by Lee Bradford
Soon Autumn turned the conversation back to Brett. He explained he came from a long line of military men, dating all the way back to the Revolutionary War. Then the topic of Brett’s father came up and his mood began to shift. In 2003, his dad had gone to Iraq and never come home. His eyes welled up with tears, but he fought them back.
“I was only six years old,” he told her. “Young enough that I didn’t understand why, but old enough to feel the heartache.”
She reached out and touched his hand. It was trembling.
When the figure appeared, casting them both in shadow, Autumn immediately retracted her hand. He was an older man dressed in a dark suit—sixty, maybe seventy years old—with clouds of curly white hair in the back. His face was strangely shaped too, wide at the temples and tapering down to a thin, bony chin.
“Good afternoon, Brett,” he said before turning in her direction. “And good afternoon to you, Miss Edwards. I trust you and your family have gotten settled all right.”
She nodded, feeling uneasy but not knowing why. The man was grinning, yellow tar between his teeth from age or too many cigarettes.
“Excellent,” he replied before the muscles in his face relaxed. He reached out and plucked a small flower from behind her ear. It was a magic trick and Autumn’s heart started beating again. “We all need a little magic in our lives, don’t we?” He handed her the violet. “Consider this a gift for a beautiful young woman.”
Autumn took it and did her best to smile.
“I’m Director Van Buren,” he said. “You may already be aware that I run this facility. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me or my assistant Ms. Monroe know about it.”
“I will,” Autumn said, sheepishly.
Van Buren grinned and walked to another table where he introduced himself all over again.
“He seems nice,” she lied.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Brett said, glancing around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “But the director gave me crap after we arrived.”
Autumn leaned forward. “Really? What for?”
“My commanding officer let him know I fought to have you and your family brought to the bunker. Said you weren’t on the list.”
Autumn’s brow scrunched with confusion. “The list?”
“Of the chosen few, I guess. Isn’t a big shock the rich wanna keep this place all to themselves. Van Buren’s the head of some big military contracting company hired by the government. I’m pretty sure he was letting me know that inside the Ark, I answer to him.”
“But shouldn’t your commanding officer have been the one to speak with you?”
“Normally yes, but in here, all bets are off.”
Chapter 8
Paul, Susan and Autumn were back in their single-room suite when they heard a rapid series of knocks at the door.
“You expecting someone?” Susan asked Autumn. Her gaze soon found Paul, who had returned from the men’s communal bathroom at the end of the hall, his wet hair slicked back from a nice hot shower. A few more of those and he might begin to forget about being doused with ice water during the decontamination process.
“I’ll bet anything it’s Brett,” Paul said, straightening his tunic.
Autumn threw him a sharp look. The knock came again, this time louder. “Well, if no one else is gonna answer it, I will.” In three quick strides she was across the room, gripping the handle before flinging it open.
On the other side of the door was a man with a wild head of white hair, decked out in a tunic similar to theirs, several sizes larger. The grumpy look on his face left no doubt who it was.
“Grampa!” Autumn shouted, jumping into his arms. “You’re better.”
Buck rocked back on his heels, gripping the doorway with both hands. She was still hanging onto him as he entered swearing.
“The shoulder, honey,” he squealed. “For the love of God, watch the shoulder.”
She bounded to the ground, apologizing.
“Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?” Paul asked.
“With those masochists?” Buck shot back. “Always taking blood, sticking me with needles, not to mention my backside still hurts from that ‘auto-injector’.” He made air quotes as he said it. “Heck, I was starting to feel like a slab of meat. One more day and you’d have seen the last of ol’ Buck, lemme tell you.”
Paul laughed. “We could only be so lucky.”
“But your IVs,” Susan said.
“Tore ’em out.”
“Dad, the doctor said you were dehydrated, that you needed liquids.”
“Ain’t you never heard of tap water?”
Susan crossed her arms.
“Don’t be fooled, that wasn’t no doctor. He’s a quack with a wall full of fake degrees.”
Paul hung the towel up laughing. “He isn’t in the room five minutes and the conspiracy theories are already flying.”
“Listen here, Rock Star, I’d like to see you in there, you wouldn’t last five minutes.”
“How did you find out what room we were in?” Susan asked, apparently abandoning all hope of talking sense into her father.
“I followed the stench,” Buck said, grinning as his eyes settled on Paul. “No, I made ’em tell me. Same way I made ’em give me something to wear other than that Godawful robe. Would you believe even the smallest draft crawls right up your legs.”
Paul went to the table and sat down. “I believe it. Has anyone shown you around?”
Buck’s hand went to his hip. “Show me around? Are we at Disneyland or something?”
“I thought you were excited to see Ava again.”
Buck’s face soured. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but it’s wrong. I gave myself a tour before I came and found you. Wanted to get my lay of the land and all that.”
“So you saw Ark Two and Three?” Paul asked.
“What about the Park, Grampa? Tell me you saw the Park.”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“And let me guess,” Paul said. “You weren’t impressed.”
“Why should I be? It’s a bunch of grass and trees and lovey-dovey animals.”
