Finally, after nearly two hours of the thigh burning, oxygen-sucking hike, the six-person group reached the entrance to the Hive. Once used as the main entrance to let tourists into the first set of caves, the Hansen Cave, it was now the fortified portal into the secret that was the Hive.
They were a good fifty yards away from the covered entrance when three armed guards stepped out of seemingly thin air, appearing where once no one was. This unexpected appearance of the three sentinels caused Brendon to stop immediately in his tracks.
Lance looked over at his nephew, a smile wrapped across his face, “I told you, we have been under constant surveillance since before we started on the trail.”
“I didn’t see them at all,” Brendon answered back quickly, a sense of amazement enveloped his words.
“Just because you can’t see a threat doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist,” Lance answered in a tone which indicated the importance of the message.
One of the three armed men stepped forward and, in a joking tone, called out, “I didn’t know that Bluebirds could fly this high during the winter! I thought you weren’t due up here until spring?”
Lance smiled as he extended his right hand towards the man, “Someone has to make sure you Mountain Boys know how to start the heaters and not freeze to death.”
The armed man laughed a hearty chuckle, a laugh that overfilled his whole body as it spilled out onto those around him. He took Lance’s hand in his, “Good to see you, brother.”
“Good to see you too Zeke,” Lance replied, then nodded towards Brendon, “Do you remember my nephew?”
“No way,” Zeke said, as he turned from Lance towards the young man standing just a few feet away. “This is Baby Brendon?” Zeke asked as he chuckled a little, “Man, you were a chubby baby. Looks like you’ve grown up!”
Brendon just smiled and pushed out a quiet, “Yeah,” before he continued to scan the mountainsides. He wondered how what else was hidden within his eyesight. How many more were watching them, their guns ready to attack if necessary.
Zeke let out a laugh, then turned back to Lance, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you’ve got me concerned. Seriously, what are you doing way up here? Did they move up the meeting?”
Lance readjusted his pack again. For the last half hour, the straps had seemed to dig their way into his skin and now were resting on raw bone. His face made a slight grimace as blood rushed to the painful area on his shoulders. “No, I received some troubling news coming out from Camp Zion. News I felt needed to be passed on to Brother Ben in person. Is he here?” Lance asked.
“Yep,” Zeke said as he adjusted the rifle sling on his shoulder. Then turning towards the entrance he got on his handheld radio, “Charlie Two-Two, this is Mountain One-One, Bluebird Five has arrived, over.”
“Copy Mountain One-One. Bluebird Five has landed, over,” the unknown operator responded over the radio, their voice quickly being snatched up by the wind before being tossed out along the snow covered rocks.
Zeke reached the sturdy metal door and gave it a strong yank open. The door, seemingly as old as the mountain itself, it was as solid as they came and could be locked from the inside. It was just another layer of protection that helped encase the Hive. He held onto the handle and stepped aside as he allowed the others to enter first.
As the others started to walk in Zeke looked down at Brendon, the last one to enter, “Welcome to the Hive little man.” Now standing on the outside, and the door shut, he keyed his handheld one more time and quickly relayed his status into the communicator, “Charlie Two-Two, Hive is secure. Mountain One-One, heading back to post, over.”
“Copy Mountain One-One,” the voice over the radio responded.
Once Zeke closed the sturdy metal door, the new arrivals were literally left in the dark. It was a good thirty-seconds that the six of them stood there in a space of about ten feet long by six feet wide. A thick steel door shut behind them, and another solid steel door stayed latched in front of them.
All six of them waited in the confined sally port, all while in utter darkness. Rock walls raised over twenty feet high all around them, ending in a jagged rock ceiling. The air was damp and cool, and there was a thin layer of moisture that rested upon the rock walls, causing droplets of water to occasionally fall to the floor. Soon a squeaking noise could be heard on the other side of the door in front of them. Followed by a few scraping sounds, as latches were being moved aside. Finally, the door swung open, allowing fresh air to rush into the space.
A lean young woman stepped into the void created by the open door, as she held a propane lantern. Her figure was silhouetted by an amber glow that radiated behind her. She held the lantern up towards her face, allowing the gas light to softly embrace her ebony skin. “Welcome, welcome,” she said in a smooth, assuring voice. The type of voice that was fit for giving guided tours or assisting people on the phone.
“Hey Callie, good to see you again darling,” Lance said as he leaned in and gave her a hug.
Callie held the lantern in her right hand, as she leaned into the hug, using her left arm to embrace Lance. She then leaned back, stood upright and stepped aside allowing Lance and the others to walk into the first part of the actual Hive. “Glad to see y'all here,” Callie said with her typical Southern charm. “We were just getting ready to eat, if you want to head to the grand hall,” she paused to turn towards Lance, “all except you, Brother Ben wants a word.”
