Majestic

by Unknown

  Allison pointed to a door at the end of the hallway. “That’s the storage room. Stocked with everything a family of four would need for three years. Each unit has a storage room like that, and that’s where all the units connect if we wish to connect.” She chuckled. “All depends on how well we’re getting along.”

  “Water?”

  “We have our own well. Drilled down 250 feet, so it’s very pure and protected from any contaminants from the surface. We also have filters and water purifiers installed on the automatic pump mechanism, just in case anything gets into the water.

  “We’re well protected in here as well—several feet of dirt on top of us is a great insulator from all sorts of dangerous elements, including radioactive fallout. These units are made of solid sheets of steel with protective sleeves on the corners. And, the steel shells are encased in two feet of poured concrete, just for extra measure.”

  John shook his head in disbelief. “Sanitation?”

  “The toilets are the composting type, ventilated. Leftover refuse would be emptied every few days and added to the soil of our garden.”

  “Garden?”

  Allison nodded. “Yes, that steel ladder that connects to the catwalk goes down another sixty feet, to three additional levels.

  “The first level down is a composting area for our garbage and recyclables, ventilated sideways and then up to the outside. The second level down is our vegetable garden, where some refuse from the composting area and the toilets would be added from time to time. It’s completely enclosed and already equipped with rich soil. Organized into separate fields that can be rotated from season to season; one being left empty each year for regeneration. The garden is equipped with fluorescent lighting for growth and photosynthesis, and with an automatic sprinkler system as well.

  “The last level down is our mausoleum. Again, completely enclosed, and equipped with a dozen or so concrete coffins.”

  John felt his throat getting dry. He figured it must have been the mausoleum part that choked him up. He walked over to the bar, opened a small fridge, grabbed two bottles of water, and passed one to Allison. He twisted the cap off his, and sucked back the entire contents in one long swallow.

  He put the bottle down and wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth. “How do you get your power?”

  “Cooking is by either alcohol fuel, or electricity. Our electricity source is solar. We have a farm of solar panels installed in an open area about a quarter mile away from the compound. Underground wires connect the panels to our battery compartments. We have a huge supply of fully charged batteries to last us for many years in case the sun source dies on us for a while.”

  John sat down on one of the sectional couches, took off his shoes and stretched out. Allison curled up in one of the corners.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  John let out a long breath. “I’m amazed. Astounded is probably a better word. I find myself breathing hard, probably just subliminal, knowing where I am. I’m not convinced that the air is good—all in my head, I guess.”

  “I understand. Let me assure you the air is top quality. The air system we have is referred to as an NBC module. Outside air is sucked into the ventilation duct and enters the first filter, a ULP—Ultra Low Penetration—filter. This thing removes about ninety-nine percent of airborne particles that are 120 nanometers or larger, including nuclear particles, molds, and spores. After that, the air enters an AC filter—Activated Charcoal—which is a military-grade filter designed to protect against chemical and nerve agents. From there, the air enters the unit, fully cleansed and ready to breathe.”

  “What if all this stuff stops working? Geez, we know how often things break down up in the real world.”

  “We have replacement filters and parts. As well, my brother and I are fully trained in basic maintenance; as are Derik and Gerndle, who stock and maintain the units and have guarantees from me of permanent refuge here for them if a catastrophe happens.”

  “That still isn’t a guarantee that everything will work and that you’ll be able to fix what needs to be fixed.”

  Allison cocked her head. “Really, John, what guarantees exist up above? This is the best chance to survive whatever happens. But, no, there are no guarantees. You and I just found out over the last few days that there are no guarantees we could even live to see the next day.”

  John scratched his head. “Good point. You’re right, but I just feel so damn vulnerable down here.”

  “That’s because you’re used to being in control. Some of that tendency has to be sacrificed in a place like this if the worst happens. But, it’s darn safe down here. All of the doors to the outside of the units and between the units are blast resistant to a very high pressure rating. We also have blast valves on all of the outside air vents, designed to close shut if there is a change in outside pressure, and designed to re-open again when air pressure returns to normal. So, if there’s an external explosion, we’re totally impervious to it down here. Even the hatch at the top of the ladder is a blast door.”

  “But, if something happens, we’re trapped down here! That hatch up above opens up into a concrete structure. If that thing comes down, the hatch ain’t gonna open—no way.”

  “First of all, if something happens, we might not mind being trapped down here for a few weeks, months, or even years. We do have air sensors that we can elevate through the vents to test the air quality. But, yes, if that housing up above comes down in a blast, our hatch won’t open.

  “We do, however, have another way out of here. An emergency escape hatch. In the storage rooms for each of the units is another blast door. It connects to a tunnel, and the tunnels from all four of the units connect to a single tunnel which leads along underneath the surface for about 100 feet. Then, it goes up on a gradual slope to a blast hatch. The hatch opens from the inside, but not from the outside. If there’s debris on top of it, jamming the hatch from opening, there’s an explosive charge that can be activated—almost like the ejection mechanism in a fighter jet.”

