by Judd Vowell
The plan was simple. We would gather as much of our belongings as possible and head for Grandad’s farm. Meg’s father was always stocking away food for that once-in-a-lifetime snowstorm that never came. Plus he had guns, unlike me. I had always jokingly told him it would be a perfect place to wait out the apocalypse. Joke was on me, I guess.
◊◊◊
The interstate was littered with abandoned cars and trucks and tractor-trailers that had run out of fuel. The gas stations we passed were overrun with vehicles, seemingly stacked on top of each other in mechanical desperation to fill up their starving tanks. The glass that acted as the front walls of these stores was gone, shattered by thieves and looters. I was fortunate to have a half tank in our SUV. Just enough to get us to the farm.
Despite the number of vehicles, there was a disturbing absence of people. We drove without speaking. I weaved my way through the dysfunctional traffic jam, silently praying that I would get us to our destination before the sun set. I pulled off of the interstate with thirty miles to go. The side roads were completely different. No empty cars and trucks. The houses that began to crop up outside our windows showed some life, with residents on their porches or front lawns. Most of them looked at us as we passed in disbelief, stunned to see and hear a working automobile, I suppose. I was anxious to get to my father-in-law’s.
We arrived at the farm at dusk. The gate protecting the mile-long driveway was closed and padlocked. Meg and I got out, and she rolled the lock combination into place. We pulled back the gate doors. I told Meg to get in the driver’s seat and drive through, that I would close and secure the gate behind her. I looked down the road both ways to make sure no one had seen us pulling in as I clicked the padlock back into place. There was nobody in sight. I climbed back in on the passenger side and we drove up the driveway.
From a distance, the house looked dark. And as we got nearer, I could tell that it was empty. Hoped that it was empty. If something had happened to Meg’s father in the last week, there was no way we could’ve known. There was no way anyone could’ve known. We parked the SUV, and Meg went straight to the side door. She used her key and ran inside. I held my breath, waiting for Meg’s scream. The scream that would come if she discovered her dead dad.
41.
T he prison that Lefty had transformed into their southeastern base was located just twelve miles outside the closest city’s limits. The same city where we had journeyed so many times to see Dr. Raj. The same city that now held Meg’s only salvation.
Jeff and I had discussed it early one morning before everyone else had woken up. Based on the path we were traveling, our group would reach the prison base first, with the city still another half-day’s hike away. Jeff said we would stop at the base for a night, and then he and Paul would escort the kids and me into the city. I wasn’t about to turn down the extra protection, so I gladly accepted his offer. As long as we didn’t encounter any obstacles, getting to the hospital, into the pharmacy building, and back to the base shouldn’t take more than a day, especially with Jeff and Paul helping us. And then the twins and I could get back to Meg. It sounded too easy, but I didn’t let that get to me.
◊◊◊
It was visible from the highway. One of those landmarks you notice the first time you see it, but then block out of your vision in subsequent passes. It occupied two and a half square miles of land, having once contained working crop and cattle farms. Most prisons, including this one, had been overtaken by the inmates within weeks of the Great Dark’s beginning. It had been abandoned since, left to stand as some colossal reminder of what our former society deemed as power and control. We didn’t know true power until everything was out of control.
The Lefty leaders were clever. They saw the advantages that a prison’s design could provide for their strategy. The intent of every American prison was two-fold. First, they were built to house a shit-ton of people. Second, they were intensely secure. Of course, the object of security was originally meant to keep people inside the walls. All that Lefty did was reverse the idea and use the walls and barb wire and watchtowers as defense from the outside. What this prison then inherently gave them was plenty of vacant, secure room to accommodate the new rebel force they hoped to form. Lodging, training grounds, fortification. It was a perfect military base.
Part of Jeff’s radio journal transcriptions had been instructions on gaining access to the base once we got there. He guided us to the south entrance, where there was no chain-link fence. Instead, the south wall was made entirely of mortared stone, twenty feet high. There was a large opening in the middle of the wall, wide and high enough to fit two tractor-trailers side by side, protected by a giant steel door. Jeff stopped us. “We wait here,” he said. “Someone will come for us.”
After a few minutes, a group of four men appeared around the southeast corner of the wall. They approached with confidence. And with assault rifles held at their chests. Unlike Jeff, these guys were obviously real soldiers.
“What do you want?” one of them asked, harshly.
Jeff spoke up. “Retaliation.”
“What do you want?” the same man asked again.
“Redemption.”
“What do you want?” one last time.
Jeff looked hard into the man’s eyes. “Resurrection.”
The lead soldier stepped over to Jeff. He spoke to him in a more conversational tone. “Where have you come from?”
Jeff recited off coordinates. Then, “Lefty sent for us.”
The soldier nodded and smiled. “Welcome to Overlord.”
42.
M eg had tried calling her father at the farm the day it all started. But there was no answer. No surprise there. He rarely told Meg when he was travelling, or for how long. She could always reach him by cell phone if she needed him. But that had gone straight to voicemail, too. And then all communications went down.
