Final Dawn: Season 1 (The Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Series)

by Mike Kraus

  Moments pass after he has left, and the man at the end of the table speaks, prompting the other four to turn and listen, hanging on his every word.

  “Impressive.”

  Murmurs of agreement flow between the other four as they concur with the brief assessment.

  The man at the end of the table speaks again. “What timetable are we looking at for deployment?”

  A thin man with glasses and a striped grey tie speaks in response, glancing at the contents of a file folder. “I did some checking, and we sponsored some research in this area a few years ago, out at LOR. If we pull them in, plus a few others from our key projects, I think we could have a test ready in a year; maybe two max?” The thin man looks up from his folders and adjusts his glasses. Excitement at the prospect of the project bubbles up, barely contained in his voice.

  Across from him, a man with a blue tie speaks, his voice filled with undertones of displeasure. “I have to put my foot down on this, sir. We can’t push forward on this without proper approval. Congressional hearings will take at least six months, then we have budget talks, public disclosure, the works!”

  The man at the end of the table stares back in response. He waits a moment to respond, until the rest of the men at the table are all staring back at him.

  “Mr. Smith. In this room, I’d suggest you remember who your president, congress, judge and god is.” The sentence is spoken without emotion and the man at the end of the table continues to stare, unblinking. The man with the blue tie shifts nervously in his seat, his lips tighten and his jaw clenches, but he says nothing, choosing to give the slightest nod of his head as an affirmative.

  “Good.” The man at the end of the table addresses the group at large. “Mr. Johnson, Richards, Smith, Jones. We will follow the presentation as laid out, with a few minor changes. These will be delivered to your desks in the morning. Once you have them, allocate the appropriate resources from your own departments. No other project is untouchable, so I expect you to pull resources from everything, is that clear?”

  The four men nod their heads in affirmation and the man at the end of the table stands up.

  “Good. Funding, approval and appropriate disclosures and classifications will be provided, Mr. Smith. I recommend you focus on your part in this project instead of me.” Mr. Smith nods tersely in response, avoiding the gaze of the man at the end of the table.

  The man at the end of the table walks out, leaving the remaining four to stare at each other. With nods and handshakes, they each leave as well, taking separate routes from the conference room. Two share a taxi back to their offices, one walks, the other drives.

  The man from the end of the table walks to a small elevator and rides it to the top floor. He walks down a narrow hallway, ignoring the nod from his secretary as he passes by and enters his office. He walks past his desk to the clear glass windows behind it. He stares out across the city, at the people walking by. He looks out onto the governmental buildings just beyond, the faintest trace of a wry smile written on his face.

  Leonard McComb

  7:18 AM, April 5, 2038

  The relatively small appearance of the police station concealed a treasure trove of space inside. While the main section of the building was only two stories, it extended another two stories into the ground, with basement and subbasement levels under the main section and the wings. Two interrogation rooms were located on the basement level, with the main holding cells on the subbasement. There was enough room to fit around fifty people in the cells, and while all of them were locked, there was no evidence of anyone having been held there recently.

  Aside from the interrogation rooms in the basement, there were administrative offices, storage closets and supply rooms lining the corridors. The only routes to get from the basement to the subbasement level were either through a freight elevator or through one of three staircases. The staircases and the elevator all had automatic locks on them, capable of sealing the lowest section of the prison off with the touch of a button. While these locks were also supposed to engage automatically in the event of a power loss, their backup generator was knocked out by one of the many electromagnetic pulses, so the way was clear all the way up and down the building. Without power, the only way to seal off the subbasement was through a manual locking procedure on the doors.

  In addition to officer desks, a lobby and the main entrance, the main level of the building had a small weapons locker in the back, which Leonard was easily able to open with his drill and a few other tools stashed in his shoulder bag. Inside was a shotgun, a few rifles and half a dozen pistols, but not nearly as many weapons as he thought he might find. The locker also contained boxes of medical supplies, which Leonard pulled out and set near the lobby to search through later. He fumbled with the shotgun for a few minutes, finally figured out how to load it, then slung it around his shoulder for safekeeping.

  Upstairs, in the top of the police station, Leonard hit pay dirt. In the hallway that opened from the stairwell into the second floor, a large break room sat off to the side. Half of one wall of the room was lined with large 5-gallon water jugs, used to refill the myriad of water coolers that he had spotted throughout the building. In addition, three vending machines sat on the opposite side of the room, filled with candy, chips, ramen noodles, energy drinks and more. After breaking open the vending machines, Leonard tore into the food, consuming several packs of crackers and chips and numerous cups of water. As he ate, he realized that it had been over a day since his last meal. The time spent running from the creatures hadn’t left much room for other activities.

  Food wasn’t the only thing Leonard found on the top floor. As he was wandering around, sipping on his water, he came to a thick steel door that was partially open. It resembled the doors that sealed the subbasement off from the rest of the building. Curious, he cautiously pushed it open, keeping his free hand on the shotgun. Leonard nearly dropped his water in shock as the beam from his headlamp passed over the contents of the room.