Lance slightly bowed his head and extended his right arm as he said, “Lead the way, my lady.”
“There’s my southern gentleman,” Callie said with a smile as she started to lead Lance down a different section of the Hive.
“Texas, ma’am,” Lance said back, tossing the words lightly towards Callie.
Callie turned her head slightly back towards Lance as she walked, “Texas is in the South, you know.”
Lance laughed. “Texas is well, Texas. We’re kind of unique,” he stated with a hint of pride.
The conversation died down as the two of them maneuvered their way through the mountain to the Hive. Despite years of work expanding the caverns, prior to the Blackout, there were still many sections within Mt. Timpanogos that were extremely restrictive. In this particular section people had to walk in a single file line to make it to their final destination.
After about ten minutes of making their way back into the depths of the mountain, they reached their goal, the heart of the mountain. Five hundred feet of solid rock protected this room which had been methodically expanded from its original size. At its center a huge stalactite seemed to pulse with light. The work had been done mostly in secret, unbeknownst to the public or the majority of the National Parks Services for that matter. It was all done with detailed precision to ensure the integrity of the structural foundation. The natural encasement shielded them from every basic type of outside intrusion, thus the ideal spot of the heart of any clandestine operation.
“Brother Ben,” Lance said as he ducked under and around the stalactite which hung from the cave's ceiling.
Brother Ben finished up his conversation with one of the operators before turning towards Lance, “Good to see you again. Hope you have some good news for me.”
“I have news, don’t think you’ll consider it good,” Lance answered back as he shook Brother Ben’s extended hand.
Brother Ben was a man of average height, average build and overall average looks as well. He had thick brown hair, which had a soft natural wave to it, like water that rippled over a thin layer of rocks. His hair was long overdue for a proper cut, as it hung down to his shoulders. If he could grow a proper beard, it too would be thick and full, however, he was only blessed with short curly facial hair, which grew in thin patches. Though he might not have looked the part, everyone that followed his lead knew that if it wasn’t for him, there would be no Hive, and those enjoying the comfort and safety of its protection would most likely already be dead.
Before the lights went out,
he was a partner in one of the wealthiest law firms in the Salt Lake Valley. Then one year before the power was lost, he packed up everything, sold his portion of the partnership and walked away from it all. Once a mainstay at most social events, he seemingly disappeared, and the few times he did show up, he was practically unrecognizable. Gone were his custom tailored suits and hundred dollar haircuts, now off the rack camping clothes covered his body, and his hair typically hung freely from underneath his weathered Bees baseball cap. Some referred to him as Noah, building the Hive before the blackout, just as Noah had built the ark before the rains. But most just called him Brother Ben. “How bad is it?” Brother Ben asked.
Lance scratched his chin as he stalled, hoping that the correct words would somehow break free in his mind during the momentary grooming. The best he could come up with was, “Not good.”
“Ha,” Brother Ben let out a laugh as he placed his hands on his hips, “I kind of figured that much. Considering you trekked up all this way to tell me about it.” He turned to head to his desk. As he walked he continued to talk, throwing the words over his shoulder towards Lance, “The little that I got is that the Russians came in from St. George. Pushed our people right on out.”
“I got the same,” Lance confirmed. He paused as he walked over to an empty chair off to the side. He slowly lowered himself down onto it, letting out a big sigh as he finally relieved some of the weight off of his legs and feet. His feet throbbed in ecstasy after finally being relieved of their duty. “When are you going to install an elevator or something? I’m getting too old for these hikes,” Lance complained.
“I will have to put that on me to do list,” Brother Ben answered back with a smile. Then not giving Lance any time to relax he asked, “What else did you get? You wouldn’t be here if that’s all you had.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Lance started. “Like you said, the Russians came in from St. George and pushed the Zion Camp right on out. Now they are on the run, low on everything from food, to water, ammo and moral. I’ve made contact with Butch, the leader of the Zion group, as well as some of our other units about meeting up if they can. Nothing has been finalized yet, but we do have supplies being put together and a tentative rendezvous. I wanted to get your okay first before I pushed the go button on this operation.”
Brother Ben started to pace back and forth as he thought it over. “Okay, so what’s the holdup? Why are you hesitant about sending a rescue?” He asked as he removed his tattered Salt Lake City Bee’s baseball cap and ran his hand through his thick hair. He then looked over at Lance, “I know you, and the only reason you would hesitate on such a mission is if something big came up. So what is it?”
Lance sat there a moment as he picked at a faded stain on his pant leg. Then looked up towards Brother Ben, “Something peculiar came about.”
“Peculiar? Peculiar strange, or peculiar dangerous?” Brother Ben asked, his attention now teased and placed at the foot at Lance.
