We never recovered communication with our outside sources. Dr. Z believes we’ve entered what she calls Phase 2, the ten-year span. The scientists theorize that it will take approximately ten years before we can surface and build again, but even they can’t agree on that number. No one really knows how long it will take for Reapers to die out and when it will be safe for humans to live above ground, again. There’s also been a series of natural disasters across the nation. Wildfires in the southwest, flooding along the Eastern coast, earthquakes along the Midwest, followed by terrible aftershocks in our area. We’ve been told not to worry about it, that our underground system is equipped to handle any aftershocks that come our way, but the last two rattled us so hard, the crumbling pieces of silt and rock that rolled down the corridors, as they escaped through the crevices of our stone walls, left me wondering if we’re indeed equipped to handle that. Afghan Johnny…who now goes by Stryker, told us at dinner that the people of our nation are on their own. I can’t even begin to imagine the suffering that is about to ensue nationwide since all radio noise from emergency response teams and rescue groups have gone silent. Miss Williams sometimes misses our group dining sessions. I think this is all too much for her to grasp. When you live your life with a certain preconceived story about how you think it’s all going to end, I can see how confused she must be feeling right now. I’m worried that she’s going to break; that her once strong, solid faith will wane, and somehow, she’s not going to make it down here. Last week Jake found her roaming the halls past midnight.
He said she was sleepwalking and talking out loud, saying things like, “Where are you? I don’t understand what is happening?” He brought her back to our sleeping quarters, and although it got us talking again, things with Jake and I are tenuous at best. He’s been keeping his distance. I never thought I’d admit saying this, but I miss him. Things just seemed easier, or rather tolerable, with him around. Being down here looking at the same walls, walking the same hallways, searching for the streams of light that filtered through from the top of the mountain, could be enough to drive anyone mad. I’ve already read through the first section of their books in their library wing, seen most of the movies they saved from their collection, and am starting to grow tired of the makeshift beach. I’m beginning to realize that being with someone who was easy to talk to was perhaps something that I needed all along. I never thought that I’d find myself needing to be around someone. It was always comforting to be alone, but with him, I feel… I don’t know… at peace. I’m trying to take it a day at a time. That’s all we can do. Most of us here are adapting to the routines they set in place. We work, we play, and we sit around as a group and dine together. Lather, rinse and repeat the next day. Now that we are possibly on our way towards extinction, I never understood the need for that type of human connection, until now. To be in the present, enjoying each other’s company when all hell was breaking loose above ground. That’s what we all look forward to every day. Some, though, aren’t adapting as well.
Those who crack are sent away for what they call “Adaptation”. Some started hallucinating, suffering from anxiety, paranoia and obsessive thoughts. Dr. Z said this is what was known as time-shifting; it’s what happens when you spend long periods of time without sunlight. Although we have enough light that filters through from the top of the mountain, it’s not enough for others. She assured us that the time they spent in Adaptation was meant to help them climatize and give them a chance to find a sense of purpose. They engage them in art, group therapy and make sure they’re getting the right nutrition and a good night’s rest, but so far, anyone who has been taken for Adaptation hasn’t come back. Why?
No one is allowed in that area, and that wing is sealed behind two, solid metal doors. Only those with access to the key code go through, but that’s reserved only for the scientists. What are they really hiding? If those needing Adaptation are having such a hard time, why would we want to isolate them more? Something was just not adding up.
I had already eaten, but I could still feel my stomach grumbling since today’s lunch wasn’t filling at all. Where was everyone? I walked into Mess Hall Lane and scanned the area. I noticed Stryker walking in from the other door caddy-cornered and connected to Jester’s Court. I waved him down. He smiled and waved, pointed to the food line, and gave me a thumbs up. It was good to see him sober. Maybe he had finally found his sense of purpose and this was what he needed, to be a part of the security team, a chance to feel like a hero, again. I grabbed a glass with ice water located on the side wall of the entrance and sat down at a table. Hope spotted me and walked over to the round table to plant her plate across from me.
“It’s black bean burger day!” she called out before sitting down and taking a bite into a patty of black mush.
I sighed. “I miss cows. I also miss the days when I could drink milk out of anything that had teats,” I said.
She laughed. I had a way to make her do that most of the time.
Beef days were limited and reserved to once a month, since all beef was frozen. I didn’t even want to think about where they got it from, considering that it was already in such short supply. The populace had already been transitioned to insect eating and vegetarianism, after the Great Diseased Beef Scare. Many ranchers were forced to slaughter thousands of their cows, and those on the verge of bankruptcy sold their ranches to techie billionaires. After that, beef was only available to those who could afford it, and that usually didn’t include people like us.
Stryker threw down his plate and reached for two steak fries that he then proceeded to shove down his mouth, letting his eyebrows dance up and down. “It beats that algae crap, any day,” he said.
I nodded in agreement, reaching for my glass to crunch on ice.
“What are you having?” he asked me.
“Already ate.”
