by Lee Bradford
He entered, followed closely by Ava Monroe. She was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and Buck’s face changed right away.
“Your girlfriend’s here,” Paul said.
“Shut yer mouth,” Buck snapped.
“I see the two of you have a difficult time getting along with others,” Van Buren told them as he circled around his desk. “We had a similar problem with another resident here…” He paused.
“Earl Mullins,” Ava offered, filling in the blank.
“Yes, Mullins. I provided him with options, but he chose to leave. Accused me of keeping them here against their will. But I assure you that isn’t true. The military personnel here at the compound hate to open those big doors unless they really need to, but I never want to be thought of as a warden.”
“You people are treating us regular folks like peasants,” Buck told him. “I think you forget who you’re really working for.”
Van Buren’s lips curled into a smug little grin and even Paul wanted to punch him. “Have we?”
Buck’s hands clenched into fists. “Treating us like second-class citizens, forcing us to work for food.”
“How’s that any different from your everyday life?” Van Buren asked. “I suspect it isn’t. Do you not need to work in order to live? Does your government not already treat you with derision?”
It was clear Buck wasn’t going to win this argument.
“We know about the labs in the basement, Franz,” Buck said, struggling against his handcuffs. “I think we’d all like to know what killer bugs you’re studying down there.”
Van Buren’s momentary surprise turned to wry laughter. “Believe me, we have nothing to hide. If you haven’t already figured it out, the Ark is a repository for all the world’s knowledge.” He scanned the room. “This facility was built in the wake of 9/11 after the powers that be worried a catastrophic event could threaten our entire way of life. You may have noticed convoys of vehicles on your way here. Many of them were packed with rare treasures. But of course, I’m not only talking about gold and silver. I’m speaking about irreplaceable works of art and literature. I’m talking about a seed vault large enough to rival the Svalbard in Norway, not to mention digital copies of every book, movie and government report ever created.”
Paul’s jaw came unhinged. “You people don’t think things are gonna get better, do you? You think the country is doomed.”
“That’s a bunch of bull,” Buck shouted. It didn’t seem to matter anymore that the beautiful Ava was in his presence. “You said yourself, Van Buren, we’ll rebound. Unless you were telling lies.”
“Oh, I wasn’t lying, William.”
He was using Buck’s first name, Paul realized, but how did he even know it?
“America will rise again. The real question is: what will the country look like when it does?”
Van Buren waved a hand at Ava, who went behind Paul and undid his handcuffs. She then did the same for Buck. “It’s a real shame to see you mixed up in this mess,” Buck told her. “You’re a beautiful woman, you can have any man you want.”
Ava circled around, both sets of cuffs dangling from her index finger. “Who says I need a man?”
Buck’s voice deepened. “I’d say you’re wound up tighter than an eight-day clock. But that’s nothing a good massage couldn’t help alleviate.”
Paul was starting to feel uncomfortable. Ava was younger than Buck’s daughter, Susan.
Van Buren had apparently also heard enough. “What you’ve been told today was in the strictest of confidence. I trust you gentlemen will keep it between us.”
“You mean keep our mouths shut that this place and the people in it represent the last remnants of a country we knew and loved? Those poor folks out there deserve to know they’re locked in some sorta wacky social experiment.”
“This is no experiment,” Van Buren assured them. “When we emerge from here, we’re all going to find a very different place than we left. That is beyond question. But spreading rumors of coups d’état and biomed facilities will only serve to create discord.”
Buck shook his head. “Make the civilians harder to control, is what you mean, Franz. Let’s speak plain English and quit beating around the bush.”
Van Buren lowered himself into a plush leather chair. “I was told you had a stubborn streak and I believed it, but this is no longer stubbornness we’re seeing. This is folly.”
Buck perked up. He didn’t seem to mind being called pig-headed, but he drew the line at being called a fool. “Pardon me?”
“A man concerned with his own preservation and the welfare of the ones he loves knows when to fall in line and do as he’s told.”
Paul couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t know Buck.”
Buck threw him a scowl.
Paul’s hands flew in the air. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, you ain’t helping the situation.”
Van Buren’s eyes moved from the computer monitor back to Paul. “Mr. Edwards, I see here you own an instrument store up in Nebraska.”
Paul’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he squeaked. “I did before all this happened. Probably isn’t much of it left by now.”
“And you were once part of a musical group called The Wanderers.” Van Buren grinned. “Even played on David Letterman in eighty-nine, is that right?”
“Only once and it was toward the end of our career.”
Clicking the mouse again, Van Buren said: “I have no use for television. Rots the mind.”
Paul nodded. “It can, some shows more than others. I guess what I don’t get is how you know all this.”
Van Buren’s gaze returned to the screen. “I see your daughter was enrolled at Georgia State. Did she ever make the Panthers?”
Now Paul’s discomfort rose a notch. “No, the terrorist attacks put an end to that…”
“And they said the NSA wasn’t tapping people’s phones.” Buck groaned.