  John slowly shook his head from side to side. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

  “Well, my dad did, not me. I simply carried on with some improvements here and there, but he made sure this was state of the art at the time it was built, and gave it the ability to be added onto and improved.”

  John stretched his arms out behind his head, starting to feel more comfortable the more he listened to Allison. “When did he build this?”

  “He oversaw it, but had a specialized crew that actually constructed it. It was finished about fifteen years ago. I think he got a bit paranoid from all that he knew. Decided he needed something for his family and close friends, just in case.”

  “But, it’s so far away from your home in Chicago.”

  Allison grimaced. “That’s the one disadvantage. If something sudden happens, we wouldn’t be able to get to it in time. But, Dad figured that was a risk he would take. With his position on Majestic 12, he was in the know. He would have plenty of notice for anything major that was going to happen.

  “He didn’t want to build a bunker in the States—was afraid of the militancy and chaos that would exist if something even minor happened. Especially with the number of Americans who own guns. No, he figured it would be safer here in Canada, and here in a more rural area—an area that is really just an innocuous vineyard. Not a logical place for anyone to look for a bunker. But…just in case…we do have gun lockers.”

  John slid his feet onto the floor and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Allison, I know a lot of people who told me they built these things. I never thought much of it, never had an urge to build one of my own. Even after that Farmington sleaze shared the stuff about Majestic 12 with me, I didn’t consider building one. I was more obsessed with just blowing the whistle, using it as a cornerstone of my campaign, and then concentrating on solutions—actions to prevent or fight back against what might be coming.”

 
“John, you’re not unlike most people. And, let’s face it, most people couldn’t even afford one of these, let alone the land they’d need to install it in. But, bunkers have been around a long time—this is nothing new. The Cold War caused a rash of them to be built right across North America and Europe. Most of them are primitive, more just bomb shelters than anything else. Not intended to be lived in for long periods of time.

  “Some fairly rich people have built new ones over the last few decades, not because they knew of anything specific, but more as a status symbol—and having more money than they knew what to do with. A lot of former missile silos have been bought from the government and converted as well. I don’t think most people ever expect to use them.

  “We own a separate company that builds these. It’s hidden through a shell organization, because we don’t want it associated with Diamond Hotels—that’d be kind of negative synergy. Anyway, it’s doing extremely well. The company is called Survival Structures, and its revenue growth has been off the charts. Just goes to show how paranoid some people are these days, even when they don’t know they actually have reason to be. But, they are afraid of some things—not the things that people were scared of during the Cold War. Nuclear war is the least of their concerns now.

  “My managers at Survival Structures tell me that the most common reason for people plunking down tens and hundreds of thousands of dollars for these bunkers is economic collapse. They fear that when the shit hits the fan, the common folk will take out their anger on anyone with wealth. There is a definite fear of total social breakdown and anarchy. Armed gangs roaming downtown streets, looting, and killing. Then, when the shelves are empty, they would head out to the suburbs—to the rich neighborhoods where these desperate swarms would feel entitled to take, by force, whatever they want.

  “There is a feeling that the police would be overwhelmed so the military would be called in. And, even then, because of fears of other countries taking advantage of our total collapse, the military would have their hands full keeping the borders safe. How far could they be spread to protect neighborhoods?

  “No, at the very best, they’d be protecting the nation’s corporate and institutional assets, downtown areas, government buildings. It would be every man for himself. So, that’s the main reason rich people are building bunkers—to protect themselves from their fellow citizens.”

  John shook his head. “My God, what have we come to? If we think that society would become like rabid dogs, we’ve either ruined the way people think with our stupid governing decisions, or over the generations we have indeed been bred down to the animal level.”

  Allison laughed. “C’mon, John, don’t be so naïve. Technology is turning people into self-obsessed narcissists. The entertainment industry puts celebrities up on pedestals, so-called role models like Miley Cyrus; singers and dancers who are showing kids that they can be as decadent as they want and not have to apologize for it. And, the media, well, that’s another story. One lie after another and, when they get caught at it, people just shrug and accept it. I’ve been part of those lies—we plant them all the time to explain away anomalies.

  “The middle class is disappearing, the poor can’t get jobs, and the rich get richer. There’s a powder keg of anger building in the country and it won’t take much to set it off. A manmade or natural catastrophe will have a lingering after-taste in this day and age that never would have been seen even during the horrors of the World Wars. Civilization just isn’t that civilized, or kind, anymore. You say we’re like animals—we’re worse than animals. We can only blame ourselves—we’ve let it happen. And, one day, we’ll pay for it.”

  John looked into Allison’s beautiful, intelligent eyes. Even though the topic they were discussing was a serious one, he could still see the optimistic sparkle that had always been there through all the years he’d known her.

