Paul Jones - Revelations

But the terrible loss of the two crews had at least provided the Point Loma settlers with some valuable information: There seemed to be a window of opportunity, albeit just a matter of days, before the Caretakers would fulfill their threat of retribution to any human who strayed and stayed outside of the zone they had assigned to the remnants of the human race. It also appeared that if a submarine stayed beneath the waves and kept moving, they were not seen as a threat. Maybe the Caretakers could not detect them? Maybe, as long as they kept on moving, the aliens did not care? Emily had given up on trying to fathom their inscrutable motivations.

Today, however, was an extra-special day. Today, somewhere out there, beneath the rolling blue waves, was a US submarine heading home. And, while Emily welcomed the cosmopolitan mix of accents and attitudes that had sprouted up around the camp, it would be nice to be around others from her own culture.

She had begun to think that she and Rhiannon were the last survivors of her country. But just a few weeks earlier they had made contact with the USS Michigan , a ballistic missile sub that had ridden out the storm anchored off of the Arctic, much as the crew of the HMS Vengeance had done at the opposite end of the world. They had a full contingent of almost one-hundred-and-thirty-two personnel onboard as well as a number of scientists they had rescued from Arctic research stations similar to the one she and Rhiannon had fought so hard to reach in the Stocktons. The knowledge and skills those scientists and engineers possessed would prove invaluable to the group and their efforts to survive and thrive here at this Southern California refuge.

They were out there right now , Emily thought, her eyes drifting over the sea, searching for any sign of the new arrivals. She knew she was getting ahead of herself, allowing her excitement to get the better of her; the last time they had made contact with the US sub they were still a good eight hours out, but still, she was looking forward to the promise of new faces, fresh personalities, and new stories to be heard.

“Hey, you! What you up to?” The familiar voice came from behind her so she did not flinch when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned and kissed her husband, then pulled back to arm’s length.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your boss thing rather than creeping around on the beach accosting innocent women?” she asked MacAlister.

“The boys have a handle on it. Besides, what’s the point of being the boss if you can’t take an extended break or two every now and again, eh?” He slipped his arm around her waist as they walked along the shorefront.

Mac headed up one of the clearing crews tasked with keeping the ever encroaching alien flora as far away from their doorstep as possible. It had been a slow, painful, and at times dangerous daily task to clear out the vegetation that seemed as intent on claiming Point Loma as the survivors were on keeping it. The remnants of San Diego, out across the bay, had disappeared in much the same way as Las Vegas, quickly disintegrating into nothing as the alien vegetation ate it away in the space of a week. So, if they wanted to keep this small spit of land they now called home their own, it was going to take a continual effort to hold back the wall of red.

The task of hacking down and burning the plants was grueling, backbreaking work, but rather than have a single group deal with it, it became a shared responsibility for all able-bodied souls. That responsibility had become far easier with the arrival of the newcomers, and multiple groups now took on the task of keeping the camp clear of infestation. Each group worked one day clearing the vegetation with chain saws, fire, and machete. They had managed to reclaim and hold a two-mile perimeter around the base, clearing out the homes, offices, and other buildings on their stretch of the peninsula.

Even with so much of the area directly surrounding Point Loma cleared, the vast majority of the survivors had chosen to remain within the fenced security of the main base, but a few brave (or dumb, Emily still wasn’t sure which) individuals had set up home in one of the many vacant residences beyond the security fence, in anticipation of the base becoming overcrowded as new arrivals joined the group. They had their choice of the prime homes, and so far, fingers crossed, there had been no mishaps or loss of life.

In his off time, Mac worked with Parsons and a small team of fellow engineers trying to figure out how to provide a permanent link to the nuclear reactor of the Vengeance . A reliable source of electricity would be needed quickly to help supplement their dwindling supply of diesel. In the meantime, they had managed to jury-rig a couple of wind turbines located during one of the camp’s weekly scavenger hunts that helped ease the load a little.

It was a start, and Emily had every faith that they would accomplish their goal.

She, on the other hand, had somehow found herself in the roles of unofficial mayor, public liaison officer, diplomat, and welcoming committee all bundled into one. On the six days she wasn’t working one of the cleanup crews, she was manning the radio station where she tracked and spoke with the other submarine survivors, usually trying to convince them that they should join her group. When possible, she steered clear of explaining why they should not land any farther north than Los Angeles, afraid that she might cause them to run in the opposite direction really, really fast if she told them about her encounter with the Caretakers and their warning. That was a conversation better left to a face-to-face meeting when she could have Mac and the rest of her group vouch for her veracity.

And when she found herself bored of listening to nothing but static or of repeating the same question for the hundredth time or of trolling through the ether listening for any radio chatter that might lead her to a new group of survivors, there was always something that needed to be done around the base. Rhiannon was happy to step in and take over the radio duties, but she had taken on a major role herself.

As the group of survivors grew, so too did the drain on the meager resources they had managed to scavenge locally. A few quick sorties into the surrounding areas in the early months, before what was still left of the old world had vanished completely, had bolstered their supplies, but with the total annihilation of the planet’s subsistence crops, a long-term food source was needed. Tentative experiments with some of the new plant life had identified several roots and shoots that could sustain a person almost indefinitely if push came to shove. It was just a pity, Emily thought, that no matter what was added to the alien plants by way of spices or garnishment, it still tasted like shit. Most people couldn’t even keep it down. Attempts to fish the ocean proved only that it seemed empty of all but the lowliest of life.

And that was another reason people were so eager to welcome the USS Michigan and her crew home. One of the rescued scientists onboard, a biologist, had mentioned the existence of a seed-bank facility built into a frozen cluster of islands north of what had once been Norway. The archipelago of islands lay close enough to the North Pole to have survived the great changes and might hold the key to humanity’s survival.

The Svalbard Global Seed Vault, according to the biologist, lay in a massive bomb-proof underground bunker cut into the frigid rock of Spitsbergen, the largest of the Svalbard archipelago. Safely stored away beneath the permafrost of the island, the seed vault had been created to guard against the unthinkable happening.

Well, the unthinkable had become an everyday occurrence.