He spotted Jake and let out a whistle that sounded like he was rounding a herd of cows.
Hope shrunk into her chair and concealed her forehead with her hand, turning flush red. Stryker, on the other hand, had a habit of embarrassing her most of the time.
I could see Jake carrying two trays: His and Miss Williams, who trailed behind him, staring into empty space and shuffling her feet. Her hair looked frazzled, and she was dressed in a pink checkered housecoat, still wearing her morning slippers.
I could see Captain Nash at the entrance eye-balling her. He and his cronies were always watching over everyone. He leaned into one of the guard’s ears. Both of their eyes began to trace her movement. “Crap!”
“What?” asked Stryker.
“Nothing,” I said.
He nodded, shrugged, and took a bite of his burger.
Jake reached our table, looking sullen and concerned. He pulled out a chair for Miss Williams, helping her to her seat.
I know exactly what he was thinking because I was thinking it, too.
“Hi Jake!” squealed Hope, with a large smile on her face.
He gave her a quick wave and his usual tight-lipped smile.
Her face deflated.
“I’m so happy you decided to join us today, Miss Williams.” I reached for her hand next to me and squeezed it.
Miss Williams said nothing. Her eyes glazed as they stared into empty space across the room.
“Here’s your soup, Miss Williams,” said Jake, placing it carefully in front of her. He took her gently by the other hand and cupped her fingers around a spoon. He had a nurturing way about him that came out, sometimes, that I couldn’t help but find attractive. He pulled out his chair and sat between us. Then he leaned into my ear and whispered, “She’s not doing so well. I found her roaming the hallways, talking to herself, again.”
I let out a deep breath. Across the dining hall, Captain Nash grabbed his walkie and began to talk into it. “He can’t see her like this,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“So, we’re still in the dark,” interrupted Stryker, who was preoccupied sliding and twirling his steak fries on the remaining puddle of thick ketchup goo that he splattered on his plate. “No TV, no radio, pure silence. Something knocked off the satellite GPS systems.”
“What? But…that’s impossible. Those are like… in space,” I said.
“We’ve theorized that China or Russia may have knocked them out with air strike missiles, given how we no longer have real defenses running the show anymore, or it might be the work of a very savvy hacker who knocked them out,” said Jake, as he stirred Miss William’s bowl of soup.
Miss Williams reached for the spoon, dipped it into the bowl, took a sip, then scooped another spoonful. That was odd. She didn’t pray before she ate. She always prayed.
Stryker stopped in mid chew. “What? No prayer? That’s a first,” he scoffed.
If there was ever a time for Stryker to keep his mouth shut, this would have been one of them. I suppose I didn’t blame him. This event would have been as unusual as seeing birds choosing not to fly. It just didn’t happen. She always prayed, always praised, always quoted. If there was ever person who I thought would never give up on him, even if he was nowhere to be found, I thought it would be Miss Williams. She was always so strong, so resolved, so sure. Yet here she was, tired, worn, struggling to believe. I almost needed her to be that dam of strength, holding back the waters of doubt we all liked to swim in. Instead, she seemed to be leaking faith through the cracks of uncertainty and letting it sink her down a spiraling vortex, insistent on drowning her.
And then it happened. Miss Williams slammed the spoon on the table and wailed, “What is happening!? I don’t—understand! Where are you!? Where- are- you!?” She tossed our plates on the floor, food and liquid combined to make a giant mess of gooey slippery mush beneath our feet, as she cried and wailed some more.
Stryker and Jake jumped out of their seats to restrain her, but I could already see Captain Nash and his entourage of guards making their way toward us. Hope ran off, more than likely to find her mother.
“Wait! She’s just having a bad moment!” I yelled at the guard.
“Get out of my way,” demanded the guard who reached us before Nash did.
“Why can’t I hear you anymore!” shouted Miss Williams as she struggled with Jake and Stryker trying to keep her from hurting herself.
“D*mm*t, this woman is as strong as a horse,” yelled Stryker, who was now struggling to hold her arms in place.
“Everything is going to be okay, Miss Williams,” reassured Jake who was also trying to hold her down. I could see Dr. Z rushing through the doors with a syringe on her hand, with Hope trialing behind her.
“Leave- her- alone!” I yelled at the guard, who seemed a little too eager for some action. “She just needs some time to calm down!” I insisted.
“Move it!” yelled the guard. He reached over with his arm and attempted to shove me to the side with brute force. I side-stepped behind one of his legs, swept it, and tossed him on his back from his own momentum.
Another guard swung a baton at me, and I leaned into him, blocking the baton with the meaty part of my arm and punched him in face.
“Stop!” I could hear Jake’s voice drawing closer as he scrambled to make his way towards me.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned into it and met the white-mustached grin of Captain Nash and his baseball gloved hand as it slapped me across the chin. And then all I saw were stars, swimming in shadows of light and dark space, followed by the husky sound of his voice that said, “Say night-night!”
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