So we convinced ourselves before we left that if the house appeared empty then that’s precisely what it was. Empty. That Meg’s father had been away on business when the Great Dark hit. But there was the possibility that we hadn’t discussed. The chance that he was dead inside the house. That’s why Meg went running for the door when we got there.
She reappeared in the doorway within a couple of minutes. “Not here,” she said, as she held up a piece of paper with a handwritten note on it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s from him.” She was having a hard time talking. “I don’t know.”
I took the paper from her and squinted to read it in the fading outdoor light. It was strange. Almost cryptic.
Meg,
I cannot express my joy if you are reading this, for that means that you made it to the farm. I hope you have Gordon and the twins with you. And above everything that may happen now, please know that I love you all. Even Gordon.
I know that I was always a difficult man. In all honesty, I have always had a hard time living with myself. But I have found a way to make sense of this life. You may never understand, but that is the risk I choose to take.
I always tried to teach you how to be independent and self-sufficient. You will need those qualities now more than ever before.
The garden has been planted. The pantry is stocked. Remember me for the good things I’ve done.
Love,
Dad
“Ok, so this is...weird,” I said after reading it twice. I looked up and saw that Meg had tears welling up in her eyes. “Listen, honey, we’ll figure this out. Let’s get unpacked, get some food in our bellies, and we’ll figure it out.” She nodded her head in a quick motion and wiped her eyes.
◊◊◊
In the five days of darkness, I had not felt as safe as I did in that house on the farm. Meg’s father had prepared for us in hopes that we would make it there. The morning after we arrived, I took the key that he had left on the kitchen counter next to a note that read “BASEMENT – SUPPLIES” in big block letters. For all the time that I had spent
there, I had never been below the first floor.
The door leading to the basement was underneath the second-story stairway. It was a substantial metal door, which had deterred me from ever asking about it. I guess I always had the feeling that dear old dad-in-law didn’t want me down there.
I eased the key into the deadbolt and turned it. Behind the door was a long staircase made of unfinished wood. Daylight bled into the open doorway and the vast space below came to life. I descended into the underground area, amazed at the size of it and at the amount of supplies it held. Hanging from a nail on the first wooden support at the bottom of the stairs was a clipboard with a list attached:
Propane Generators - 2
Propane Tanks (40 lbs each) - 28
High-Beam Flashlights - 10
Bolt-Action Rifles - 2
Automatic Rifles - 2
Pump Shotguns - 3
Automatic Shotguns - 2
9mm Handguns - 5
Ammunition Boxes (Various) - 200
Insulated Jackets (Adult) - 4
Insulated Jackets (Children) - 4
Outdoor Clothing (Various - Adult and Children)
4-Person Tents - 2
Canned Food
Bottled Water
The food and water took up most of the shelving that lined the basement. The generators and propane tanks occupied the area next to the far wall. The clothing and tents were stacked along the wall nearest the bottom of the stairs. I noticed a large metal cabinet alongside the hanging jackets. Must’ve been the firearms. A sense of calm came over me. I could feed, house, and protect my family here. For a long, long time. I looked out the lone basement window and said aloud to my missing father-in-law, “Quinn, you sonofabitch. Thank you...wherever you are.”
43.
T he Overlord complex was teeming with activity. There was an organized hustle and bustle as we walked through sections of the former prison. Cells were being cleaned and renovated into living quarters. Boxes of food and water were being loaded into the enormous kitchen. Holding and visitation areas were being overhauled into classrooms. One thing that was glaringly obvious, in more ways than one, was the electricity. Lights. Motorized tools. A constant hum of current that had been missing from my ears for so long. Lefty had power.
Our group was led through a labyrinth of long hallways until we reached a vast round chamber that I assumed was the center of the facility. Waiting for us there were three individuals who reminded me of our traveling companions. Maybe a little older, but still youthful. Two men and a woman. Although they weren’t in uniform, they were sharply dressed in a military style.
The man standing in the center spoke first. “Good afternoon. My name is Daniel. And this,” he said as he spread his arms, “is Camp Overlord. We’re glad you have joined us. As you’ve seen, there are many like you here. Preparing. As you will.” He looked to the man standing at his left. “Greg will show you to your rooms. There will be an orientation meeting in one hour, here.” A warm smile appeared on his face. “Welcome, to all of you. And thank you.”
I decided it was best then to let Daniel know that I wasn’t there for the war they were getting ready to wage. “Excuse me, Daniel? A quick word?” He nodded and motioned me over to the side. “With all due respect, my children and I are not here to fight. We just need a night’s rest, maybe two. We’ve got a wife and mother back home, and we need to get back to her.”
“Of course,” Daniel responded. “Of course. You look like you could use a shower and a night in a bed, at the very least. Come to the orientation, and afterwards you can tell me exactly why you’re out here. After all, it’s a dangerous world these days. I’d be interested in hearing why you’re out in the thick of it.”
