Shelter

by C A Bird

  “Is no one going to keep regular hours around here?” he complained.

  Mark glanced around at the other exercisers and, as he started to climb, Lori turned to walk away. “Lori, how about it? Are you free for dinner?” As she had on other occasions, she hesitated, looking as if she was ready to panic. Before she was forced to answer, he flashed his boyish grin, “Come on Lori, we’ll go for a jog first when we finish with our gym workout. Meet me in an hour at the farm door?”

  She nodded. “Okay, see you then.” She turned to go to the abs machine and he couldn’t see the shy grin on her face.

  August 28, 5:00 p.m.

  Lori was free. The world as she knew it had come to an end with everyone in the shelter, to some degree, suffering from the loss of loved ones. But Lori felt free. Occasionally, she felt a pang of guilt about John, but she would picture the beatings, and picture him with his secretary, and she felt free at last.

  Before the brief war it was extremely difficult for a battered spouse to leave her abuser. He would stalk her, or sweet-talk her into returning with promises of change, and for a while change might even occur, but eventually the abuse would begin again. The bombs had altered that scenario for Lori. John was either dead or, at the very least, he would never, ever be able to find her.

  She and the children had been assigned family quarters with two small bedrooms. Her room had a double bed, theirs, a bunk. The first day in the shelter, after she and Mark returned from their run, she went to the warehouse and picked up supplies and furnishings. A print of a seascape hung over the couch, a vase with artificial flowers sat on the coffee table and there were a few toys for the kids. Kevin’s truck and Ashley’s Barbie Doll were on their beds and lent a small hint of familiarity to their surroundings. She had stocked the kitchen with a few snacks and cereal but they would eat most of their meals in the mess hall.

  She entered the apartment, thanking Cindy for watching the children, and changed into her running clothes.

  “Mommy, where’s Daddy?” Kevin asked for the umpteenth time since their arrival. The children didn’t understand what had happened and, to them, the current situation was only a temporary separation from home and their father.

  “He’s at home, Kevin.” she lied. “We’ll see him when we go back in a few days. Come on, you guys are going to the daycare center for a while.”

  “Can I bring my truck?”

  “Sure. But hurry, Mommy’s going for a run.” He ran to get his truck.

  She didn’t like to leave the children for too long a time but it was certainly nice having the daycare center staffed, as it was, for the entire day and most of the evening.

  Faye Claret, a wonderful, grandmotherly woman, had stepped in and unofficially appointed herself social director, morale booster and childcare chief of the shelter. Lori liked her immensely. Mrs. Claret appeared to be close to sixty years old, was thin, almost scrawny, and seemed very cheerful. She had completely organized a rotation of babysitters the first day of their residence in the shelter.

  “Look, dear. It’s important for the adults to have time to get to know one another. This is not a time to be alone,” she had explained to Lori. It was difficult for Lori to consider having a social life after having so recently left her husband behind to fry. She needed time.

  Lori stood by the farm door, fidgeting. Her social skills had deteriorated during the time she had been married to John and she hoped Mark didn’t find her completely boring. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t coming when he ran around the corner and jogged up to her.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. Everyone keeps stopping me and asking me questions like I have the slightest idea how this place works. Why don’t we stay on the third level, there aren’t as many people down here?”

  Mark pushed the button and the doors swished open. They decided to run through the cavern section of the shelter. Lori felt better down there where no one would see her with Mark.

  As for Mark, there was always a chance he might run into Chris.

  SIX

  September 7, 11:20 a.m.

  Aaron stuck his head into the hallway and glanced quickly in both directions for signs of Dr. Jim or Nurse Diaz. The movement caused his head to spin, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him, but he was determined to escape, and started down the hallway with no clear-cut destination in mind. His only concern was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the infirmary, and Dr. Jim’s overly solicitous attention.

  Bored to tears, he had spent every day lying in bed doing absolutely nothing except thinking about his family. Jim had kept him informed with all the latest information, which at this time, added up to absolutely nothing. Over two weeks had passed since the war began, and according to what he’d been told, they had been unable to communicate with anyone on the outside.

  The first few days he’d been heavily medicated and sleeping was the only activity he was interested in. Lately though, he had felt progressively better, and yearned for some exercise to speed his recovery. Taking advantage of brief absences by Dr. Jim he moved around the infirmary, gaining strength, until this morning he decided to take a chance and flee.

  Aaron padded down a carpeted hallway. Up ahead someone rounded the corner, and ducking into an alcove, he discovered what appeared to be elevator doors. He jabbed at the button and was surprised to see when the doors opened that there was no elevator, only a set of stairs descending to a landing and then doubling back under him. Holding the rail for support, he crept carefully down the steps, chagrined to find he was so weak, while his left arm throbbed and itched continuously under his cast. He came to another set of doors but the staircase continued down. He decided he might as well keep going and get as far away from the infirmary as he could.

