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

by Sam Clark

  Neither of them had mentioned their earlier conversation in the brig, which was just fine by her.

  She knew why she had dragged out the packing for so long. It was because she didn’t have anything else to do to pass the time. It wasn’t as if she had a bunch of friends to say goodbye to. So she had packed and unpacked, then repacked. Over and over. She’d spent most of the night trying to reconfigure all the necessary things so she could fit in a few unnecessary things‌—‌books.

  She suspected that as lonely as she was in the bunker, she’d likely be more so up above. She might be truly alone. Authors long dead might be her only friends, and she had to decide who to bring and who to leave behind. She eventually narrowed it down to five.

  James had told her she could take Plato with her. When she’d politely declined, he had looked relieved. James didn’t have any friends either, but at least he would have Izzy.

  The most surprising thing of all about her final full day in the fallout shelter had been the colonel stopping by to give what she could only describe as a pep talk. She hadn’t heard many pep talks in her life, aside from those she gave herself, but she was fairly certain Colonel Mueller’s might have been one of the most awkward in all of human history. Mueller mumbled something about ‘the importance of the mission’ and how the whole bunker was depending on her. She was “a trailblazer and so on.” He’d actually said “and so on.”

  The specific mission he had given her was to inspect the indicators for possible damage that might explain the issue with the light, and to scout the surface for habitability. She was to report back in one year’s time. Then, to top it all off, he gave her two pats on the shoulder with an overly long pause in between. In fact, the pause between had been so long she had thought it was over after the first pat and was startled by the second. Colonel Mueller finished with a quick, “Make us proud,” before he beat a hasty retreat.

  Surprisingly, James, who had been present for the whole uncomfortable thing, hadn’t so much as chuckled at the colonel’s expense‌—‌a sure sign of how much her departure must have been affecting him.

  After a night spent tossing and turning, Czarina had gotten up early. James had brought food back from the cafeteria and they had one last meal together as a family. It was bittersweet. James and Izzy joked about not letting Czarina get hold of the tray, lest she attack one of them, and they all did an admirable job of avoiding the fact that they’d likely never see one another again.

  After they’d finished eating, James left to take the trays back so Czarina could say goodbye to her sister. It had been heartfelt but blessedly brief, and they both made it through without crying. Isabella had insisted Czarina take her quarter necklace, so she wouldn’t forget about her or their mom. Czarina tried to tell her no, but deep down, she did want something to remember her sister by‌—‌even if it only served as a reminder that she had abandoned her to the jackals in the bunker and broken her promise to be there for her in less than a week. She should remember her failures.

  And this was a failure. Even if James was right that Isabella would be safer without her, it was at least partially her fault that this was the case. She could have done things differently. She didn’t have to embarrass Steve in front of everybody. She could have let it go. She should have let it go. But she had chosen to mock Steve’s so-called manhood, knowing damn well it would escalate things.

  Czarina didn’t have the heart to tell Isabella it wasn’t their mother’s necklace. That she’d made it on the drill press in the machine shop with quarters she got by trading a broken Etch-a-Sketch because she didn’t have anything else to give Isabella for her birthday one year. Maybe not coming clean was a failure on her part. Maybe it wasn’t. The necklace made Isabella happy. She had never even asked why she hadn’t seen Czarina with it before. The gift and the lie that went with it had always made James unhappy. He’d always thought the truth was more important than feelings‌—‌or at least he had until recently.

  After Czarina had finished talking with Izzy, James escorted her to the exit corridor, where the colonel was waiting. Mueller kept looking down each of the corridors and looking at his watch, clearly impatient to initiate the exit procedures and forget the whole damn affair. The colonel at least had the curtesy to maintain his distance while she and James said their goodbyes.

  James gave Czarina a hug and said, “Go chase the elephant.”

  “Huh?”

  “Articulate as always, my girl. It is an old way to say goodbye to someone leaving on an adventure. Its origins date to the California Gold Rush.” James sighed deeply, then pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Hard truths. Just promise me you will not open it for at least a month.” James glanced at Mueller, who hadn’t moved, and then said in a slightly lower voice, “And remember, put some distance between yourself and the bunker as quickly as possible. The further away you get, the less likely Mueller is to change his mind and send someone up to retrieve you.” James cleared his throat. “I need you to know, Czarina, that I am incredibly proud of you and the person you have become. I have no doubt that you can and will handle whatever you may find out there. I just fear that the world might not be ready for Czarina St. John. I will miss you, girl.”

  As she took the letter, it began to sink in that she would likely never see James again. Sadness and fear began to froth inside her, and it took all her resolve to keep it from showing on her face. However, she didn’t trust her voice not to betray her, so she just nodded her agreement and slid the letter into her bag, then pulled on her anti-radiation helmet. After James helped her get her bag on, she turned and started toward the exit, refusing to look back.

  As she neared the end of the exit corridor, she saw that the red all-clear light above the door leading to the exit shaft was flickering slightly. It was a sign‌—‌a sign that it was time to shove aside thoughts of the bunker and those she was leaving behind. That life was over now. It was time to look forward.

