Foolish Phantoms: A Post-Apocalyptic Epic (The Book of Tribulation: Volume 1)

by Sam Clark

  At first glance, he thought the bulb might have been flashing. He told no one; he wanted to be sure one way or another. When he went back the next day, it had burned out, so he knew it was just a death flicker, not a flash. Over the decades, he’d accumulated seven of these flickering bulbs. They were tough to get. The timing had to be just right, and not all the bulbs did it.

  During Czarina’s most recent depressive episode, James had put his plan in motion by switching out the bulbs at night. At first, he’d meant to take his time, switching out new bulbs for burnt-out ones every few days, gradually building pressure on Mueller and the militia leadership. Truthfully, when he started he had just been trying to keep his options open; a contingency plan, in case Czarina couldn’t work through her issues in such an environment. In case her issue was the environment. But one look at his granddaughter’s battered and bloodied face after her first fight with Steve dissolved any idealistic notions he had of Czarina being able to stay. It also inspired James to expand his plan beyond simply getting Czarina out, to include making sure Steve would never come near his family again. Now, with this second fight, he had an opportunity to accomplish both of his objectives in one fell swoop, so long as he moved quickly.

  He didn’t have many flicker lights, but tonight he would start using them. I wonder if they will still flicker. He had a few things working in his favor. First was Czarina discovering one of the dead bulbs and bringing it to everyone’s attention. That had actually been the second bulb he’d done. James himself had also conveniently been wandering in the vicinity a few subsequent times when the bulb was changed, and he ‘forgot’ that he was asked not to mention it to anybody. Truthfully, he’d only told a few people, but they were the right people, and now the problem with the indicator light was the worst kept secret in the bunker. Also working in his favor was the fact that everyone who knew exactly what the all-clear signal was supposed to look like was long dead or too old to remember clearly. But perhaps his biggest advantage was Czarina’s second very public fight with Steve in less than a week‌—‌not that he had any intention of telling Czarina this. Truthfully, he had not been sure sabotaging the light would have been enough to break Mueller. However, with this second fight, he was confident that he had all the tools necessary to force the colonel to do the right thing.

  He had almost waited too long to act. Again. A realization that had been haunting him day and night as of late. He’d fooled himself into thinking Czarina was more like him than her mother. That she would gradually grow more comfortable living in her own head, as he had in his, if he just gave her the space to work things out. That she would mellow with age as he had. That if he could just make her see she was never getting out, then she would finally accept the bunker and learn to find joy in the everyday minutiae of living, whether it was a family meal, a good book, or even the terrible coffee. It was shameful how long it had taken him to see it, but these were basically just a different flavor of the same erroneous assumptions he’d held about Victoria, from her adolescence right up until she was gone.

  James took a deep breath and reminded himself once again that almost failing was not the same thing as actually failing, and he hadn’t failed Czarina yet.

  After returning his clothing to its place, he shut his footlocker and relocked it, and then sat on the edge of his cot. Where is that fool girl? While he waited for Isabella to return, for the first time in a long time he thought about his original plan, which had been to use the lights to get himself out. He really had intended to, but the fact was he eventually realized that living in the bunker was not that bad, at least not for him. He’d had his wife and daughter, and eventually he had been blessed with two wonderful grandchildren. Plus, he got more reading done than he ever could have imagined, and in all probability, the world outside the bunker would be a place he liked even less.

  Yet the bunker had killed Victoria. He used to blame her death on her no-good husband Brian, who had poured poison in her ear about going aboveground‌—‌the environmental indicators be damned, Mueller’s opposition be damned. He also used to have plenty of blame for Mueller, who had been engaged to Victoria until he got another girl pregnant and married her instead because it was the right thing to do. James also blamed himself. Mostly for the lies he had told himself and his daughter.