◊◊◊
We attended the orientation that evening with twenty-eight other people who had arrived at Camp Overlord in the past two days. The meetings were held three times a week to accommodate what had become a daily flow of recruits into the camp. Daniel was there, but the forum was directed by the woman who had been at our introduction earlier. Her name was Anna, she said, and her job was information. Collecting it, analyzing it, and using it. Each Lefty camp had an information specialist. She was Overlord’s.
Anna was business-like and went about her lecture as a college history professor would have. “So, today you learn the basic story of ANTI-. Who they are and what they control. As you train, there will be classes on their formation, their systems of power, and, of course, our plans to dismantle them. But that’s later. Let’s talk now about exactly what we’re facing.
“ANTI- consists of approximately 62 million people across the globe, with roughly 18 million of those here in the United States. The ANTs are fiercely loyal to their movement. They are also disciplined and patient. The organization is structured much like an army would be. Layers of command with decisions distributed downward. A pyramid of power, with one man at the top.
“That man is Salvador Sebastian. You may have heard of him. The mainstream had become aware of his existence just before the Great Dark began. In fact, the media made him seem quite likable. There is no doubt that he is highly intelligent. And highly influential. His intentions when he formed ANTI- were to take the world, the human race, back to zero. To take away human controls: government, money, technology, and so on. He did just that. But by taking the controls away, he left a power vacuum that only he could fill. We now believe that was his plan all along.
“Sebastian and ANTI- are headquartered in the United States. Our intelligence tells us somewhere in the northeast corridor, but we are still awaiting confirmation on that. We do know that close proximity to metropolitan centers is essential to their operations. And we know that Sebastian is heavily involved in the day-to-day activities and decisions of ANTI-. But he also has a tight-knit circle of directors on which he relies.
“His right-hand man is Jacob Marsh, an expert in computers who went by the name MARSaHacks in the former tech world. We’ve learned that Marsh was the mastermind behind the global computer crash that brought about the Great Dark. We also know that Marsh created an internal ANTI- network for Salvador that was up and running as the rest of us fell into chaos.” She hesitated, and then acknowledged our astonishment. “Yes, they are still connected.”
Anna stopped to drink from her glass of water. She was also using the break to let us absorb the information she had given us. One young man sitting near the front of the room took the opportunity to ask a question. “How do you know all of this stuff about them?” His query had a tone of disbelief.
“Stuff?” Anna responded. “We know this stuff because we’ve been working. And digging. Because for the past eight months we’ve been recruiting analysts and interrogators and hackers of our own.” The question had inspired a fiery reaction, but she calmed herself enough to explain. “ANTI- used years and years of underground tactics to build a revolution. There are tens of millions of ANTs in the world. And they are well-organized. And they are well-trained.” She was pacing now. “But we are forming our own army. And we are organizing, and we are training.” She stopped in front of the recruit who had regretfully asked the question. “This stuff, as you put so eloquently, just might save your life.”
Daniel stepped in to save the young man from any more humiliation. “Anna, everyone!” he announced as he clapped his hands together. “Thank you, Anna,” he said to her, and she moved to the side of the room. Daniel continued, “And that’s what we know. Over sixty-million people worldwide. A dynamic leader. A brilliant programmer. A perfect storm.” He was working the room like a motivational speaker. “And then there’s the rest of us. In the dark and out of touch. Left to tear each other apart in the name of survival. Well, we’ve said no. And you have, too, by joining us.” By then, Daniel was standing at the center of the room. He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “Salvador Sebastian stole our world from us. We’re here to steal it back.”
44.
M eg was depressed for a while af
ter we settled in at the farm. Truth be told, we all were. But Meg especially. And her cancer drug’s side-effects weren’t helping. The first two months of medication wreaked havoc on her organs while her body adjusted to its changing chemical balances. It had been the same as the treatments before, except this time we had added pressure. Her father’s strange disappearance, the tumor steadily wrapping itself around her spine, and the Great Dark. It was almost too much for her.
I tried to distract the kids the best I could, and we fell into a routine of sorts. Very quickly, we focused on endurance. What it was going to take for us to make it in our new world. Without acknowledging it, the three of us knew we had to adapt. We didn’t ever talk about the alternative.
Basic survival comes down to three things, really: shelter, water, and food. The first two were thankfully under control. We had the house, a solid brick structure built in the 1950s. Quinn had always paid a staff well to maintain it throughout the years, so I felt confident that it was in good condition. And there was the spring at the back of the property, about a half-mile behind the house. With it and the supply of bottled water that Quinn had stocked, hydration wasn’t a concern.
Food, on the other hand, was always on my mind. As the days became weeks without any change to our situation, I began to realize how important it was going to be to provide for ourselves. Sure, we had canned goods in the basement, but that wouldn’t last forever. We had to become farmers. And hunters.
Quinn’s garden was large, and he had planted it with an array of vegetables. He had also built a chicken coop and housed it with ten hens and a rooster. And the farm itself occupied a significant amount of land, containing all kinds of animal life. Now understand, I was never a hobby gardener or a hunter for sport. But necessity will force the learning curve straight every time.