  When she reached the door a mechanical voice said, “Exit procedure initiated. Please stand back.”

  Colonel Mueller had told her last night how this would go, before his pep talk. The door would slide open, and once she was inside, it would immediately shut and lock behind her. She then had to climb a ladder about thirty feet to the surface. When she got to the top, there would be a keypad. She would enter the code 1776 followed by the pound key. After thirty seconds, the red light on the keypad would turn green, and then the valve lock on the hatch above her head would open automatically. Once she was through the hatch, she was to shut it, at which point it would automatically re-lock. She would not be able to open it again herself. It would only unlock if someone initiated the exit protocol and reentered the code from the inside.

  The exit door slid open. She did not hesitate. She stepped quickly through and began her ascent to freedom. She was a few rungs up the ladder when the mechanical voice sounded again.

  “Exit door now closing.”

  As she heard the whirr of the door sliding shut, and the click of it locking, she paused for a brief second. I can still turn back. She laughed out loud at the thought, the sound echoing oddly in her suit. She could suffer a multitude of humiliations at the hands of others, but she would not subject herself to the ridicule of her peers and superiors by turning back now.

  About halfway up the ladder, she looked down. A sudden onrush of vertigo hit her. Her hands began to sweat, and she could swear her grip was starting to slip. She hugged her body snug against the ladder and squeezed the rungs as tightly as she could through the gloves of the suit.

  “Huh. Turns out I don’t like heights.”

  I haven’t been gone five minutes and I’m already talking to myself. I’ll be crazy in a week.

  “You’ve always talked to yourself, Czarina.”

  As she clung to the ladder, she couldn’t help but think of Major Peters. He’d fallen off a ladder while doing some ma
intenance work on the bunker’s environmental system. Broke his back. He had never regained feeling in his legs, and eventually he slit his own wrists with a straight razor. Erickson had inherited his position, and eventually his wife as well.

  She took a deep breath, which felt hot and steamy in her enclosed suit, then continued up the ladder, trying to focus on each rung as opposed to the fate of the late major.

  Why does this bag have to be so heavy? They could have let me take the freight elevator. James had mentioned it, but Mueller had denied it outright‌—‌said it would expose their position too much. When James started to argue the point, she’d said the ladder would be fine. Who knew? Maybe I could go back. Get them to let me use it. Focus, Czarina. Keep climbing.

  When she finally got to the top, she looked at the keypad, wondering if there was some way she could enter the number without having to take one of her hands off the ladder. Well, I can’t go back, and I can’t stay here, so I might as well get this over with.

  She entered the code and waited. For a while. It must have been thirty seconds by now. Did I hit pound? Or was it supposed to be star?

  Nothing.

  Should I enter the code again?

  Nothing.

  Maybe I should wait a little longer.

  Nothing.

  How much longer you gonna wait?

  She reached out to reenter the code with a hand so sweaty it felt like it was floating in its glove. After two fat-fingered attempts where she ended up mashing the pad, she managed to reenter the code, but after counting to sixty, nothing happened.

  Then she realized the light on the keypad wasn’t on at all. No red. No green. No nothing.

  Great, it’s fucking broken. Elevator probably is too. It’s a real prison.

  She began to climb down the ladder. She made it four rungs before concluding that the only thing in life worse than climbing up ladders was climbing down them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have this stupid suit on, or this heavy bag. Should have brought fewer books.

  Eventually, she made it back down, and if she could have figured out how to make it work in such a narrow space while wearing a radiation suit and a massive bag, she’d have kissed the ground. When she looked out the exit door and squinted toward the other end of corridor, she didn’t see anyone there.

  How long could I possibly be stuck in here? I’ve got about two weeks of food rations, but relatively little water. I may very well die of dehydration before somebody comes down this corridor again. No, they’ll come look at the light in a day or two. She thought about screaming, but then stopped short. Fallout shelters have thick walls, dummy. No way I’m yelling loud enough to get somebody to come and investigate.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Now what? No choice but back up the ladder, unless I want to sleep here tonight. All right, but I’m ditching the suit. If it’s radioactive out there, I’m screwed whether I wear it or not. Besides, I can put it back on as soon as I get out.

  She shimmied out of the suit and managed to jam it into her already overstuffed bag‌—‌after taking out her jacket and tying it around her waist‌—‌then started back up the ladder. At least now she could occasionally dry her hands off on her pant leg, which made the experience slightly less miserable.

  Back at the top of the ladder, she noticed something. The red light was on. She didn’t know what had changed. Maybe the battery didn’t hold a charge anymore and needed the sun to be up to work. Whatever the reason, she didn’t care.

  With a shaking hand she reached out and entered the code, and started to count out loud. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…”

  ***

  “Twenty-five one thousand, twenty-six one thous—”

  Czarina heard a clanking sound and saw the red light turn to green. Looking up, she could see the valve on the hatch begin to turn. She let out a triumphant whoop, then wrapped her right arm securely around the top rung of the ladder and pushed up on the hatch with her left. The rusted hinges resisted only a moment before giving way with a loud screech.