  Victoria hadn’t been cut out for the bunker lifestyle. She had been a free spirit who needed to move to survive, and the bunker was just too small for her. It had crushed her. She never would have been happy with a man like Mueller, who was the embodiment of the very life she hated. And she had wanted out of the bunker long before her relationship with Brian. But James had refused to see any of it, and he kept right on lying to himself until it was too late.

  He had told himself she would get better after she had children. Having Victoria had done wonders for his own wanderlust, but for her, it only got worse. Then he thought it would get better after Brian was gone. He was an abusive, controlling prick, after all‌—‌who could be happy with a husband like that? Given how vocal Brian was in his opinion of Mueller and his leadership, it wasn’t hard to convince the newly-installed colonel that Brian was plotting a coup. Given the bruises Brian left on Victoria and how much Mueller still loved her, it was downright easy to convince Mueller that Brian had to be taken care of. That it should be made to look like an accident was also an easy sell. All James had to do was whisper that a trial might give Brian the platform he needed to create a rift that couldn’t be healed, one that might cost Muller his new position and destroy the community in the process.

  He hoped a similar line of reasoning would make Mueller as pliable today as it had back then.

  After Brian was gone, James had kept right on lying to himself, telling himself things would get better in a few more days. ‘She just needs a little longer to grieve, then she’ll snap out of it.’ A few days turned into weeks, then months, and still he waited. In less than a year Victoria had taken her own life, and he never got the chance to tell her about his biggest lie of all: Brian was still alive.

  Muller hadn’t had the stones to get his hands truly dirty. Instead, with the help of Peters and Erickson, Mueller had decided that if Brian wanted out so bad, they would put him out. They had gotten Brian alone while he was doing some maintenance work, beat him unconscious, then waited until the wee hours of the night to take him up in the freight elevator. They threw him out with nothing but the clothes on his back.

  There was nothing I could have done to stop her from killing herself… James ran his hand over his lips.

  Stop lying to yourself. You are not the idealist Czarina thinks you are. You could have used the bulbs to get her out at any time. You should have gotten her out when she was ten and you caught her trying to steal your sleeping pills. When he had asked her why she had done it, she said “When I dream, I can go outside. I thought if I took enough, I might be able to dream forever.”

  It would not have been that hard to get her out back then‌—‌there were still enough people who wanted to leave, to see the sun again before they died. Even after Brian’s ‘death,’ I could have at least tried. I chose not to do it because I was selfish. I didn’t want to lose my daughter and upset my comfortable little life. Look how well that worked out.

  Well, I will not let this place kill Czarina, too. I will get her out. And I certainly will not let that monster hurt Isabella. If only that fool girl would hurry up and get back.

  Finally, Isabella walked in.

  “About time, girl,” he said, more harshly than he had intended. “Where have you been? It is nearly eight o’clock.”

  “I went to see Czarina. You remember, right, Pop-Pop? You gave me a book to give to her.”

  James stifled a frown. He hadn’t meant to give Isabella any further reason to be worried about his mental wellbeing. The stress was clearly getting to him. “I’m sorry, girl. Old men get impatient. Of course I remember. I just meant what took you so long. We have some unpleasantness ahead of us, a
nd I want to get it over with as quickly as possible. How was your visit?”

  “We had a good talk.”

  “Excellent. I am glad to hear it. Now, come sit down, we have much to discuss before your meeting.”

  James explained his plan to get Czarina out of the bunker, at least as much of it as Isabella needed to know. When he finished, he asked, “Do you have any questions, girl?”

  Isabella fingered the quarters that hung around her neck and began to speak in a very deliberate fashion. “I understand how messing with the lights might make them decide to send somebody up.” Then she continued with a rapid-fire delivery, “But why would it be Rina? Why would they send only her? Will she be safe up there? How can I help?”

  “Easy there. The answer to both questions one and two is because no one else wants to go up there, especially if it might not be safe, so Czarina can serve as a test subject. Question three, I honestly do not know.”

