by M. K. Dawn
Archer raised an eyebrow. “Which arrangement is that?”
“We’ll share the bedroom.”
“Sloan—”
“I’m more uncomfortable waking up in a surprisingly comfortable bed knowing you’ve slept on a cramped couch than I am at the thought of you sleeping in the bed next to me.”
Archer frowned. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
Sloan crossed her arms. She was trying to be thoughtful and he was cracking jokes. “We’re both adults and have the maturity to make these living arrangements work.” Then she added under her breath, “at least one of us does.”
“Hey. I can handle cohabitation.”
She ran a hand across her face. “You do realize the definition of cohabitation is a couple who lives together and has a sexual relationship without marriage.”
Archer didn’t miss a beat. “My favorite type of relationship.”
“Let me stop you right there. There will be no sexual advances. This will be a straight-forward roommate sort of relationship. Pajamas will be worn. Clothes will be changed in the bathroom. There will be no masturbation of any kind—”
“Jesus, Slash. Take it down a notch. I’m in the military. I’ve spent the majority of my adult life sharing a room.”
“With a bunch of men.”
“I can handle sharing a room with a woman. Seems like the only one who’s having issues is you.”
The back and forth was getting them nowhere. She stared at her food and her stomach knotted. “I don’t have much of an appetite. I’m going to take a shower. A long, hot, relaxing shower.”
Archer clicked his tongue. “That may be a problem.”
“Why?”
“Follow me.” He headed into the small bathroom. “See this panel next to the shower?”
Sloan angled her head around Archer’s large frame. “What’s it for?”
“The shower.”
She frowned. “I haven’t had to swipe my wristband before.”
“Now that The Bunker is fully operational, you’ll have to. It’s a way to limit water use.”
Sloan’s head began to pound. “How long?”
“Fifteen minutes.” He snickered. “The running joke around here is the water lasts fifteen minutes because that’s how long it takes a woman to orgasm.”
“Get out, Archer.” She had been paired with a twelve-year-old boy in a thirty-year-old man’s body. How could any person or computer program conclude they were a perfect match?
He held up his hand. “God. It was a joke, Slash. Chill the hell out.”
“Yes, your lack of knowledge on female anatomy is hilarious.” She shoved him towards the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower in peace.”
“Wouldn’t you like to grab a change of clothes first? That was like rule number three on your list: change in the bathroom.”
Sloan’s patience was wearing thin. “Thank you for the reminder.”
Archer leaned against the doorframe. “Not that I have a problem with any of your rules being broken. In fact, I’m totally for it. Especially the sexual advances one. Just let me know and we can break that one together.”
She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. “Being in your presence is exhausting. Do you have to be on all the time?”
“Hey, I’m just keeping it real.”
***
“Welcome to orientation,” the wrinkled elderly man said as he fiddled with the computer in the back of the room. He had to have been close to eighty with his hunched shoulders and pants pulled up well past his waist. What he was doing in The Bunker, Sloan had no clue. Everyone she’d encountered ranged in age from late twenties to late fifties. Those on the higher end of the spectrum were all VIPs. “Appears everyone got the memo.”
Early this morning, Sloan received a message that she was to join her fellow medical professionals in hall five of the operation’s floor at nine a.m. for orientation. She was excited to leave the confines of her room and put some distance between herself and Archer. She did not take well to the limited space of the suite.
“Now if I can just get this doggone contraception to display this picture here to that doohickey up there, we’ll be in business. I believe I’m supposed to push this button right here…Ugh! Where’d it go?” He slammed the mouse a couple of times. “Freaking-fracking thing is broken.”
Evelyn leaned into Sloan. “Wow. Just wow.” Her normal humorous tone was flat and uncaring.
“Let me take a look, sir,” Travis said.
“Thank you kindly, young man. The rest of you just talk amongst yourselves for a few minutes.”
The room remained quiet. This was the first time they’d seen each other since the presidential address. No one had the strength to speak about what had happened or their new living arrangements. Instead, each focused on the front of the room with the same grave, lifeless expression painted on their faces. Their reaction was to be expected. It hadn’t even been two complete days since they’d learned the fate of the world.
The black screen flickered to life and was replaced by a PowerPoint presentation simply titled: Attendees Orientation. With its white background and black lettering, it was apparent not much effort was put into the creation of the slides.
“Here we go,” the older man said. “If someone wouldn’t mind getting the lights we’ll begin.” The room fell dark aside from the fluorescent glow of the screen. “Good. Good. There are a few key points I am to go over with you all today: rules, currency, work schedules, meals, physical activity…I thought there were a few more. Where are those doggone glasses?”
Travis stood again. “If you would like, I’ll man the computer so you can stand in front and read the slides.”
The presenter checked the desk one last time and sighed. “That would be helpful.” He hobbled to the front and squinted. “Ah, yes. Wristbands and procreation…the big ones.”
Travis changed the slide.
“Before we begin, I should introduce myself and provide a brief history. I am retired Colonel Edmund Goodman, father of General Justin Goodman of the US Army. He is one of the execs and I am his only living relative so I was fortunate enough to be allowed to join him here in The Bunker.”