  From the bottom of the stairwell he entered a hallway that differed from the previous one in that much of the walls and ceilings were uneven rock. The corridor had apparently been carved right out of the mountain. He found another set of doors, and deciding to explore what was on the other side, pushed a button and passed through the door to find he was in a huge cave. The immensity of the space and his weakened condition combined to disorient him and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a woozy sensation. Stumbling to the side of the door he collapsed, his back scraping against the wall as he slid down hard to a seated position. His breathing was fast, his pulse racing, and he thought he might become sick. Maybe this little excursion wasn’t such a bright idea after all. If he’d insisted, Jim probably would have allowed him more freedom without risking his health.

  “Hi, who are you and what are you doing here? You don’t look so good.”

  Looking up, he saw a beautiful, very puzzled young woman standing over him, hands on her hips, concern written on her face.

  He struggled to stand but she squatted beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder, indicating he should stay where he was.

  “I’m Aaron, one of Jim’s patients. I had this absolutely brilliant idea to do some exploring on my own. I think it turned out to be less than brilliant though, as I’m sitting here feeling pretty stupid.” He smiled gamely and reached his arm out. This time she pulled him to his feet, supporting him by slinging his right arm across her shoulders.

  “I’m Chris Hargraves. You’ve found the farm cave on your great expedition of discovery. Come on, I’ll help you to the office so you can lie down.” He gratefully accepted her assistance, and with him leaning against her, they slowly made their way to a building built into the cave’s right wall. Inside the room, he sank onto a couch located against one wall, glad to relieve the weight from his bad ankle.

  Even in pain, Aaron appreciatively watched her walk across the room. She went through a door into a second room that appeared to be a lab of some kind, where she opened a small refrigerator. He called to her, “Hargraves? I presume you’re related to the man who built this place.”

  “He’s my dad.” She returned, carrying two diet Pepsis, and held one out to him. “How did
you get all the way down here?” she inquired.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I found a staircase and just kept going down.”

  She plunked down in an armchair. “And exactly why were you doing this?”

  He grinned wryly, “Well, as much as I like Dr. Jim, he was driving me crazy. I needed to escape and get some exercise but I overdid it big time. I’m feeling a little better now, though. This gives me a better appreciation of what my patients go through.”

  She smiled back knowingly. “Yeah, Jim’s like an old mother hen. You’re the other doctor then, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m a surgeon… providing my arm heals properly.”

  “I’m sure it will. Dr. Jim seems very competent.”

  “So what goes on in this cave?”

  Chris explained what they were trying to accomplish at the farm. Aaron wanted to know everything, and considering he was going to be partially responsible for the health of the residents, he needed to be concerned with their nutrition. He also immensely enjoyed being with this woman, the time going by far too quickly. He was reluctant to leave but knew he would be missed eventually.

  They talked for perhaps thirty minutes more, when a page for Aaron Brown came over the intercom system.

  “Oops, you’re busted. Let’s see what I can do to help.”

  She called a woman named Marilyn and obtained a room assignment. “Do you think you could make it upstairs? If so, I think I could convince Dr. Jim you’re settled in and you’re fine.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d do anything to avoid returning to that infirmary.” He started to get up and sat back quickly.

  “That is, of course, if you’ll help me.” He sat back up, waited for the nausea to pass and, with her help, struggled to his feet.

  September 7, 3:45 p.m.

  Mark, now thoroughly warmed up, finished his Lifecycle workout and yielded the equipment to the next person waiting. He looked around the gym trying to decide which exercise to tackle next. The entire left wall was covered with mirrors from floor to ceiling. The space between the wall and the center of the room was crammed with rows of equipment, some that utilized adjustable weights for resistance, a few benches for crunches, and several electronic exercise machines that monitored your progress on digital readouts. Aerobic equipment; treadmills, stair-climbers, mountain climbers, Lifecycles and rowers occupied the other half of the room. The back of the room was partitioned off, with free weights behind the low barrier. An open space led down the center of the gym to a second room.

  Mark walked through the door into another large area. The left side had a hardwood floor for aerobic exercise classes and the right, separated by a waist-high wall, had red mats for martial arts training. Several men and women, just beginning a new class, occupied the room when Mark entered. Two men stood at the head of the class facing the students.

  Hargraves had sent a signaling device to Lenny Ralston, a military survival teacher, and Lenny had brought along a friend and co-worker, David Cunningham. Will’s plan was for everyone to learn primitive survival skills in the event civilization had been destroyed. These guys knew everything there was to know about survival skills, from starting a fire, to finding water in a wilderness. They were experts in to hand-to-hand combat and the use of all manner of weapons.

  Although Lenny was average height and had an average build, he had a fourth-degree black belt in Karate. In contrast, David stood six feet-four inches tall and had a massive build. In spite of his size advantage he had never bested Lenny in sparring.

  Everyone in the room was wearing a white gi. Lenny and Dave wore black belts, two people wore blue and all the others wore the white belt that denoted beginners. The two with blue belts had taken previous martial arts instruction and verified their training by demonstrating their skills to Lenny. One of the women in attendance had been an Olympic cyclist. Mark had been introduced to her a few days before in the gym.