  Isabella frowned and began fidgeting with the quarters around her neck more furiously.

  “However,” James continued, “I am certain she will be safer up there than down here. Question four brings us to the unpleasantness I spoke of earlier. How is your wrist?”

  “It’s fine. Nothing major.”

  “That is a problem. Have you shown it to anybody else?”

  “No, you told me not to. Well, just Rina, but I figured she didn’t count. Nobody else, though. I went straight to see her after you told me where she was, and I came straight back. I didn’t mess things up, did I?”

  “Of course not, girl. You have done well.” James said, rising from the cot. “Now, which wrist did Steve grab?”

  “My left.”

  James reached up to tug gently on his ear, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break. “And he grabbed you with his right or left hand?”

  Isabella’s brow momentarily furrowed before she answered. “His right.”

  “Are you sure? It is important.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Why does it matter?”

  “Would you please pull up your left sleeve?”

  “Okay, Pop-Pop,” she said, the concern clear in her voice as she complied with his request.

  “I’m sorry about this, Isabella.”

  “Sorry about wh—”

  James released his ear and reached out, grabbing Isabella’s left arm and squeezing as hard as he could.

  “Ow!” Isabella wailed.

  He saw tears begin to well up in Isabella’s eyes, and it absolutely killed him. But it had to be done, and he would do whatever he had to do to make sure the bunker didn’t kill another of his loved ones. “It’s almost done, girl. Try and be quiet,” he managed through gritted teeth.

  After another few seconds, James released her arm. He could see that he’d done enough to give her a nasty bruise in the shape of a handprint. He wouldn’t have to grab her again. Be thankful for small mercies.

  His right forearm burned from the exertion. It had taken all his strength, both emotional and physical, to leave that mark, and now he felt exhausted. But he had more work to do. He had to talk to Mueller, and maybe Erickson after that; go see Czarina; and a thousand other little things. So much to be done, but in a few days, Czarina would be away, and hopefully safer than she was here. Of course, he’d lied to Isabella when he said he was certain Czarina would be safer. He was acutely aware of how little in life was certain. However, if he could be sure of anything, it was that Czarina would not be safe if she stayed, so the way he saw it, no matter how small a chance Czarina had to make it up above, it was worth the risk. At least she’d get to see the stars that way.

  Comforting lies. I chided Czarina for telling Isabella comforting lies when she gave her sister that damned necklace, and now I am doing it. I am supposed to be a good influence on Czarina, and here she is a bad influence on me.

  He was pulled from his thoughts by Isabella.

  “Why’d you do that?” she said through her tears, rubbing her arm.

  He reached out to touch her shoulder but stopped short and let his hand drop. “I am sorry, Isabella. Why do you think I did it?”

  “Is now the time for one of your lessons?”

  He dropped his chin slightly toward his chest, so he could look at Isabella over his glasses.

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “Fine. Because this way it looks like Czarina had a good reason for attacking Steve, and Steve didn’t get in any trouble for supposedly helping his sister.”

  “Exactly. We are in an even better position because everyone saw Steve grab your arm, and even if it did not look like it was particularly hard, there will be no arguing with the bruise. Czarina will appear justified in her actions, even if she might have used a little too much gusto. And if Czarina’s account of this event appears more truthful than Steve’s, it will make people start to think that maybe her version of what happened with Marisa was, as well. That will make things tough for Mueller, which will give me what I need.”

  “What’s that?”

  “In a word: leverage. Now pull your sleeve down and stay here until it is time for your meeting with Colonel Mueller and Major Erickson. I do not want anyone getting a look at your arm until the bruise has had a chance to blossom a bit. When you meet with Mueller and Erickson tell them exactly what happened at breakfast, and when they ask to see where Steve grabbed you, just show your arm. That simple.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “If you go to see your sister again, make sure to keep your sleeve down. Her seeing the bruise will only complicate matters.” The fewer questions Czarina asks, the less I’ll have to lie to her, and the better I’ll sleep at night.

