Kyle West: Apocalypse

I’m glad I’m a citizen, living in a Bunker. We have warm beds, hot showers, and a safe life. Bunker 108 has a digital archive where millions of books, recordings, and movies are stored. I spend a lot of my off time there, listening to the music of the Old World, watching the movies, reading the books. We have a commons with a pool and a basketball court, among other amenities, including the sun room – fifteen minutes of pure, lighted bliss, giving all Bunker residents their daily dose of Vitamin D. Everything is warm, everything is in its right place, and people are happy – for the most part.

Right now, Bunker 108 has a population of four hundred, and is run by Chief Security Officer Chan. He’s a little harsh, but he keeps things in order. I just try to dodge him when he walks the corridors.

Michael and I arrived at the north face of Hart Mountain. As we walked I stared at the distant, red peaks. I was used to the confines of the Bunker, and seeing so much open space was surreal.

“Jesus…” Michael said.

I stopped short. “What?”

Face down in front of us, hidden by some wispy scrub, lay the body of a man, stabbed several times in the back. Small traces of purple slime oozed from the wounds. He wasn’t moving.

Michael knelt beside the man, placing a hand on his neck.

“There’s a pulse,” Michael said.

I wondered why Michael was checking for a pulse, and not shooting him. That was standard protocol: if you found a Wastelander, you killed him, end of story. But after looking at what the man was wearing, I saw why.

The number 114 was emblazoned on the sleeve.

“Is he from that other Bunker?” I asked.

For some reason, my eyes drifted up, focusing on a distant boulder. Something was off about it.

Then I realized what it was. A woman’s face was peeking around its side.

I knew exactly what I was supposed to do – tell Michael about the woman, and have her eliminated.

It was so simple, yet I didn’t open my mouth. She was a Wastelander. A real one. She could tell people where she saw us, and the entire security of Bunker 108 could be compromised.

She might have been the one to stab the man in the first place.

Yet I didn’t say a word. I just stared out there at that giant red rock as the evening’s shadows stretched, feeling like an idiot. By now, the woman had long disappeared. I wasn’t even sure if she had been there. I could only remember her face, pretty, even with the distance, framed by long, black hair.

Was it only my imagination?

Michael’s voice snapped me back to attention.

“Alpha Patrol to Base – do you copy, over?”

“Base to Alpha Patrol, what is your status, over?”

“We found a man, stabbed several times in the back. He’s unconscious, but there is a pulse. I think he’s from that other Bunker, over.”

The handheld radio went quiet. I took my attention off the boulder, and looked at the man. Those sharp blue eyes that stared upward had held thoughts, once. Now, they held nothing.

Why was he here? Why had he been killed?

“If he’s from Bunker 114, what’s he doing out here?” I asked.

He had to be here for a very important reason. Officer Chan would be most interested in this.

The radio crackled to life.

“Alpha Patrol, what is your location, over?”

“Two miles onto the long route, over.”

“Can you give a description of the man, over?”

“Male. Age: 35-45 years. Ethnicity: white. Short of stature, with black hair. He carries nothing – no ID, no gun, no pack. God knows how he made it this far.” Michael sighed. “He may have been murdered and robbed. There are three deep stab wounds in the back – one on the lower right back side, and two more to the left of the spine. Each of them has blood and dark pus oozing through his clothes, over.”

The wind blew cold and dry, covering the man’s pale face in a thin layer of red dust. The sun faded behind hazy clouds above the distant red mountains. It was now night. It was high time to get back.

“Alpha Patrol,” said a voice, icy and clear. It was CSO Chan. “We’re sending a team to transport the man to base. If he came from 114, it must have been for an important reason. Remain where you are, and keep an eye out for hostiles. There may be raiders in the area. Do you copy, over?”

“Copy that,” Michael said.

“Good. Over and out.”

I watched where I had seen the woman. The boulder became shrouded in shadow as the dim sun dipped below the western mountains. She was long gone by now – if she knew what was good for her.

For some reason, I felt pointing her out would have been wrong. Maybe I’m soft. Maybe if it had been a man instead, I would have felt differently. Yet, no matter how I rationalized my decision, I couldn’t make the sick feeling in my gut go away.

The cold wind never abated, blowing on my already numb face, stinging me with shards of sand, cracking my lips dry. At long last, flashlights crested the rise behind us. Voices signaled the arrival of reinforcements.

Four men approached, their faces lost to darkness.

“Where is he?” the one in charge asked, whose voice I didn’t recognize.

“Down here,” Michael said.

Two men pointed their guns into the darkness. Everyone else, myself included, lifted the body, one person per limb. Together, we lugged the man back to base.

Michael explained everything on the way, but I kept silent. I was thinking of the woman. They asked me several questions about what happened. I answered in monosyllables, echoing everything Michael had already said. There was no use in saying anything about the woman now. If I did, I would be severely disciplined, at best, for not speaking up earlier. At worst… I didn’t want to think about that. Now that I was sixteen, I could be tried as an adult, and the holding cells in the Officers’ Wing were mighty small.

When we reached the vaulted door of Bunker 108, I felt intense relief. The outside of the door, though metallic, was the same dull brown as the terrain. Unless you were right up on it, it was almost indistinguishable from the mountainside.

The door was opened from the inside, revealing an officer. We stepped inside Bunker 108 as the officer shut the door and twisted it shut behind us.

We were safe. I had finished my first recon, but for good reason, I didn’t feel all that proud.

Lights in the entrance tunnel flashed on overhead, revealing the six of us carrying our burden inside. We left the rocky tunnel and entered the atrium. The receptionist’s desk was empty – Deborah had either gone home, or was at the Caf.

Next to the half circular desk stood my father, Steven Keener, waiting with a gurney and a nervous orderly at his side.

My father was thirty eight years old. His brown hair, always disheveled, was streaked with gray. Dark circles underlined his hazel eyes, giving him the appearance that he hadn’t slept in days.

He shot me a worried glance as we put the man on the gurney.

“Dad…”

“Not now, son. Go eat. We will speak later.”

My father and the orderly started wheeling the patient toward the medical bay, flanked by the officers.

My father was always busy. Between his duties as senior doctor and his own pet project of researching the xenovirus, it was hard to find time with him. He sometimes put in over a hundred hours a week at the lab, all while caring for patients. I didn’t see how it is possible.

After handing off my rifle to the quartermaster (a small armory was kept near the front desk), I headed to the commons to kill time before dinner. In the corner, several officers and a few civilian women were watching a movie on the big screen. A couple of kids were playing ping pong in the corner. I sat in a chair in another corner, and watched some of my classmates play basketball.