  He selected a karate gi from a shelf, went into a small dressing room and changed quickly. When he rejoined the group he noticed, surprisingly, that Lori was there. She seemed such a shy, frightened person, but here she was in a kick-ass karate class.

  Lenny bowed toward Mark as he entered the dojo, “Hi Mark, we were just discussing a little contest. You want to be in it?” Mark got in line with the others. ”David here, was a member of the U.S. Orienteering Federation. He’s organizing an orienteering contest around the shelter that involves running through the caves, following a map, and checking in at checkpoints. Unfortunately, there won’t be any use for compasses like orienteering events on the outside, but we can still make it interesting. What do you say?”

  Mark had always wanted to participate in an orienteering event and found it ironic he would finally have an opportunity to do so under these strange circumstances. “Yeah, sounds like fun. When’s it going to be?”

  “We need to finish planning and sign everyone up but I’d say about a week.”

  “Sure, count me in,” he said.

  Their workout started with warm up calisthenics and 15 minutes of stretching. Mark was paired off with Lori. One of them would lie on the floor with his or her leg in the air and the other would apply steady pressure to stretch the hamstring.

  After sufficiently warming up and stretching they worked on elementary katas; structured routines that use punches, kicks, and blocks in pre-designed patterns that were used repetitiously until they became automatic. Mark appreciated the discipline involved in learning to perform the katas perfectly.

  Having only been taking lessons for a week the group was completely uncoordinated and kept bumping into one another. In performing her kata, Lori turned, punched and tripped over her own feet. She fell toward Mark and he reached out to catch her, but before he could grab hold, she flinched and pulled back, throwing her arm in front her face as though he were threatening to hit her.

  “Wow, Lori. I’m sorry. I was trying to catch you.”

  “It’s okay, Mark. I was just startled,” she responded and self-consciously continued her routine.

  Mark, thinking there was more to it than that, really wished he knew her story.

  September 9

  Jaime Ferrar leaned over the cabin’s porch railing and puked his guts out. Arby, turning in disgust from the sight, ran his fingers through his hair and tried to keep from gagging. He’d been violently ill himself earlier this morning, as had all the others in the last few days. Looking down at his hand he noticed a clump of hair intertwined in his fingers. He grunted and shook his hand wildly, flicking the hair into the air, where the wind picked it up and sent it flying on the currents. Every bone is his body ached like he’d been in the street fight of his life.

  Bennett, tossing restlessly in a lounge chair, moaned and grabbed his abdomen, rolling over on his side. “Shit, Arby, we got to get a doctor. We’re gonna die out here. Look… my fucking nose is bleeding.” He held his nostrils closed after he noticed blood dripping onto his filthy shirt.

  “We’re not going to die. We just have the flu. That’s why we hurt so much. You want to hike your ass to the nearest town?”

  There were no vehicles at the lodge and though there was a road, they had no idea how far it was to a main highway or to civilization.

  “Somebody should do something. We can’t just wait around here until we all croak.”

  After their initial engorgement when they had first discovered Wheeler lodge, they had completely lost their appetites. Two and a half weeks had passed, and they’d been suffering with various symptoms of what Arby initially assumed was food poisoning, but this was lasting way too long and he was getting worried.

  They’d explored the lodge and, besides a fully stocked kitchen, they’d discovered a basement crammed full with boxes of canned goods, sacks of flour and sugar, apples and pears in bushel baskets and cured meats. Jarrod Garner, who had worked as a cook before he killed his wife and children in a custody dispute, took over the cooking duties. He was adamant that the food
wasn’t the problem.

  Preparing for the eventuality of people returning to the lodge they’d barricaded the front door and the broken windows, and posted sentries, but no one ever came. After the first week they had discontinued the guards, but still had no idea what kept the hunters away. There was no television, and for some unaccountable reason the phone wouldn’t produce a dial tone. They were completely isolated which, considering their circumstances, served their purpose for the time being.

  Jaime wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled across the porch and through the front door, now no longer barricaded.

  “I need a fucking beer. If I’m going to die at least I can die shit-faced.”

  Arby remained on the porch looking out over the mountains. The rain, which had been falling almost continually since they’d occupied the lodge, cleansing the air of the omnipresent dust, had finally taken a brief respite. Violent bolts of lightning pierced the clouds, and the closeness of the crashing thunder indicated to Arby the lightning was perilously close. He saw smoke a few miles away and assumed the lightning had started a fire.

  The atmosphere had eventually lost the eerie orange glow they’d become accustomed to in the first few days. Dull yellow-smudged gray and black clouds lowered again and the torrential rain began anew, coming down so hard the visibility was cut to the nearer trees by the lodge’s eastern access road. Rivulets merged into streams that swept past the cabin carrying small branches and rocks toward the south. With the rain came a chill and Arby shivered, reaching up to feel his brow with the back of his hand. He realized he was feverish.

  As he brought his hand down he found his eyebrow smeared on the back of his thumb.