Apocalypse 2073 (Volume 1) "The Prophecy"
Page 8
By now it was dusk and shortly the sun would be setting on what had turned out to be a very long day for all involved. After the President and General McCreary greeted each other, the President glanced over at the Conyers’, also with a great sense of relief. While many teams had been trained in the proper operation of the suspension chambers, the Conyers’ were in fact the ones who had invented them in the first place, and without a doubt in the coming months their continued efforts would be indispensable.
Mitch and Anya were thankful to see a full array of medical personnel awaiting the arrival of Erin, who despite having been injected with a local anesthetic as well as a mild sedative was completely coherent; the pain having subsided to a bearable level. Erin had learned a lot this day, perhaps more than she deserved.
“Where are we, mommy?”
“This is going to be our new home, dear,” Anya replied.
“And who are all these people?”
“They’re going to take care of your leg.”
“Will I have a scar?”
“No, sweetheart, it will be very small. You won’t even notice it.”
Anya’s words calmed Erin down even further. She was more enthralled with the bunker site with its huge metal doors and all the people around her paying her so much attention, almost feeling spoiled. The group entered through a small doorway off to the left of the main doors; completely made of metal. They were so large in fact that a large plane could fit inside if both were opened simultaneously. The smaller doorway to the left almost seemed like those that she’d seen on the television that were used on ships. The primary bunker site was carved into the side of a hilltop with what seemed to be a large dome above it, but other than the visible main entrance doors one would be hard pressed to know what a vast complex truly lay below. As she again glanced at the huge entranceway, upon entering Erin viewed yet a second set of metal doors; the color seemed to be very unusual. Again they entered through another small doorway off to the left and now were inside the Dome.
“Why do they look like that, mommy?”
“Because they’re made out of a very special kind of material; it’s called lead.”
“Why’d they do that?”
“It will help protect us.”
Soon Erin, her parents, and the medial team entered one of several visible elevators. There were armed guards stationed in front of it which didn’t escape the Conyers’ attention; the inner room beyond the second set of doors was absolutely huge. Except for some equipment off to one corner it otherwise appeared empty. Anya and Mitch could also see a number of military personnel stationed about the room, with even more weapons than she’d seen earlier when the airborne troops arrived. Erin suddenly felt herself descending, and although happy to have so much attention being paid to her was hard pressed to keep her curiosity at bay.
“Are we going down?” she asked.
“Yes, dear,” Anya replied. “We’re going to the hospital.”
Although Anya and Mitch hadn’t been overly involved in the design of the bunkers other than to advise Professor Enghult of their logistical requirements for the suspension chambers, they had been well versed in its overall layout. Professor Enghult apparently hadn’t overlooked one single aspect of the bunker’s design, no matter how seemingly insignificant it seemed at the time. He was proficient to a fault. In his younger years his classmates had made it an ongoing joke about this particular aspect of his character, but now it served him well. He had risen very quickly in his chosen career, having written many articles in the Engineering trade publications. In a relatively short period of time he was a leading figure in his field and was known worldwide by his fellow colleagues before he had even reached the age of thirty. Now forty years of age he was largely recognized as a genius and had been for some time. Although Enghult was in charge of all bunker sites located within the United States, according to President Andrews’ directives his designs had been disseminated internationally in the hopes of greater world unity. Enghult made many trips overseas to troubleshoot problems that occasionally arose, however “Bunker Site 1” had been his main base of operations for the past several months. Under the current circumstances he was no longer permitted to leave the site; world events continuing along a path that had little chance of changing.
In short order the Conyers’ arrived at the hospital, and although Erin’s wound was relatively minor both the doctor and her parents thought it best that she be put under a general anesthetic; there was no need for her to witness them work as they cleansed, sealed, and stitched the wound. It had been decided that she’d seen enough for one day. After a slight pinch from the needle going into her arm her thoughts became fewer and fewer as she mumbled yet another question, incomprehensible at this point. A mask was gently placed over her face and soon she was in a deep sleep as the doctors went to work. Mitch and Anya, relieved at the knowledge that her wound was minor in nature, decided to remove themselves to the waiting room. Both sat quietly engulfed in their own thoughts, unable to even muster the strength to discuss the day’s events. It had been a whirlwind of a day and soon it would again be time for them to play their role in the grand scheme of things; should they survive the coming weeks. Despite everything that happened during their eventful journey, ironically both felt a sense of relief and comfort.
At an earlier date, when they had the time, they visited the bunker during its construction phase to make certain that the suspension chambers were allocated the proper amount of space required. But that was nearly eight months ago, prior to the final modifications that allowed them to become fully functional. At the time the primary bunker site was almost complete but still obviously required a great deal of work. North and South Korea had not yet gone to war and it was unknown if the bunker would ever be needed. Now the hospital in which they sat actually looked like any other that they’d ever been in; for all intents and purposes they wouldn’t have noticed any difference. And so such thoughts ran through their minds, unable for the moment to fathom the larger issues.
While this scene was unfolding in the lower levels of the bunker, President Andrews, General McCreary, and the other members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff continued their discussion outside of the bunker regarding events occurring within the United States as well as the world-at-large, and now were themselves preparing to enter. Before doing so Captain Hodges suddenly ran up to General McCreary as the Secret Service Agents guarding the VIP’s immediately went into protective mode and began to reach inside their jackets for their weapons. General McCreary stopped them with a simple wave of his hand.
“At-ease, Gentlemen. This is the pilot responsible for getting us here in one piece.”
The Agents relaxed.
Hodges was slightly out of breath, having sprinted to the General before he and the President disappeared out of sight and into the safety of the bunker.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sir,” Hodges said to the General.