Susan smiled. “He was impressed, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“What I did see were those radiation meters on the wall in every corridor. Judging by the readings things are getting a little too hairy out there right now, but as soon as they clear up, we’ll make our way home.”
“To what, Buck?” Paul wondered. “The tiny bunker under your barn?”
“Well, it’s better than the non-existent bunker under yours.”
“He’s not knocking it,” Susan cut in. “Paul’s just wondering what the rush is to leave when we have more room and resources here.”
“Maybe, but I don’t like it.”
Even Autumn was surprised. “Really, Grampa? It’s actually quite beautiful. How can you not like this place?”
“The Ark itself isn’t the problem,” Paul said. “What Buck’s trying to say is that he can’t deal with authority.”
“You never could,” Susan observed, folding a towel in the bathroom and setting it back on the rack. “Least, not since you served in ’Nam.”
Buck’s face reddened. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. All I know is as soon as the air outside is decent, I’m outta here, with or without the rest of you.”
Chapter 9
The next morning, Paul made a decision. If they were going to be stuck in this bunker for the foreseeable future, then he would do his utmost to get back into shape. His first task was to find Craig and beg him for a pair of shorts, sneakers and a t-shirt. It took some time to find the man, and when he did the expression of confusion on Craig’s face wasn’t a complete surprise. From what Paul had seen so far, the military, scientific and political personnel in the complex had little time for luxuries like staying in shape. They were a busy bunch, securing the facility and organizing a response to th
e terrorists who had done this while trying to maintain at least a semblance of government. It was the busy bees wearing the science lab coats who puzzled him. Why were they always rushing about so frantically?
After a moment or two of begging, Craig finally caved in and finagled an extra pair of beige pants which he said could be cut into something resembling shorts. And who knew, Craig told him, maybe Paul would start a trend.
Ten minutes of hobbling pathetically around the track that circled the weight room and another ten struggling to bench a hundred and twenty pounds left Paul feeling like he’d actually accomplished something. Stealing a glance at the clock on the weight room wall, he saw breakfast was about to be served and headed for the mess hall.
The soft light spilling in from the artificial skylights was a surprisingly close approximation to morning. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost convince himself he was standing in the center of a shopping mall food court. After a moment scanning the faces of those in the lunch line as well as friends or family members reserving seats at tables, Paul finally spotted Susan near the front of the line. He waved and hurried over.
“What on earth are you wearing?” she asked. Others around them were starting to stare.
“Shorts,” Paul told her. “Stop judging. I went to work out this morning.”
“You cut your only pair?”
He touched her shoulder. “I talked Craig into giving me a spare. I gotta say, I woke up this morning feeling good, but after pumping iron I feel fantastic.”
The disturbed look on Susan’s face wasn’t going away. “I don’t know who you are, but I want my husband back.”
Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of extra meat on his right love handle. “Give me a month and all this stuff’ll be gone. I’ll look like an Adonis. You won’t be able to keep your hands off of me.”
He could see she was trying not to smile. The lunch line inched forward. “You’ve lost your mind.” She grew serious. “Do you really think we’ll need to be here that long?” she asked. There was an innocence to her question that touched Paul’s heart.
“Honestly, I don’t know. It could be less or it could be more. When Buck and I left Nebraska to come find you and Autumn, the only thing on our minds was keeping you both safe. What does it matter if that’s here or in a cramped bunker buried under Buck’s hay barn?” He caught her eye and saw something there. “You’re not in as much of a hurry to leave either. I can see it. Don’t forget I know you, honey,” Paul said. “You’re afraid that if you let down your guard this place’ll grow on you and you might never want to go.”
After they got breakfast—Paul a cup of fruit and a mineral water; Susan two eggs, bacon and hash browns—Paul and Susan found a seat.
“Did you know that next to the weights is a music room?” he told his wife.
She cut open her egg, sunny side up, and let the yolk slowly cover the bottom of her plate. “You must be happy.”
“Happy? I’m thrilled. I saw a rack of acoustic guitars by the back wall. After breakfast I might swing by and exercise my fingers a little.” He smiled and swirled his spoon before diving in and scooping out a melon ball.
Susan scanned the mess hall. The hum of conversation from the tables nearby was loud and he wondered why she was so preoccupied this morning.
“What is it, honey?”
He followed her gaze and spotted Buck, several tables over, engaged in a boisterous discussion, waving wildly.
“Oh, no,” Paul said, letting his spoon fall into his fruit cup. “When Buck gets excited, bad things happen.”
“He’s talking to a group of men we haven’t met before.”
“Your father may not be the most agreeable man on the planet, but he’s certainly no wallflower.”
“Paul, go over there and sit with them.”
“What?”
“Look, you know my father, he’s probably trying to convince them the moon landings were faked.”
Paul wasn’t convinced, but she wore the pouty face that always got her way.
“You know his heart’s in the right place,” she said. “He’s probably hurt because we didn’t back him up yesterday.”
“I’ll go,” Paul said, “but mainly because I’m sure those poor folks are too polite to admit he’s driving them crazy.”
