Brian Steele - 4POCALYPSE - Four Tales of a Dark Future

“Yeah?” I said, skeptically.

“I was being chased by a pack of wild dogs. I leapt over the fence in back to get away from them. I saw the garden and decided to check the place out.”

“The tripwires are still in place,” I noted.

“In the front. I left them alone for safety’s sake. In back, they almost got me. Again, I think it was sheer luck that I bent down to tie my boot and I saw them. After that, I must have spent hours scouring the place for any other neat little surprises.”

“You found everything?”

“Obviously not. I’ve been here for almost eight months, I guess. My last watch stopped working years ago. When I saw the photos of Derrick, I was shocked and really excited. I figured you guys were out hunting or scouting or something. I expected you back at any time.” His mouth curled up on the left corner and he spread his arms as if giving up. “You sure took your time.”

“Trust me,” I said, turning to head down the stairs into the darkness of the shelter, “If I had remembered, I’d have been back here long ago.” The memory of burying Derrick — and not even remembering why it was important — weighed heavy on my thoughts. I pushed those thoughts aside and tried to focus on the goal. I now knew what my goal was and it was good to have direction again.

Kel followed me down into the darkness. I felt for the power switch on the wall near the foot of the stairs. It was a large, hand-sized switch that Uncle D used to call a Frankenstein switch, whatever the hell that meant. I grabbed it and flipped it up to make the connection. Surprisingly, there was a little electricity left in the battery bank that Derrick had installed to store the power we didn’t use. The lights flickered and I dashed over to the gas generator in the corner. I jerked on the cord a couple of times before it revved into life. The lights steadied.

“This is so fucking cool!” Kel exclaimed.

“It was kind of a family project. Other families on our street finished their basements as rec rooms. We built a bomb shelter in ours. My Dad always said that living next to a missile range was like painting a bull’s-eye on the area. I don’t think they ever thought the shelter would be put to the use it eventually was.”

On one side of the single room were shelves of canned foodstuffs, mostly from the garden outside. In the back were a couple of cots, an alcove with two rather large oxygen tanks, a small generator with the exhaust piped outside and a refrigerator. The generator normally powered the fridge, but since the power hadn’t been on for at least a couple of years, I wasn’t planning to open the fridge any time soon.

On the opposite side of the room from the pantry shelves were benches and tables piled to overflowing with weaponry and ammunition of all sorts, shapes and sizes. It was a veritable arsenal. That was inclusive of the two amy-style sabers that hung crossed on the wall. Derrick had always carried a blade and he was hell-bent on teaching me the art of fencing the last couple of years we were together.

“Jesus. You guys were loaded for bear, huh?” he said.

“Be prepared. Boy Scout motto. Or, at least, Uncle D always said it was.”

I removed the combat harness, cleared the guns and set out some leather dressing and a rag. I sat on one of the two stools at the workbench and began to slowly work the oil into the harness and holsters. I caught Kel standing in silence, watching me with querying eyes. I raised one eyebrow and he moved to sit on the other stool, facing me.

“You have no idea how weird this looks, do you?”

“What’re you talking about? Leather needs maintenance.” I pointed at a Western style hip holster hanging to one side of the bench. “I suggest you get to work, too. I’ve got something to do later. You’re welcome to join me, if you think you can handle it.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this ‘thing’ you have to do involves more than just a trip to the park?” He waited as I stared at him for a long moment. I figured it was about time to broach the subject, whether I wanted to or not. I went back to working the paste slowly into the leather of the holsters but took a deep breath.

“Do you have any idea what happened to the world, Kel?” I asked.

“Pandemic. It was a super flu that killed, well, damned near everyone.”

“So, why did we survive? Why did so few live through it?” I stared at him as he shrugged. “Because we’re immune. A small number of us had strong enough immune systems that we managed to not catch the virus. And it was a virus. You know the difference between a cold and the flu?”

“Not really, no.”

“Not much. A cold is a short-lived virus infection. Influenza, the flu, is a much heartier strain of virus. There’re several subtypes, actually. What happened thirteen years ago was a new subtype of the flu virus. It was spread, like any flu outbreak, through airborne particles. People either breathed in the virus or touched an infected surface and then touched their mouth, eyes, or nose.

“Derrick and I did a lot of research on it, reading old newspapers, magazine articles. Plus, my dad left a detailed letter explaining what he knew. What we could come up with was that the pandemic was unique in only one way. It not only attacked the respiratory system, but the very immune system itself.”

“But, that’s not right. I thought our immune system actually defended against such things.”

“Normally, it would. This strain wasn’t natural. It was a man-made variant.”

“Hold on,” Kel said. “Are you saying that man created the very thing that killed everyone off?”

“Yep.”

“Why? Why in the hell would we do something like that?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

I reached up to the pegboard on the wall in front of me and clicked a latch underneath a Sig Sauer .357, and opened a small compartment. Inside, there were some papers, the letter my dad had written me and a faded cardboard pencil box. I retrieved the papers and then set the box on top of them.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Memories. Clues. Keys.” I opened the pencil box. Inside were several old photos of a large man in a uniform, a lady in a blue dress and a dark-haired little girl. There was a plastic key card for an office building and, lastly, a few faded pages folded double. I laid them all out.

“Wow. Is that you as a little girl?” Kel reached for one of the photos, but my hand covered his in a flash. He looked up at me. “Sorry.”

I let go of his hand and sat back, staring at the items. “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that -“

“No problem,” he replied, cutting me off. “I get it.”

“It’s just that this is all I have left. Everything, everyone, else is gone.” I got up and went to lay down on one of the beds. I laced my fingers behind my head and stared at the ceiling. “He saved us,” I said, after several long moments. “Somehow, he saved us.

“Uncle Derrick was only seventeen when everybody died. It was years before I ever got around to questioning why someone else in my family would have survived. But, he did it. I know he did.”

“I’m sorry, Rock, but I’m confused. You say he saved you. You’re not talking about your uncle, are you?”

“My Dad. The Colonel. He saved us.”

“How?”

I looked over at Kel. My mouth was set in a firm straight line. My mind was made up. There was no sense putting it off any longer. I stood up and walked back over to the bench. “That’s exactly what I want to know. Let’s get these holsters in shape, clean the weapons and get packed.”

“Where the hell are we going?” he asked, reaching for a rag and some leather oil.

“White Sands Missile Range.”