Looking over at the President, who he’d never met before in-person, he was now more intimidated than when he was facing death just several hours earlier. “My God,” he thought, “I’ve just interrupted the President of the United States and Joint Chiefs who are currently facing a probable nuclear catastrophe.”
“Mr. President, my apologies for the interruption. General, may I have a moment of your time?” Hodges asked with the utmost respect.
Despite everything occurring and the events requiring immediate attention, General McCreary granted Hodges his wish.
“Captain Hodges, a moment and no more. Do you understand?”
McCreary said it in a tone expressing the urgency of the situation, yet not in the sense of being indignant. McCreary was thankful for what Hodges had done, and realized in all likelihood he’d was responsible for saving all of their lives not three hours earlier.
“Yes, General. I’ll make it as brief as possible. Sir, my wife and family are located at the bunker site in Kansas.”
Hodges didn’t need to say anything more. He looked at
the President who was well aware of what occurred in Colorado and the role the Captain had played in it. McCreary turned to President Andrews.
“Mr. President,” he said, “With your permission?”
President Andrews simply nodded as McCreary then turned to one of the Secret Service Agents.
“Agent, you are to see that one of the relief choppers is fully fueled and turned over to Captain Hodges. Also, you are to immediately contact the bunker site located in Kansas and advise them of Captain Hodges impending arrival by my orders. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” the Agent replied.
Hodges was stupefied; he’d just broken so many protocols that under any other circumstances he may very well have put himself up for military court martial. He could barely utter a word.
“Thank you, General. Thank you, Mr. President.”
That was all he was able to say in response. The group started to walk towards the entrance to the bunker when McCreary inexplicably turned; Hodges still standing there somewhat dumbfounded.
“Good luck, Bill,” McCreary said.
“Thank you, Sir,” Hodges replied.
McCreary once again turned, and as quickly as that the entourage was on its way, soon arriving at the entrance to the bunker and disappearing out of sight. They followed the same route the Conyers’ had several minutes earlier and entered the elevator, which quickly began its descent to the lower levels. They were headed towards the “Control Room” where much would be discussed, but during their descent all was silent. Including Major Hastings and the President’s security detail, there were perhaps twelve of them in total. It had only been ten minutes since the President and McCreary’s last communication with Meehan at NORAD, so they both rightfully were under the assumption that nothing “new” had occurred in the overall course of events.
Once departing the elevator the group was located at the lowest level of the bunker; “Bunker Site 1 - Level 20.” The President directed Major Hastings to “gather up the Conyers’’” and escort them to the Control Room where the others would be waiting, but first he wanted to speak to General McCreary alone. That being done the two of them entered what would now become the new “Oval Office,” the new “White House.” General Phillip H. McCreary, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States of America, fifty-two years old with an entire lifetime spent in the military took a seat 400 feet below ground level as the President of the United States quietly served him a cup of coffee, both seemingly needing this brief moment of undisturbed peace.
“Black if I remember correctly, right Phil?”
“Yes, Mr. President. That would be fine.”
The President handed McCreary his cup, and after raising it to his lips and taking a sip he asked about his daughter, Veronica.
“She’s all settled in, Phil. I notified her once you arrived, safe and sound of course. I only told her what she needed to know, when she needed to know it. If it’s any consolation, Margaret told me she fell onto her bed and started to cry when she found out.”
The General laughed.
“Is that a good thing?”
“I’d say yes, Phil,” Andrews replied.
McCreary didn’t even know he’d spoken out loud, but the President heard it quite clearly as he said “She’s all I have.”
“Yale?” President Andrews asked. “Veronica goes to Yale, doesn’t she?”
“Why yes Sir, she does.”
“Good school. What year is she in?”
“Sophomore year, Mr. President.”
“It’s a good age to be, Phil. Don’t you think?”
“No doubt,” McCreary replied.
What General McCreary didn’t say was how unfortunate it was that in all likelihood she’d never see it again. They continued this banter for another ten minutes; President Andrews’ basic goal being to allow General McCreary a few moments to clear his mind knowing what he’d just been through, prior to discussing matters with the others patiently awaiting their arrival. The President rose abruptly.
“Well, General, let’s get to it.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” McCreary replied, also rising as they departed the Oval Office and headed towards the Control Room.
Major Hastings did have a bit of difficulty tearing Anya away from Erin, but being that she was still under sedation and with some gentle nudging from her husband and further reassurance from the doctor, she agreed. It was ironic that Veronica passed her in the hallway, and seeing that she was crying asked her what was wrong.
“My daughter’s in the hospital and I wanted to be there when she wakes up, but I have to attend a meeting,” Anya said.
Veronica knew who she was talking to. Although her father had with great effort throughout her childhood and formative years attempted to shelter her as best he could, Veronica was too close to the loop and knew events were spiraling out of control throughout the world. The apple had not fallen far from the tree.
“If it’s not too forward of me, would you mind terribly if I looked after her for a while?” Veronica asked.
Surprised, Anya not even knowing who this young woman was hugged her and said “Would you mind?”
“No, Mrs. Conyers. As a matter of fact it would be my pleasure. By the way, my name is Veronica McCreary, General McCreary’s daughter.”
Anya had never met her before, although she knew who she was. Greatly relieved she collected herself as she and Mitch continued to follow Major Hastings towards the Control Room. Although it was out of character for Major Hastings, he appeared somewhat impatient as this conversation was taking place; after all the President of the United States was waiting.
They arrived in a matter of moments, slightly ahead of the President and General McCreary; all of the players now in place.
Episode 9: “Eve of Destruction”