“A little of both, or maybe not, it’s the whole reason I’m here,” Lance responded. Lance placed his hands on his knees and looked up towards Brother Ben who had inched even closer towards him. “We already knew about the additional guests that Zion had taken in, but this new one, well, it could literally blow us out of the water,” Lance added and looked down one last time at the stain on his pants, unsure of how it got there. He picked at it for another second then finally he looked directly into the eyes of Brother Ben and simply asked, “What do you know about nuclear submarines?”
2 The Odds
Zion Group, Location Unknown
When the despondent survivors from Camp Zion first spoke with the Captain of the USS Michigan, it appeared as if the prayers of the survivors had been answered. That an avenging angel had been sent to rebuke those who had sinned against their nation. However, after the exhilaration of the initial contact wore off, doubt and trepidation began to seep into their thoughts.
Their preliminary conversation was brief and only contained a slight exchange of limited information, similar to a verbal hand shake. Since that introductory salutation, Camp Zion and the USS Michigan had exchanged a handful of other communiques. They had reached the point that they mutually felt that an in-person conclave should be arranged. Much like any blind date, trepidation was prevalent on both sides. Now the question of the rationality of the planned encounter was front and center at camp.
“I’m not asking if it's probable, I want to know if it’s possible?” Butch asked, his hands pressed outward in an attempt to warm them up by the fire.
“Technically, anything is possible,” Jonathan quickly shot out, completely unaware that now was not the time for such a response.
Ms. White shook her head from side to side in a curt manner, tossing a quieting glance over at Jonathan. “He’s not wrong though, anything is possible,” she added. “That being said, I say we approach it with caution. Typically, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” Ms. White said as she looked over at Butch.
Butch pulled at his beard a few times with his right hand, the wiry hairs tickling his palm. He kept his head down as he looked into the fire, half hoping to receive divine inspiration like Moses. Unfortunately though, he was not Moses and this was no burning bush. Using the tip of his right boot, he pushed a half-burnt piece of wood into the heart of the fire. He watched for a moment as the bright orange flames rushed over the sacrificed log. He watched how the flames sank their ravenous teeth into its meal, consuming the flesh of the fallen tree and devouring the remains. The nights had grown colder and the morning’s rays of sunshine hadn’t brought much relief. A glassy layer of morning frost had lined the ground every morning, staying longer each day. “Honestly, I don’t see how we have a choice not to go. It has already been four days since we first made contact with them. We are low on food, water, warm clothing, and even available firewood is running dangerously low. If we don’t do something soon, we might as well dig our own graves right here, right now,” Butch finally declared.
For the next few minutes nobody around the fire said anything. They allowed the popping of the wet pine logs to fill the space of silence which had fallen upon the group after Butch had spoken. Things had gone from dangerous, back at Camp Zion, to outright deadly, as the group tried to make a trek to safety. The little food they were able to get out before the attack, had been used up or suffered damage from the moist air. The freezing air has done little to help the health of all involved, but had turned nearly lethal for the elderly and injured. Things had come to a stop once they received the call from the USS Michigan. The news was so unexpected, so bizarre, that no one knew how to respond to it. Now, as the unofficial leaders of the group sat around the morning campfire, things still seemed just as blurred as they were four days ago.
Butch wrapped his arms around himself as he rubbed them in hopes of getting some warmth back into his body. He looked around as people started to slowly greet the new day, emerging cautiously from their sleeping bags or cars. The cooler temperatures and the diminishing food had caused most to just lay around, in hopes of conserving as much energy as possible. There was no longer a big desire to get up and get going, no daily chores pushing them out of bed and onto their feet. The loss of Camp Zion had hit them all fairly hard. At first, there was so much going on that they didn’t have time to think about it. Now, with nothing but time, thinking about it was all they could do.
While sitting around the past few days, their minds wandering as they mourned the loss of their friends and loved ones who had sacrificed themselves to ensure their safe escape. The burden of guilt trapped their minds and souls in an eternal cage. Their thoughts were bent on a perpetual loop, asking what if, and why. Then there was the loss of their homes, again. It wasn’t just their belongings and the high rock walls that had protected them, it was their livelihood, the comfort found being with those they loved. They literally had planted roots there. For many, after the blackout, that was the closest they had come to any sort
of normality and stability. In comparison to pre-blackout standards, Camp Zion was a glorified version of camping, however in the post-blackout world, it was one of the most cherished living quarters west of the Rockies. Now it was gone, all gone.
As Butch looked around, he couldn’t help but feel the brunt of the responsibility for the loss. He personally blamed himself for the loss of so many camp members, and the devastating situation they now found themselves in. No one had orally come out and blamed him, regardless he felt it. That was enough for him. “Ah Hell! I’ll go myself and, well, I got us into this mess, so I’ll get us out or die trying,” he said in a gruff tone, his words were forcefully thrown out amongst those around the fire.
Muster Page 2