Paul got up and headed over, past a young family of five and a table of men and women in military uniforms. As he drew nearer, Buck’s voice grew louder and louder until there was no longer any doubt what he was talking about.
“If you thought we had a democracy before all this then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for, Earl,” Buck shouted. Across from him were four other men. The one he was calling Earl was a thin, middle-aged man with pleasant features. A patch of curly hair around his chin made him look like a billy goat.
“I ain’t no fool,” Earl said in a thick Arkansas accent.
“Maybe not,” Buck replied. “But there’s been a coup d’état. President’s been usurped by a man named Perkins. He’s already declared martial law in the big cities. Who knows what he’ll do next.”
“Who is this Perkins?” one of the other men at the table asked.
“I think he was a congressman?”
“What does it matter?” Buck said, bringing his fist down on the table. Some of the people around them were starting to look uncomfortable. Others got up and left. “The illusion of democracy is gone, gentlemen, that’s the point I’m trying to make. We’re living in a dictatorship. Unchecked executive powers. President Saddam Hussein.”
“You don’t know that,” Paul said from behind him.
Buck turned, his cheeks blooming red. “I wondered when you were gonna show up. Tell them what that soldier said back in Atlanta. Go on, tell them.”
Paul swallowed hard. “First of all, Edmund Perkins isn’t a usurper. He was the Speaker of the House and next in line if anything should happen to the president and vice president.”
“Yeah, ain’t that convenient,” Buck said.
“When we’re stuck down here, it’s hard for any of us to know what’s true and what isn’t,” Paul told them. “Buck is telling the truth though. We did hear news that Perkins had assumed power in a coup. But if any of you have ever played the telephone game…”
“Telephone, smeliphone,” Buck chimed in. “Whatever those terrorists were hoping to achieve they’ve done so much more. When we start throwing out the rule of law in order to fight back, then you might as well kiss the whole thing goodbye.”
The folks seated around them weren’t the only ones feeling uncomfortable. Paul didn’t think this kind of talk—true or not—did anything to help the people who’d come here searching for a safe haven. Paul had faith that whoever the new president was, he would do everything in his power to uphold the Constitution and restore the rule of law. On that front he did agree with Buck. Without those two things, there was no longer a country worth fighting for.
Chapter 10
Later that afternoon, following a stint in the music room tuning guitars, Paul borrowed the Gibson acoustic and brought it to the Park. Getting there from Ark One wasn’t all that difficult. Each of the three main facilities had their own access point—in this case, a pair of heavy steel doors led to a kind of airlock. The purpose was to maintain the Park’s environmental conditions while also ensuring that none of the wildlife escaped.
A woman standing next to Paul in a white lab coat was holding a plastic container with a sandwich.
“Lunch break?” Paul asked, making polite conversation as a group shuffled into the airlock.
She nodded. “We don’t get much time to eat, but I find the Park relaxing, so I try to make the most of it.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” The strap holding the guitar to his back was over his shoulder and he gripped it with one hand to make sure it didn’t hit someone.
The airlock quickly filled up. Lunchtime rush, Paul supposed. Soon, a red light became green and the forward hatch opened.
<
br /> “I’m new here,” Paul told her as they began moving out. Already he could hear birds chirping in the distance.
“Yes, I can see that.”
He smiled. “I was given a tour the other day and I couldn’t help but wonder.” He paused, searching for the most diplomatic way of asking. “What exactly do you science folks do around here?”
Smiling, the woman looked up at him. She was shorter by about a foot with pale skin and tightly cropped black hair. “The trees, bushes, flowers and grass you see in the park,” she said, motioning around her. “That’s us.”
“Oh, yes, that makes sense. You’re a botanist.”
“Some work in genetics, breeding the aggression out of some of the wilder beasts.”
“I’m sure I know a human or two who could use some of that.”
She smiled politely.
“I heard there was a jaguar in here somewhere,” he said, kicking a stone off the gravel path.
Her face lit up. “There is. Her name is Inti, named after the Incan sun god, but I’ve only seen her once. She’s magnificent. To answer your question, the bulk of my colleagues work in virology.”
That last part took a second to sink in. “Virology? Doing what?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, tightening her grip on her sandwich container. “I guess you could say I don’t have a ‘need to know’. Maybe you should ask one of them yourself.”
“Maybe I will,” Paul said, holding out his hand and officially introducing himself.
“Victoria,” she replied. “This is a good place, Paul. Don’t ruin it by asking too many questions.”
She walked away then, leaving Paul to ponder whether she was offering him a bit of friendly advice or a warning.
Not long after, Paul was strolling along, soaking in the artificial sunlight when he spotted a familiar face seated at a bench nearby. He swung his guitar around and began his best rendition of Moon River. Susan saw him coming and her face lit up with surprise and embarrassment. He loved teasing her and the playfulness of their relationship had kept them going through the rough patches any couple faced. As he drew closer, strumming and drawing hoots of encouragement from passersby, Paul noticed Susan wasn’t alone. Nestled in her lap was a tabby cat.
