Jacqueline Druga - Protocol One

That match, that single match. It could very well be the first of many to give us our light or it could be the last I had to strike out of necessity.

There was a certain amount of fear in lighting that match.

The orange flame, the candle would both be reminders of the dark ages we were about to enter.

I finally lit the match and then the wick on the emergency candle and passed it to Tom.

He led the way, but even my candle didn’t give that much light or really allow me to see what things looked like.

We made our way down a short corridor to an open doorway.

“Careful,” Tom said. “Stay close and hold the rail. The steps themselves are narrow as it is. So don’t overstep.”

They were narrow and steep. We walked slowly down ten steps, around a bend, down ten more, and so forth. I dreaded walking back up them.

It felt as if we went down five flights, but I lost count worrying about the journey.

“Once we get the lights on, you’ll be able to see on the way up.” Tom said.

“Keep in mind,” Tony said. “I only oversaw the designing. If I had I designed it, I would have put a full elevator in.”

“We have a lift,” Tom said. “From storage up. And don’t let him blow smoke up your ass, I saw the final requisition, and the orders. No elevator. Anthony something or other.”

“Guilty. Man, is it dark.”

“Yeah, I feel bad for the chickens.” Tom inched back to show me the lock.

I was still mentally questioning the use of the word ‘chickens’.

“Here it is.” He showed me an old style dial latch, all set to zeros. Six digits were needed to open the door.

“That’s it?” Tony pointed. “That’s the big, hi tech security system and fail safe?”

“There are one million possible combinations,” Tom quipped. “You gonna try them all?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I would use C4 and blow the door. But that’s just me.”

“Not all of us walk around with C4.”

“Gentlemen,” I interrupted. “Let’s get this done. Tom hold the candle. Cause I don’t have any idea what the number would be.”

“Six digits, has to be a date,” Tony suggested. “Try it.”

I took a breath and put in the first date that came to mind. I rolled each digit to be precise. My birthday.

Nothing.

Jackson’s birthday.

Nothing.

Not even Gil’s birthday.

Tony suggested again, “Try your anniversary. He is sentimental. After all the guy built you this shelter.”

I tried the anniversary. Nothing. It didn’t work.

I growled in frustration and turned around, back against the door. “I have no idea. I tried the dates only I would know. I can’t imagine a date, Gil knew, that I for…” My words slowed. “Got.” And I spun around.

“I think she knows.” Tony said.

After rolling in the digits, I actually heard the click. “Yes.” I clenched my fist.

Tom opened the door and slipped inside. “Give me a second to get the generators started.” He raced down the hall and to the next door.

“What date was it?” Tony reached for my phone and used it to give us some light.

“The day our divorce was finalized.”

“You remembered that?”

“Actually, Gil did. It was finalized on April Fool’s day and he kept insisting it didn’t count. I always said it was the one date I wouldn’t forget. Because of when it was.” My head cocked when the beautiful sound of humming rang out.

Next thing, Tom shouted, “And the Lord said….”

A series of shifting occurred and the whole area lit up.

I smiled. “Let there be light.”

We were a tubular hallway; it looked like a well painted storm drain with a flat floor.

Tom appeared at the other end, standing in the door. “You can bring everyone down now. Tony, you know where to take them.”

“I do.”He handed me my phone and led the way.

“When is the last time you were here?” I asked.

“About two months ago. This one was my favorite, my baby. Although the one in Germany is sweet. One level but it’s all veins and spider webs. An underground city. We never finished the west wing. We always said that could be a project for survivors to pass the time.” He propped up the fail safe door and we headed up the stairs.

“It feels very safe here.”

“It is. It feels removed.”

We talked less walking up, it was quite a journey. About two thirds of the way there, I told Tony he should have put in an elevator.

To which he replied, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

There was a positive feeling that stirred within me. Knowing we were safe and sound. Knowing we would be sheltered from most of what was going to happen.

Yes, we had been though a lot to get there, but we arrived and with that arrival came life.

We were going to live through it.

That was such a positive thing, I couldn’t help but feel better. Much more upbeat, we reached the top, caught our breath and Tony opened the door.

The concrete bay, just inside the entrance was no longer dim and lit by a single lantern. It was brightened by old fashioned, caged in bulb lights on the wall.

As we emerged, everyone was gathered near the door. Huddled in a group, their backs were to us.

Everyone.

There were no voices or talking, only odd sounds of sniffles and coughs.

Tony glanced at me then called out. “What’s going on?”

Immediately, Joie slipped from the group and raced over to Tony. He lifted her.

Then all of them, at the same time, turned and looked at me.

I took two steps forward and as I did they parted like the red sea to expose Craig on the floor with Jackson. He was holding my son’s hand.

Face red, eyes glossed over and with a look of pain and desperation, Craig peered up at me. “I’m sorry, Anna. I am so sorry.” His head lowered. “Jackson’s gone.”

At first there was nothing. No words, no movement, sound… nothing. I felt nothing, I said nothing. I was frozen for a moment in time.

“Jackson is gone.”

It had to be a joke, it had to be wrong. He was there, speaking to me, only ten minutes earlier. He was sleeping, that was all. Everyone looked at me, waiting for me to react. How long did I stand there?

It was a second, maybe two, but it felt like an eternity. My vision zoomed in on Jackson.

Tony’s reactionary, and deep, “No”, snapped me out of it and I ran to my son, sliding down to the floor.

“Jackson.” His name slipped from my lips with air and emotions.

His tee shirt was ripped off and open, his chest was red, and dot of blood was on the center of his chest. A syringe lay next to him and a manual resuscitator bag was near his head.

All that could be done, was done. Someone tried. I saw that. But it wasn’t real. It was so far from real until my trembling hand reached down and touched on his face.

My son was already cool.

“No.” I whimpered the word. “No, No-no-no-no.”

Inching closer, I lifted his head and pulled him to me. He was heavy and his arms fell to the side and I brought them up. I rolled him into my chest, trying to absorb him, all of him as close to me as I could get him.

Every part of life and light within me was extinguished at that moment.

I was crushed, my soul melted and my heart failed to beat. I kept repeating the word ‘no’ over and over. Internally I was screaming at the top of my lungs, externally my cries of anguish were silent. Mouth open, I couldn’t make a noise. I couldn’t produce enough air to make a sound.

My jaw was tense, and face burned with emotions. Not a single tear fell until I closed my eyes. Then they didn’t stop. They rolled continuously down my cheeks, landing on my son as muddy droplets.