  She emerged from the shaft inside another bunker. According to James, the facility they lived in was built under the Black Hills Ordnance Depot. The army had decommissioned the base long before World War III, but the dozens of munitions storage bunkers‌—‌‘igloos,’ as they were called‌—‌that comprised the depot still stood. The closest town worthy of the name was Edgemont. At the beginning of the war, it’d had a population of seven hundred or so people, not much larger than their little underground community. Some thirty miles northeast of Edgemont was the county seat of Hot Springs, which had a prewar population about ten times Edgemont’s. Whether either one was still there was another question‌—‌one she could answer for herself soon enough.

  The room she entered wouldn’t have been out of place belowground‌—‌a large, poorly-lit concrete room. The only differences were that this room was a lot dirtier, and it contained a single metal door at one end leading to the outside world. To liberty. To possibility. To a life of her own choosing.

  She walked over to the door, the final obstacle separating her from her goal. She grabbed the bar holding it shut, then pulled it free and leaned it up against the wall. She took a deep breath, reached out, and shoved the door open.

  A warming light flooded into the bunker, stinging her eyes. For the first time in her life, she saw the sky, a field of brilliant blue broken only by a few wispy clouds, whiter than anything she had ever seen. “Beautiful” wasn’t an adequate word to describe the sight, but in the moment, she couldn’t think of better.

  When she was depressed, she felt like her chest would cave in at any moment, the inevitable outcome of an immovable object being placed upon it. Now she felt the opposite. When the first rays of the sun touched her face with their unfamiliar warmth, she felt like her chest would burst outward, exploded by the irresistible force of joy.

  She hadn’t cried when her instructors and classmates had hazed her mercilessly, nor when her friends abandoned her one by one. She hadn’t cried when Steve outed her and made her life a living hell. She hadn’t cried when Marisa betrayed her, nor when Steve was beating her. She hadn’t cried when she was locked up to rot, nor when James gave her some hard truths in the brig while hiding others. And she hadn’t cried when she had said goodbye for the last time to the only people she loved.

  But as her mind began to accept that what she saw before her was real, that it wasn’t just some wonderful dream, she dropped to her knees and wept uncontrollably. She wept at the irrefutable glory of the world before her. She wept because the light hurt her eyes, which were ill-prepared for the luminescence of the sun. She wept because she had done the impossible‌—‌she’d escaped her prison with forty-three days to spare. But she wept most of all because, for the first time in her life, she had a real future. One with infinite possibilities. The whole wide world stood before her, and in that moment she knew with absolute certainty that‌—‌like Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon before her‌—‌the name Czarina St. John would be on the lips of all those who remained, from the lowest pauper to the highest politician, and it would be spoken with respect, awe, and fear. The world was hers; it just didn’t know it yet.

  But soon enough, it would be proclaimed across the land, and none would dare deny it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Location: Underground

  Date: 9-12-61

  Marissa made her way through her family’s deserted common area. Only the emergency lighting was on, despite it being nearly 0900. She had a few minutes between classes, and with a little luck she would get what she needed and be back before anyone knew she was gone. And if it took a little longer, so what‌—‌it wasn’t like any of her instructors would say anything about her being a little late. The one and only advantage of being the colonel’s daughter. She reached the divider of her parent’s private quarters and pulled it back just enough to poke her head in. Her father was long gone. He’d been gone
when she woke up to “Reveille,” just like always. Why spend the mornings with your disappointing family when you didn’t have to? Her mother was still asleep, snoring softly; not surprising, given how much sugar wine she drank most nights to try and erase the memory of another day in a loveless marriage with nothing to show for it but two messed-up kids and the ‘prestige’ of being married to the colonel. Looking at her mother was like peering into the future for Marisa, and she didn’t particularly like what she saw. They had the same red hair, the same green eyes, and the same pouty lips. They had likely shared the same prominent cheekbones once upon a time, before her mom had gotten fat. It’s probably the wine. As she watched her mom’s chest rise and fall, Marisa tried not to think about what the future held for her own breasts.

  She closed the partition softly and then crossed the common area to her brother’s alcove. She had wanted to do this before she went to school, but she’d heard Steve moving around after “Reveille” had sounded. Hopefully he’d fallen back asleep, and she’d be able to slip in and out unnoticed, just like she had the last time.

  She reached a hand out toward the partition handle, savoring the little surge of adrenaline that came with petty theft. She pulled the partition open just a few inches, making sure her body was in front of the gap to filter out as much of the emergency lighting as possible. She then shifted her position ever so slightly to let a tiny bit more light in. She immediately saw what she was looking for, sitting on a folding tray next to Steve’s cot. Forcing herself not to rush, she took a long, slow breath, then gently slid the divider back far enough to admit her arm and reached toward the object of her desire.