  “Sure thing, Pop-Pop. Where are you going?”

  “To see how well Czarina is getting on with Plato, amongst other things.” He hesitated. He wanted to tell Isabella that he’d misled her. That he wasn’t losing his memory. That it had all been to keep Czarina safe. He was so sick of the lies and what they had cost him. But now wasn’t the time. In a few days, when his girls were both safe, then he could afford the luxury of telling the truth.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Location: Underground

  Date: 9-7-61

  James watched as Isabella exited Mueller’s office and disappeared around the corner. A few minutes later Major Erickson came out shaking his head and muttering to himself. James’s hearing was not what it used to be, but he was fairly certain he heard the major say, “Fucking psychopath,” as he walked away. It was no secret that the high regard the major had for Colonel Mueller did not extend to his son. James had no doubt that Erickson would like nothing more than to come down hard on Steve; however, he was reluctant owing to his close friendship with the colonel. As soon as the major was out of sight, James made his way toward Mueller’s office. He entered the anteroom and made straight for the colonel’s door, bypassing the aide-de-camp who was seated behind a small desk in one corner of the room.

  The aide-de-camp, a dark-haired man in his late twenties named Owen, said, “The colonel’s away from his office right now. Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

  James didn’t slow; he simply said, “No.” When he reached Mueller’s door, he opened it without knocking, walked in, and pulled it shut behind him.

  The colonel was seated behind his desk, eyes buried in the manila file folder he was holding. His uniform was impeccable, as always. Not a single wrinkle marred his khaki dress shirt. There were no missed buttons, not even so much as a loose thread to be seen. The desk was just as tidy as the uniform: papers and folders all aligned, no stray paperclips, no crumbs from taking his meals there. Mueller’s fastidiousness also extended to his personal appearance; he had a fresh haircut and mustache trim, if James was not mistaken. Yet no amount of washing, pressing, trimming, or arranging could hide the dark circles under the colonel’s eyes, the vein throbbing in his temple, or the white-knuckle grip he had on the folder he held. To James’s eye, Mueller was the very picture of a man desperately trying to hold his l
ife together but without the slightest clue of how to accomplish it. Luckily for the colonel, James was there to give him the very thing he wanted. And all the colonel had to do to make it a reality was agree to let Czarina leave the bunker.

  “Do you have an appointment, James?” Mueller asked, without taking his eyes from the folder.

  “Of course I do not have an appointment, Ronald. When have I ever had an appointment?”

  “Then I’m going to have to ask you to come back,” he said, still refusing to look at James. “I’m very busy.”

  James took a step closer to the desk. Mueller quickly shut the folder, but not before James saw that it was empty. He was almost disappointed. It was going to be even easier than he had thought to manipulate the colonel into giving him what he wanted. He took a seat across from Mueller without being asked and made his opening gambit.

  “Ronald, we need to talk about Victoria.”

  That got Mueller’s attention, and James immediately made his next move. “I do not need to tell you that this thing between her and Steve has gotten out of hand.”

  James watched Mueller’s brow crease as he tried to process James’s ‘slip.’ James had predicted Mueller would let it pass without overtly pointing it out. For starters, he was too polite. More importantly, he felt too guilty about what happened to Victoria, which was precisely the string James had meant to tug by using her name in place of Czarina’s.

  The colonel set the folder down on the nearest pile, frowned momentarily at the small creases he had put in it with his rough handling, and then adjusted it ever so slightly so that it lined up perfectly with all the other folders in the pile. “As I said, James, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now aside from this disagreement between Czarina and my son.”

  “Disagreement? Is that what you call it when two of your recruits are trying to beat one another to death? I could hardly imagine something more pressing for the leader of the militia. It certainly isn’t to be found in an empty folder.” James was not nearly so polite as the colonel‌—‌at least not where his granddaughters were concerned.