ingredients, they come from The Bunker itself and on Sunday’s tour, I’ll show you how that’s done.”

  They wandered in and out of the workrooms but Sloan was too lost in thought to pay much attention. Her mind still fixated on her conversation with Evelyn.

  A while later, Archer glanced down at his wristband and frowned. “Seems that’s all the time we have left. Please make your way back to your rooms. Dinner will be the same time as yesterday. I’ll see you all tomorrow, nine a.m., floor twelve.”

  ***

  Day two promised to be more interesting, as they were to tour the medical floor and do what they’d been dragged here to do: assess and make suggestions. Sloan and Evelyn made it a point to arrive early, as to not be called out by Archer as they were the day before. A few were there, huddled together, but Archer was nowhere to be seen.

  At nine, it appeared everyone had arrived; everyone but Archer.

  “Where is he?” Vicky asked.

  Many turned to Sloan as if her few encounters with the man meant she knew his every move. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Oh.” Vicky grinned. “I assumed you two were friends as every time I turned around he was hovering somewhere near you.”

  Sloan looked to Evelyn for assistance. “We spoke a couple of times yesterday but I wouldn’t consider those encounters as ‘hovering’.”

  “Sorry for the delay,” a man said, “seems Major Archer will not be able to join us today.”

  The hall grew quiet and everyone turned. Sloan’s eyes fell on the man and she could hardly believe her eyes.

  “I am Dr. Fletcher Barnett and I developed the surgical wings of this medical ward. There are five halls on this floor. Hall one houses surgery, recovery, and a small maternity ward. Hall two has all the offices. Three has the lab, MRI, CAT scan, x-rays—you get the idea. Four is storage. Five is cold storage and a small morgue. Follow me.”

  Sloan hadn’t seen Fletcher since she was an undergrad student. He was a professor she found fascinating from the moment they spoke. A few months later, that fascination had grown into a more personal, intimate relationship. She fell in love with the inner workings of his mind and though their relationship was taboo, she found it next to impossible to distance herself from him. After she graduated, they had parted ways—at his request, not hers—and the loss had nearly gutted her. That was the moment she chose to put personal relationships aside and focus solely on her career.

  “We will visit all the hallways. If you want to stop to take a better look, do so as needed,” Fletcher continued, but Sloan hardly heard a word. Instead she focused on the man himself. His unkempt, thinning salt and pepper hair had not changed much. Nor had his tall, slender frame. The only difference she could see were his t
opaz eyes, once full of life, were now hard, focused, and strained. Could it be from the stress of a military environment, or was there something else hidden deep in that brilliant mind of his?

  “First, we are to visit the general practitioner’s offices.” He gestured to the left, his back to the crowd as if he couldn’t care less if anyone were paying attention. The familiar gesture tugged at Sloan’s heart. Fletcher was not one to baby his students. He believed those who truly had the drive to become a doctor would show up, do the work, and learn the material. He didn’t waste his time on those who didn’t. “You’re all familiar with this type of setting. Patient’s bed, doctor’s chair. The back wall is a floor to ceiling locked cabinet stocked with medication and supplies. Those who have access to these provisions will be able to unlock the cabinets with the use of their wristband. Any questions? No? Moving on.”

  Sloan snickered at Fletcher’s nonchalant attitude while the others took a quick peek inside the connecting rooms.

  “This is the dentist office. Almost identical to the doctor’s office, except it has dental equipment. I know there are a couple of dentists amongst you who are itching to get inside. Be my guest. Catch up when you can.”

  The next few rooms were more of the same. There was an office for each specialty—OB/GYN, dietitian, and mental health. Some stopped at their respective fields’ offices to inspect what The Bunker had put together. Sloan glanced in each room but didn’t stop. All looked to be furnished with state-of-the-art equipment, some so innovative she’d only read about them in medical journals. Interesting how money did not seem to be a concern.

  As the crowd dwindled, Sloan maneuvered herself into the back of the group, not quite ready to come face to face with Fletcher. She doubted the man had seen her yet, as he paid little mind to the attendees. When he did recognize her, his reaction would be subtle as to not draw attention to the situation. Dr. Barnett was not one to cause a scene.

  “We will now move to hall three: imaging services and labs. The lab is equipped with everything a technician would and could ever need. There is also a clean room if there is a need to manufacture pharmaceutical products or conduct scientific research. The imaging equipment is cutting-edge and designed for the least invasive, most accurate results possible. Feel free to wander about. Dr. Egan, a word please?”