  “Do you fear economic collapse the most, Allison? Is that why you have this…bunker?”

  She shook her head.

  “What do you fear the most, then?”

  In an instant, the sparkle left her eyes.

  “Gargantuan.”

  Chapter 38

  “Allison, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned that word. So, I think you need to finally just come clean with me. What the hell is ‘Gargantuan’?”

  Allison sighed. “I intended to tell you, Senator. Maybe this is as good a time as any.”

  “It is. I’m ready…I think.”

  “Alright, here we go, then. Brace yourself…”

  * * * * *

  John laid his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Allison had adjourned to one of the bedrooms for a well-earned nap. But, John didn’t have the energy to move even one muscle. He always found that mental activities tired him much more than physical ones. And, for the last three hours, his brain had been put through its paces—mental gymnastics in the extreme.

  Not that he’d said very much. He asked the odd question for clarification, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot to say. Allison’s explanation had been exhaustive and detailed, even though a lot of what she told him was still just speculation, rather than fact.

  It had been three hours of listening and absorbing. John was used to that, of course. In the Senate, the debates sometimes went on well into the night. And, in his spare time, he had to prepare himself for votes by reading new bills, some of which were mind-numbing and several hundred pages long. So, exercise of the brain was something the good senator from Vermont was accustomed to, for sure.

  But, he wasn’t accustomed to hearing tales such as he’d just heard, and that was what had exhausted him now more than ever before in his life.

  It was the subject matter, tainted with the seeming futility of it all, which was now causing him to drift off into dreamland.

  John knew full well how he dreamed. Perhaps it was the analytical life he led, or maybe it was just the way his subconscious was. But, John didn’t dream in the abstract the way most people did.

  In fact, his dreams tended to be factual, reflecting what took place during his day, or what was on his mind.

  Most people dreamed in symbolism—if they were worried about something, a snake or some other fearful creature would be slithering across the floor. But, not John—if he was worried about something, that actual thing he was worried about would be in his dream.

  If deadlines were piling up on people, creating incredible stress, they’d dream of being chased or having the walls of a room closing in on them. John, however, would dream of the actual projects that had the deadlines attached to them.

  He’d always wished he could dream like normal people did. He loved hearing about the wonderful fantastical adventures people would experience, and wished that he could have those flights of fancy himself.

  But…he never did. His dreams were just darn boring, and John sometimes feared that meant he was a boring person.

  He figured that lingering thought preying on his mind throughout most of his life perhaps was what had propelled him to be in politics— forcing himself to become an exciting, dynamic politician. And, lately, maybe that was what had been propelling him to want to become President of the United States.

  Maybe he was overcompensating?

  He rested his head into the soft leather of the sectional sofa and closed his eyes. He knew he’d be asleep within minutes, and he also had a pretty good idea of what his focused, organized brain would be dreaming about.

  * * * * *

  The Great Flood—Noah’s very own flood—was supposed to have devastated the planet 4,400 years ago.

  But, did it really happen? No one knew for sure, although it was the stuff of religious teachings and even motion pictures. And, because no one knew for sure, there was no way of knowing the timeline.

  All that the world’s population thought they knew was that it happened an awful long time ago and, if it was caused by the hand of God, He must have had a good reason.

  But, if it did indeed happ
en, could it have been caused by something else? Something more believable perhaps than the hand of God? And perhaps 3,600 years ago instead of 4,400?

  That particular something was big, and dark, and mostly hidden from view. Telescopes had been challenged indeed trying to find this thing. But, the Hubble telescope did. Now, the little probe that had recently passed Pluto was sending back some interesting photos.

  As far back as 1983, The Washington Post reported that a heavenly body, possibly as large as the giant Jupiter, had been found in the direction of the Orion constellation by an orbiting telescope aboard the U.S. Infrared Astronomical Satellite.

  It was reported as being a mysterious object indeed, and possibly so close to Earth that it could actually be part of our solar system. So little was known just from that orbiting telescope that astronomers weren’t really sure what it was. The image wasn’t clear, more just a blob in the lens. Some theorized that, instead of a planet, it might actually be a giant comet, a protostar, or even a distant galaxy that was intruding on our solar system.

  No follow-up article ever came from The Washington Post. Their reporting of this discovery in 1983 was followed by utter silence.

  But, in 1991, a man named Doctor Robert Harrington, the chief astronomer at Washington’s Naval Observatory, wrote a paper.

  He was in charge of NASA’s search for a large planet at the edge of our solar system. His method concentrated on examining the orbits of the two outer large planets, Neptune and Uranus.

  He was stunned to discover that these two massive planets were being pulled down in their orbits. Something that had obviously never been there before was now exerting extreme pressure—magnetic pressure. He knew that the only thing that could cause such an effect was a large object, and that it had to exist down in the direction of this unexplainable motion of these giant planets. He also knew it had to be big and below the plane of the planets, known as the ecliptic.