“Oh, William, we know a great many things, you’re right about that.” Van Buren made another click and appeared to be reading something. “For instance, we know of your military service in Vietnam.”
The muscles in Buck’s jaw flexed.
“Where’s all this going?” Paul asked. He looked at Buck and something in the old man’s face told him he knew perfectly well.
“We also know that on August fifteenth, nineteen sixty-nine you were dishonorably discharged.”
Now it was Paul’s turn to be surprised. “Dishonorably discharged?”
“It’s a long story,” Buck snapped.
Van Buren was enjoying this. “Oh, I’m happy to get into the gory details if it’ll help.”
Buck stood rooted in place, his face looking more and more like a freshly picked beet. Finally he said, “That’s ancient history. Ain’t no sense dredging up the past.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Van Buren said. He was standing now, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’m hoping we have an understanding then?”
Buck’s eyes fell to the floor, leaving Paul to wonder what the heck had just happened. Never in all the time he’d known Buck had he seen the old guy shut down so thoroughly. What had happened in Vietnam all those years back was still a mystery, but Van Buren had made it perfectly clear that if Buck wouldn’t keep quiet, then neither would he—a threat which had achieved everything it was intended to.
Paul convinced himself that by the end of this, when they were finally allowed to leave the Ark, far from any resentment, they would feel a tremendous debt of gratitude for Van Buren. He might not win any popularity contests, but when the chips were down, he’d taken them in, kept them safe and given them another chance.
Paul couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Chapter 21
Susan had spent most of her first day at the infirmary, trying to swallow a sizeable dollop of guilt over the cushy jobs she and Autumn had managed to land while Buck and her husband had been conscripted into garbage disposal and
floor-mopping. It didn’t help ease that heavy feeling in her heart that Dr. Redgrave, whom she was working with, was a terrifically handsome man with a great bedside manner. Never mind what her crabby father had said about him being a quack. Buck couldn’t spot a fake ID, let alone a forged diploma from Georgia State.
She and Autumn, along with eighteen other women of varying ages, had been commissioned as nurses. The truth was they were mostly nurses’ assistants since very few of them had any real experience in the medical field. Which meant that the three women who had once worked in hospitals were expected to do some serious on-the-job training.
After getting a complete tour of the place, Susan quickly realized calling it an infirmary simply didn’t do it justice. It was closer to an emergency room with several areas reserved for treating patients. Upon arrival, senior nurses would provide triage for newcomers to determine the level of attention they required. The categories were straightforward. Priority One meant anyone with a life-threatening case. Priority Two was for patients with serious issues without the immediate threat of death. Mostly lacerations, severe pain, high fever. Priority Three catered to those who needed minimal care. Small lacerations, sore throats.
Which led to the second area the newcomers were responsible for. Prepping for inoculations. It had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d received the last one. As Dr. Redgrave explained, these were preventative measures designed to reduce the spread of potentially deadly diseases. The bunker was something of an incubator. With so many people running around in a confined space, it was inevitable that sicknesses spread. All you needed to do was look at the outbreaks so common on cruise ships. The danger was all too real and the doctor’s dedication gave her a feeling of comfort and reassurance.
The small glass vials with the vaccines needed to be kept cool and came packed in blue coolers, not unlike the kind one might take to the beach on a warm summer day. The procedure was simple enough. Whatever vials weren’t used were sent back to the medical labs Dr. Redgrave told them were several floors beneath their feet.
Susan found Autumn in one of the minor procedure rooms, cleaning a child’s bloody knee and applying a bandage. She smiled with pride at the delicate care her daughter was giving. One of the senior nurses named Wendy appeared behind her. She was packing up unused vaccines before carting them back to the labs and needed a hand.
Always willing to help, Susan followed her to a smaller room. In one corner a table was stacked with blue coolers and against the far wall stood a row of waist-high refrigerators. Inside the fridges were dozens, perhaps hundreds of vials. Without delay both women began carefully emptying them into the coolers. Before long, the back-and-forth repetition became second nature and Susan slid into a groove. It was only as she was filling the final cooler with vials that she actually read one of the labels. The writing on the tiny glass bottle was hard to read at first. Then, as the letters came into sharp focus, Susan was left scratching her head.
“What’s Project Genesis: Phase Two?” she asked innocently. “And why underneath that does it say ‘placebo?’”
Wendy certainly wasn’t new here. She was one of the senior nurses and had been there to help inoculate Buck when they first arrived. She clearly had more experience here than many of the others. So if anyone should know what was going on, it was her.
Wendy had her hands elbow deep in one of the coolers. With a puff of air, the senior nurse blew the bangs out of her eyes and glanced up, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Susan continued scanning the label, all manner of internal alarms going off at once. “I suppose I’m mostly wondering why it says ‘placebo?’ What exactly is in these vaccines?”
Without saying a word, Wendy straightened her back and glanced over her shoulder at the open door. “I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this,” she said.