  With walls made of reinforced, two-inch thick steel and a door to match, the room was made to last against just about any type of assault, with good reason. From floor to ceiling lay an arsenal that would make more than a few small countries jealous. Guns of every caliber, SWAT uniforms, assault gear, helmets, shields, nightsticks, tear gas and tasers; every conceivable weapon that a modern police force might need was contained within the room, all organized into neat rows, with boxes upon boxes of preloaded magazines, ready to be slapped into the guns at a moment’s notice.

  Leonard stared in awe at the sight and his mouth spread from ear-to-ear in a wild grin. “Niiice.”

  Rachel Walsh

  4:36 AM, April 5, 2038

  Early the next morning, before the sun rose, Rachel was awake. She and Sam ate a silent breakfast of canned tuna fish and water, then departed the train station. Rachel contemplated leaving some of their supplies behind in order to move faster, but decided against it. If she got cut off from the train station, the last thing she wanted was to lose precious food, water or other valuables. Before setting out, she popped a few painkillers, and was relieved that her chest was slightly less tender than it had been. It still hurt to move and breathe, but it appeared to be healing.

  Following the military map as best as she could, Rachel figured that they should cut directly through the city to shave as much time off the trip as possible. The walk took hours as she made her way through yet another city of rubble and debris. Worse yet, she was still in pain, but was hesitant to take more painkillers due to the high amount she had already been swallowing every couple of hours. Her chest burned and ached with every breath, and the vibration of every step sent a wave of pain that felt like it was directed squarely at her broken rib. Walking upright on a clear street while breathing in fresh air would be hard enough in her current condition. Crawling and climbing through and over fallen buildings while inhaling the smoke of a burning city was a hundred times more difficult.

  Standing thirt
y feet up in the air after climbing up an overturned building, Rachel looked over the city in the rising sunlight. Though the clouds were thick overhead, the dawn still shone through on the horizon, cutting through the wisps of smoke that rose from the wreckage. Like every other city Rachel had seen before, Richmond was no exception to the destruction that had unfolded across the globe. Rachel searched through the smoke, hunting for a sign of something, anything, that might indicate the location of the cache that was marked on the military map. After several minutes she spotted, over to the west, a small collection of green tents. A swath of camouflage netting was nearby, draped over a series of objects that were too small and obscured to make out from this distance.

  Just to the north of the cache, along the route Rachel was plotting out in her mind, a section of the city stood intact, one of many patches that she saw scattered throughout the area. A squat brick building with a flagpole out front, it looked to Rachel like some kind of government building, perhaps a police or fire station. We’ll head northwest to the cache, then go north and see what might be in that building. Maybe some extra supplies or something. Rachel couldn’t be positive, but she was fairly certain that the tents and other equipment had been set up after the bombs fell, since they were situated on the edge of a section of the city that had been utterly decimated.

  Rachel tightened the waist strap of her backpack, trying to put additional pressure on her midsection to reduce the reverberations of walking from traveling up into her chest. She climbed slowly down the side of the building alongside Sam, who bounded from place to place, eager to continue going. Sam’s lighthearted attitude hadn’t changed since they woke up that morning, so Rachel kept her rifle on her shoulder, not overly concerned – at the moment, at least – with running into any of the creatures.

  While Sam’s disposition was boisterous, Rachel was in an entirely different world. Pain, paranoia and grief all stirred in her body and mind, slowly stripping her down to a shell of the woman that she had once been. Fueled by a mixture of anger and guilt, she was determined to press on, no matter the cost. Seeing the world torn apart was one thing, but having people ripped away from you was another.

  Though Rachel had been absent from her family for many years, living across the country for lengthy periods for her work, she had tried her best to separate the two, never bringing her work home when she had time off. This separation helped her maintain a distinction between the two lives. When that distinction was pulled away, merging the realities into a twisted horrific mess, Rachel’s stability was pulled out from under her like a rug.

  Trudging forward, Rachel repeated her vow under her breath yet again. “I will make this right.”

  Undisclosed Location

  September 17, 2036

  Senator Barth enters a building, looking up as he walks, admiring the work that was done to the building over the last few years. He is greeted at the front desk by a receptionist. The man directs him up the stairs, where he proceeds, flanked on both sides by armed guards. At the top of a short flight of stairs, the senator and guards enter an elevator, where one of the guards inserts a key and punches in a code to choose what floor to go to. The elevator takes off smoothly, its movement barely perceptible to its occupants.

  After the elevator doors open, the senator exits while the guards step out behind him and remain standing there, stationed just outside the elevator doors. The hallway is long and narrow, ending in a desk where a short-haired woman sits, speaking softly into a headset. She greets the senator warmly by name.

  “Welcome, Senator Barth. You’re just on time. I’ll send you in now.”