“Who are the execs?” a woman behind Sloan asked. “We keep hearing about them and VIPs but no one has explained their significance.
“Excellent question.” His entire demeanor changed from a fragile elderly man to a commanding officer. “If The Bunker was a pyramid, there would be four sections. The execs would be at the point. They are The Bunker’s board members made up of the highest-ranking military officials and the President of the United States. What they say goes. The VIPs are just below them. They are the ones who provided financial support and are the brains of this place. Both groups knew of the impending destruction of our world and wanted to do something about it. Next are you, the attendees. You’re the most valuable part of this place because you’re the future of the world. On the bottom are the employees who run the day to day operations: cooking, housekeeping, maintenance and security. All military personnel. Most volunteered.”
Wonder where Archer falls into all of this. He hadn’t been made aware of the asteroid, but he also ran the entire security team.
“Any questions?” He waited a full second before continuing. “Good. The rules are simple. Perform your job as expected, preserve our resources, and do not cause trouble. Simple as that. Everyone selected to be here had an extensive background check done on them which included criminal records and job performance. Only those with clean records and an above and beyond work ethic were chosen. Next slide.”
He didn’t bother waiting for questions. “Currency. It’s a simple concept. No one job is more important than the other. We are all here to serve a purpose. Without each other, none will survive. For that very reason, everyone is paid one credit for one hour of work. These credits can be used to buy luxury items and additional clothing
in the shops. They can also be used at the bar. Everything else is essentially free. As we are on the subject…” Edmund gave Travis a small wave and the slide changed. “Work schedules are given out by the VIP assigned as your supervisor. You will meet with them tomorrow morning. Next.”
Sloan fought the urge to close her eyes and tune out the rest of the presentation. None of the information he provided was so complicated that they couldn’t have been given reading material on the subjects instead of wasting their time in this room.
“Meals and physical activity. As you know, to get a plate of food you must swipe your wristband. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served in the dining hall. Small snack items such as fruit and cheese will be allowed in your rooms. Mind you, these items in your rooms are tracked and only so much will be allotted per week.”
“What happens if you live with a giant?” Evelyn mumbled.
Edmund snapped his head in her direction. “Was there a question?”
No one replied so he continued. “What will change going forward is the number of calories each individual is served. This number will be based on age, weight, and physical activity done in the previous twenty-four-hour period. Everyone is required thirty minutes of physical activity four times a week. If you do not adhere to this rule, recreational privileges—bar, movies, games—will be taken away. Continue and your credits will be docked. The only way you can repopulate the world is to stay healthy.”
The next slide appeared and simply said: Medical.
“We have reached the end of my presentation. Next, a few members of our medical team will join us.” Edmund checked his wristband. “We are ahead of schedule. Let me just step out and give them a call.”
***
It took over an hour for the medical team—which consisted of two doctors and two nurses—to arrive. They strolled into the room, smiling as if unaware the world as they knew it had just perished before their eyes.
The reproductive endocrinologist—Dr. Floyd Stripling—apologized profusely for the delay. “The orientation group before you had numerous questions. I don’t believe that will be the case with your group.” The nurse handed him a large medical bag. “Because of the delicate nature of our situation, procreation is forbidden for at least five years or until the earth’s surface is deemed close to or habitable once again. Please do not question the timeline, as it is not mine.” He looked up and smiled. “There are many ways to halt reproduction but none are one hundred percent except for abstinence, which is not a reasonable request to ask of the men and women here. Over the past five years, my team has created a new drug which will temporarily cause infertility in both sexes.”
Sloan turned to Evelyn, who appeared to be just as shocked as she felt.
“It’s a simple shot, given once a year. There are very little side effects—swelling at the injection site, mild nausea for a week or so as your body adjusts to the drug. Nothing to be concerned about. This is top-secret so I am unable to discuss the logistics, but all trials have gone exceptionally well and there have been no long-term negative effects. If you will please line up.”
No one moved. Though no one protested either. Everyone remained in their seats, silent and dead to the world around them.
Dr. Stripling sighed. “I understand the reservations, but this is mandatory and I have many, many other orientations to attend.”
Sloan stood and made her way to the front of the room. She’d never considered having children; her occupation allotted her very little free time. It would be nice not to have to take a pill every day to prevent that from accidentally happening.
“Thank you, doctor.” The nurse handed him a needle. Sloan rolled up her sleeve and he injected the serum. “Please swipe your wristband across this panel to indicate you’ve received the inoculation.”
Sloan took a seat and watched as the rest followed suit. Once everyone was vaccinated, Dr. Stripling bid them farewell and turned it over to Dr. Nicole Grandison. “Thank you, Floyd.” He left the room and Dr. Grandison addressed the attendees. “As Dr. Stripling said, I am Nicole Grandison and specialize in microtechnology—particularly those that can be used in the body. For the past few days, you have been using your wristband for everything from accessing your room to communications. The problem with the wristband is it can be removed, broken, or even stolen. When tracking things as valuable as work hours, credits, meals, and physical activity, the wristband is just not reliable. It will still be used as for communication and scheduling but for everything else a more reliable technology will be utilized.” The remaining nurse scurried to her side with a large briefcase. Dr. Grandison popped open the lid and retrieved what looked like a small pill. “This is the latest in microtechnology. It’s a device that will be inserted just under the skin on your left wrist.”
