David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

When he had left the Vancouver Library with the others earlier in the day, desperately praying that she would be all right, he felt as though he were frozen. The thought had never occurred to him that he would have to live without her someday. He’d landed outside of his house and broken through the door, just as James had done in his own home. By then, after flying over San Antonio and seeing it in flames, he had almost lost all hope.

What was left of her was in the backyard.

She was learning to grow flowers and had been doing something with them when it happened. There was a trowel that still had the imprint of her hand melded into the plastic handle. She had died in pain.

He had no body to cradle. No open eyes to close. No hair to touch. She was gone. He should have had a chance to say goodbye. His partner and his oldest friend was gone. Why did he ever leave her alone?

And so now, only hours later, how could he be feeling this? This body, warm on his back, arms holding tight around his chest, breath on his ear, and hot as he breathed it into his own lungs.

James might die.

Old-timer had medical training from back before this brave new world emerged, but it was so, so long ago, and without a hospital, there was little, if anything that he could do. They needed to get to the Purist hospital and quickly.

The A.I. had turned on them and destroyed civilization and most of the human race.

And yet his focus was on this girl.

She was just a child compared to him. Their bodies were the same age, but he was old enough to be her great-grandfather. Yet, he felt a kind of euphoria as she breathed and he took the air into his lungs. What was this power that this woman had? And what kind of man was he, that he would be attracted to a child only hours after learning of his wife’s death? Was he a monster?

“You’re not a monster,” Alejandra said.

“What? How…?” Old-timer stammered between gasps.

“You were questioning whether or not you are a monster. You were thinking about your wife.”

“You…you’re a psychic?”

“No. I am an empath .”

“But you read my thoughts.”

“I can’t read thoughts, but I can sense the intense emotions they create. I’ve had this ability my entire life, and your emotions revealed your thoughts. I was right, wasn’t I?”

“I…please stop doing that. This is very embarrassing—”

“I can’t turn it off. I am sorry. If you would like, I won’t reveal what I am sensing to you in the future. I am sorry if I have offended you.”

“It’s not that. I’m not offended. I just…I don’t think I should have been feeling those things.”

“Feelings are never wrong. Only actions can be wrong.”

Old-timer fought to catch his breath. The skin on his face burned with embarrassment and guilt. “I’m…I shouldn’t feel this way.”

“ Feelings are never wrong .”

“That’s it,” Lieutenant Patrick announced as he pointed to a patch of dead earth at the base of a large and rolling hill that didn’t look much different than all the rest of the dead earth everywhere on the planet.

“How can you tell?” Djanet asked him. “There are no landmarks anymore. Everything is dead.”

“There’s still landmarks. Stones. Hills. It’s enough.”

Djanet lowered the pair to the area Lieutenant Patrick had indicated. The others followed them down and landed in the ankle-deep gray sludge, adjacent to a reasonable facsimile of salvation. He spoke into a radio transmitter on his wrist. “It’s Patrick. Open the blast door.”

“Copy,” replied a garbled electronic voice.

Wet earth began to move as the metallic door underneath began to slide open. Lieutenant Patrick paused for a moment. He knew if Alejandra wasn’t right about the outsiders, he could be leading a fox into the henhouse. He breathed a deep breath and then gestured to his companions. “Come on.”

Old-timer went to Thel and helped her carry James through the door. “Is he conscious?” he asked.

“In and out.”

Inside, there was a short concrete hallway followed by a stairwell; a few lights mounted on the walls guided the way. The group reached a large cargo elevator.

“Where is the doctor?” Thel asked.

“About 200 meters straight down,” replied the lieutenant. “Everybody get in.”

When everyone was inside the elevator, Gernot pulled the hand lever to begin lowering it. The elevator jumped and bounced slightly as it began to slowly grind its way down the shaft. The lights flickered as they descended, and the temperature began to rise.

“I was wondering, could you guys make your underground lair a little more creepy?” Rich suggested. “I’d like to be slightly more terrified.”

“How about shutting up, before I punch you in the face?” Gernot replied.

“That works. Thanks,” Rich answered.

“How about if I fry your brain?” Djanet asked Gernot.

“Settle down,” Lieutenant Patrick interjected.

“How do you keep this place hidden?” Old-timer asked Lieutenant Patrick. “Can’t the A.I. detect such a massive structure?”

“The complex is equipped with a state-of-the-art cloaking program. It sends out false signals, so that no matter what technology the A.I. uses to try to detect us, all it will see is a big chunk of earth.”

The elevator came to a halt, and the door opened.

“Holy…!” Rich gasped.

Before them was a massive hangar, populated by hundreds of people busily buzzing around what appeared to be ancient military equipment. Airplanes and vehicles that looked like tanks and helicopters stretched toward the back of the hangar to a far wall about a kilometer away. Djanet, Rich, and Old-timer were transfixed by the sheer size of the room.

“Where’s the doctor?” Thel asked again as James’s body became more and more limp at her side.

“This way,” Lieutenant Patrick answered, leading the group towards one of the many doorways that were burrowed into the walls of the massive bunker. It appeared as though the hangar was the central hub of a complex that spread off in all directions through a series of doorways; the group followed Lieutenant Patrick to the hospital.

“I can’t believe my eyes,” Rich stammered. He and his companions had expected a single shaman figure who could practice uncanny mystic medicine to save James, but the hospital appeared massive and well organized. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies populated the hallways and bustled efficiently about their business. There were injured people lining the hallways, suffering from cuts, bruises, and burns.

Rich and Djanet both observed a woman whose burnt skin looked like the cheese atop a replicated piece of lasagna. She was on a stretcher, bandaged and moaning in pain as she passed in and out of consciousness. “Why would people live like this?” Rich whispered to Djanet.

One of the doctors saw the soldiers and their companions and immediately came to help. “What happened?” he asked Thel as he began to examine James.

“He fell…several meters.”

“How long has it been?” the doctor asked as he looked at James’s eyes and felt his pulse.

“It’s been about five hours. The A.I. told us he had less than twenty-four hours to live.”

Thel’s words momentarily stunned the doctor. His mouth opened, and his eyes were wide as he turned to the lieutenant and asked, “Who are these people?”

“Calculator-heads,” Gernot asserted as he spat chewing tobacco on the floor.

Lieutenant Patrick turned on him angrily. “This is a hospital, damn it! Get a mop and clean that off the floor! And when you’re done, go get Cochrane and finish your recon shift! I’ve heard enough out of you for one day!”