Susan walked past her and pushed the door closed. “How about now, Wendy?” Her eyes fell to Wendy’s hands and she saw that they were trembling. The sight sent a bolt of fear shooting up Susan’s spine. She took the senior nurse’s hands into her own. “Don’t worry, whatever it is, you can tell me.”
After taking a deep breath, Wendy spoke. “All I know is about two weeks ago, coolers filled with these vials began showing up.”
“Before the attacks?”
Wendy nodded. “I asked Dr. Redgrave about them and all he said was they’d come from the bio labs on the lower levels.”
“Bio labs?”
Wendy explained.
“Van Buren did own a biomed company,” Susan said, putting some of the pieces together.
“Listen, I can get in a lot of trouble talking to you about this. Before arriving here, we were all made to sign strict non-disclosure agreements.”
Susan closed the lid on one of the coolers and crossed her arms. “Maybe, but we’re talking about people’s lives here. This isn’t only a legal issue, it’s a moral one.”
Wendy nodded. “Believe me, I take my job very seriously. I didn’t sign up to hurt people, but these shots they’re giving are only saline solution. We don’t even inject it into the bloodstream. It’s perfectly harmless.”
None of this was making any sense. “Maybe it is,” Susan said. “But what’s the point of it all? Are they just trying to keep people busy? Or in line?”
“Those are questions I don’t have answers to,” Wendy told her and Susan believed she was telling the truth. “But I might know someone who does.”
“I’m listening.”
“First you need to be aware that for all intents and purposes you aren’t in the United States anymore.”
Susan took a step back. “What do you mean, not in the United States?”
“We’re locked up inside a mountain, Susan. There aren’t any courts in here to enforce any outside laws. And in case it hasn’t already become abundantly clear, there’s only one judge, jury and executioner in the Ark.”
“The director?” Susan asked in a hushed voice.
Wendy squeezed her hands in affirmation.
“I appreciate the word of warning, but I still want the name of that contact.”
“Dennis Dresselhaus. He’s the supervisor for biohazard level one.” Wendy closed the last of the coolers and began putting them onto a trolley. “Bring these to him and say that I sent you.”
Susan’s lips curled into a humorless smile. The Ark was starting to feel like an onion, wrapped in dark layers she was about to start peeling back.
Chapter 22
The walk from the infirmary to the elevator bank in Ark Two couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet, but for Susan every step of the journey was taking monumental effort. She wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to stir up trouble. She was a simple country girl who’d married the wrong guy when she was far too young to know what she was doing, become a widow soon after and finally met the love of her life. Her philosophy of toeing the line and listening to authority had always worked in her favor. But now another of her strongly held beliefs was causing her to throw all of that into question. An internal voice urging her to do the right thing.
Her father Buck talked often of sheeple and their tendency to exchange rights and freedoms for safety and security. The state of American society at present, like the air outside, had become toxic and dangerous. And everything in her being begged and pleaded with her to do whatever was necessary to keep from getting hurt. But she couldn’t help wondering whether a life bought at such a high cost was one worth living.
Susan reached the bank of elevators, brought her trolley loaded with coolers to a stop and pressed the down arrow. As she waited, other scientists gathered beside her. Each of them had a name stitched onto their white lab coat and she stole quick glances, wondering whether any of them were Dennis Dresselhaus, the man Wendy had said would have answers to her questions.
She scanned the digital readout above the doors. Each of the elevators were on sublevel one
, the same floor she and her trolley were headed to. Wendy had lent Susan her keycard so she could access the lower floors.
The crowd gathering around her began to grow, many tapping their feet and wondering out loud what was taking so long. Susan’s pulse began to quicken. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Besides, who was this Dennis person she was searching for and how exactly did one begin that kind of conversation?
Hi, my name’s Susan. Don’t worry, Wendy already showed me the secret handshake. Do you have the microfilm? The mental image made her smile. She was being dramatic. Nothing foul was afoot in the Ark, apart from an overactive imagination.
At last, all three elevators arrived at once, and those assembled filed in. A single floor down, that was how far she was going and for some reason this high-tech box seemed to be taking forever. Suddenly that strange feeling of increased g-forces hit her as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened and Susan got off, pushing her trolley, searching around like a kid on her first day of school.
She found herself in a brightly lit tunnel. Something about it reminded her of a spaceship, perhaps a corridor on the International Space Station. The analogy worked except for two noticeable differences. The first was the lack of zero gravity. The other was the metal grate flooring. The trolley rumbled over it as she went, making a racket.
Soon she came to an area divided by glass walls. Behind them, men and women wearing lab coats, blue gloves and small masks were hard at work.
This was biohazard level one, as Wendy had explained, the floor which housed the least lethal bacteria and viruses. If this was the kind of precautions they took here, she didn’t want to know what things looked like three floors down.
Near the end of the hallway, a security guard approached her. She explained who she was and why she’d come. He told her he’d take the trolley and deliver it.