“You’re embedding us with a tracking device?” Travis shouted and everyone turned.
Her face flushed. “It does have the capacity to track your whereabouts, but that’s not its main intent.”
“Let me guess, it monitors everything we do, takes vitals, probably even tests our blood to check for medical issues.”
Nicole finger-tapped the tabletop. “You seem to know a lot about this technology, Dr…”
“Morrison.”
“He’s a conspiracy theorist,” Vicky said. “Pay no attention to him. Can we just get this over with?”
“Are you volunteering to go first?” Dr. Grandison asked.
“I am if it will get me the hell out of this room.”
Sloan’s eyes widened, as did many others. Vicky was the kindest and most positive person among them.
“Name please. Each monitor is already programmed with its own information, including access.”
“Vicky Maxwell.” She stormed to the front of the room and shoved her left wrist in the doctor’s face. “Here.”
“The injection gun will make a small slit in the skin and insert the monitor. Samuel, my assistant, will glue the wound shut as stitches would be cumbersome in that particular spot. The wound will not be wrapped as that could interfere with its readability. Wash with soap and water twice a day to keep it from getting infected. If the wound happens to open, please head to the infirmary and one of your colleagues can close it back up. Are there any questions?”
Travis raised his hand and Nicole groaned. “It’s mandatory, Dr. Morrison. The answer to your question won’t change that. Things could be worse. You could be on the outside.”
He lowered his hand and lumbered towards her. “Guess I’m next then.”
***
The pain in Sloan’s wrist was excruciating. Every movement, she swore she could feel the monitor twisting and digging deeper into her flesh. In time, her body would adjust to the intruder but until then she would have to find a way to keep from clawing it out.
“Hey.” Evelyn stepped out of the room a few minutes behind Sloan. “You waitin’ for me?”
“Thought we’d have lunch together for old time’s sake.” It was Sloan’s best attempt at a joke.
Evelyn’s smile was forced, as were most of Sloan’s these days. “That would be nice.”
They walked to the elevator in awkward silence. How do you start a conversation when you’re unsure if the person is ready to talk?
Both took their time swiping their wrists in front of the panel. Each let out a small whimper at the movement.
When the elevator doors closed and their floor was selected, Evelyn turned to Sloan. “Do you want to talk about everything that’s happened?”
Sloan rapidly blinked in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Maybe small? Who were you paired with?”
“Major Archer.” Sloan huffed. “Can you believe that?”
Evelyn laughed. “You’re kidding? Think he got to choose?”
The elevator doors slid open. “I think he was just as shocked as I was.”
They headed into the crowded dining hall and joined the end of the
line. “How are things going between the two of you?”
Sloan shook her head. “He’s a teenage boy. Everything that comes out of his mouth is idiotic. And worst of all, I’m expected to share a bedroom with him!”
She patted Sloan on the back. “I know what you mean.”
“Who are you matched with?”
“A center for the New Orleans Saints, by the look of him.” Evelyn swiped her wrist, grabbed a tray, and waited for her plate to be made by the animatronic server.
“I don’t know what that means. Is that a basketball reference?”
“Oh honey,” Evelyn sighed. “It’s a football reference. Not that it matters much anymore.”
Sloan spotted Travis and Vicky at a table at the far end of the hall and they joined them. Neither looked up when they took a seat.
“So, you’re matched with a football player?” Sloan continued their conversation. “I didn’t know they’d recruited athletes.”
“A botanist who happens to be a VIP.” Evelyn pointed her fork towards Travis and Vicky. “You two met him. Cavl Bowers. Big guy. Looks like he belongs in the NFL.”
“I didn’t realize VIPs were taking matches as well.” A small piece of Sloan’s heart sank. Fletcher was her perfect match in every way. Their conversations alone would have been enough to help ease her through the darkness weighing on her mind.
“Not all of them chose to participate,” Evelyn clarified. “Cavl is one of the younger VIPs and apparently has a magnificent genetic makeup.” She took a small bite of her green beans. “Or so he says.”
“Doesn’t it bother you to be with someone who knew all of this was going to happen?” Travis asked.
“Not as much now as it did the first night,” Evelyn said. “His rationalization felt genuine. He did it to save the world.”
“Well, at least you’re with a scientist,” Vicky huffed. “I was matched with a cattle farmer. Can you believe that? Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against a hard-working man in tight jeans, a cowboy hat, and boots. He’s a sight for sore eyes. It’s just…he’s not much of a conversationalist. He spent the last few days on the couch playing his guitar and writing sad country songs. If there was a case of beer in the fridge, he would have been drinking his sorrows away.”