  The senator nods his appreciation and the receptionist presses a button underneath her desk. The sound of steel bolts unlocking is heard from the door behind her, which swings open. The senator adjusts his tie as he enters the office beyond, struggling to keep himself calm and composed. This is his first meeting with Mr. Doe as the head of the congressional budget oversight committee, and he has been dreading it for weeks. He is only in the first few months of his second term, and has still not completely determined who Mr. Doe is, who he answers to or where his influence ends. From the whispers he’s heard, though, he knows that – whoever Mr. Doe actually is – he is not a man with whom you trifle.

  Mr. Doe is seated at his desk as Senator Barth enters. He rises as the doors close, motioning the senator to take a seat. The senator reaches out to shake Mr. Doe’s hand, but Mr. Doe sits back down, leaving Senator Barth to slowly withdraw his hand and sit down, already feeling shaken.

  “Senator, so good of you to come. I understand you wished a word with me?” Mr. Doe’s voice is cold and crisp, betraying no emotions as he speaks.

  Senator Barth coughs nervously as he starts to speak, trying to compose himself. “That’s right, Mr. Doe. The, uh, budget committee has some questions on the requests you’ve put in. We tried to get more information from your office, but all they said was that we’d have to meet in person for additional details. That’s why I’m here, to get to the bottom of the requests.”

  “Please, proceed.” Mr. Doe’s voice remains cold and aloof. He eyes the Senator with the gaze of a feline watching a mouse scurry across the floor.

  The senator reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a few sheets of paper marked with yellow highlighter. “Where should I begin?” He points to the top of the paper, to the first highlighted section, holding it up for Mr. Doe to see. “This line, the first request; seven billion dollars for a new laboratory facility? Then we have this, another twelve billion per month for an indefinite period of time, all for undefined ‘research and development.’ I could go on, but they’re all like this. Too much money for projects that are ill-defined or not defined at all.”

  Mr. Doe keeps his eyes locked on the senator, not bothering to glance at the paper. When the senator finishes, he looks at Mr. Doe, feeling the man’s stare.

  “I fail to see a problem here, Senator.”

  Senator Barth finds himself growing frustrated. “The problem, Mr. Doe, is that you can’t just demand vast sums of money with no details of where it goes! No other agency does this.”

  A flicker of a frown crosses Mr. Doe’s face. “My agency is like no other, Senator. It does not follow the traditional rules. It never has, and it never shall.” The last word in Mr. Doe’s response is like a hammer falling on an anvil: both final and resolute.

  Senator Barth grows indignant at Mr. Doe’s treatment. His voice rises in volume and pitch as he tries to argue. “Mr. Doe, sir, with all due respect, I can’t bring this kind of budget up for discussion, much less pass it, if I have no idea what I’m dealing with in it.”

  “You are correct there, Senator. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Senator Barth shivers involuntarily at the words. The room seems to grow more dim and cold with each breath from Mr. Doe’s mouth. “The only thing you and your committee need to know is that this money will be spent in an appropriate manner for the good of this country.”

  The senator begins to protest again, but is cut off by Mr. Doe’s rise from his chair. “Thank you for coming by, Senator. It’s been most educational for the both of us, I’m sure you’ll agree.” Mr. Doe points at the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I must make a phone call.”

  Senator Barth wants to argue, but Mr. Doe’s demeanor causes him to think better of it. He nods, stuffs the papers back in his briefcase, turns and leaves without another word. In the background, he hears Mr. Doe’s quiet voice, speaking into his phone. Halfway down the hall, the senator’s phone rings. He removes it from his pocket, noticing the number shows up as unknown. He answers the phone hesitantly, not expecting any calls and wondering why someone is calling his unlisted number.

  “Senator Barth, this is President Chafin.” The senator nearly drops his phone in shock as the man on the other end of the line continues. The Senator had only spoken to the President on one previous occasion, at a fundraiser, and he was certain that the President didn’t even remember hi
s name.

  “I understand you’ve just been to see our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Doe. I know you’re still new to the nuances of the budget committee. Far be it from me to tell you what to do or to try and influence your decisions in any way, but I highly recommend you heed Mr. Doe’s words.”

  Senator Barth starts to respond, but President Chafin cuts him off. “I hope I’ve made myself clear, Senator. Have a pleasant day.”

  Two weeks later, at the next budget meeting, the requests pass unanimously without objection or discussion.

  Rachel Walsh

  7:13 AM, April 5, 2038

  As Sam’s mood darkened, Rachel’s guard rose. Instead of bounding through the rubble, running back and forth and sniffing various items of interest, Sam was glued to Rachel’s leg, trotting along with his ears lowered. Rachel kept a tight grip on her rifle as they neared the site of the green tents, the first of her two destinations inside the city. From her vantage point on the building, Rachel saw that the group of tents were set up in a small park, around the point where the damage began to decrease.