Wake Me After the Apocalypse

by Jordan Rivet

  The cupboards lining the walls were sealed shut with duct tape, more evidence that no one else had been here before her. Two hundred people were supposed to be awake by now. She’d expected to traipse in to a chorus of hellos and high-fives. Instead, she padded slowly across the linoleum and tore the tape off a cupboard door, the rip echoing like gunfire in the vacant room.

  Gleaming water tanks filled the cupboard, with plastic cups stacked alongside them. Boxes of protein bars and freeze-dried astronaut food occupied the top shelf, all untouched.

  “Finally something goes right.” Joanna recalled the priority list drilled into her during her first survival skills lesson: shelter, water, food. “Check, check, and check.”

  The exit chamber was meant to provide ease and comfort to the BRP denizens after the trauma of cryosleep. There would be filters and desalination systems and missions to find clean water sources in their future, but the program dictated that they were to spend a full twenty-four hours eating together, getting reacquainted, and napping on the assorted couches before they ventured outside. Joanna intended to stick to the program for as long as she could, even though this wasn’t what she’d pictured.

  “I’ll save you a couch.” That was what she’d said to Garrett as she climbed into her cryo tank. “I’ll be the one in the skintight leotard.”

  She’d wanted to lighten the mood, to shy away from the fear that their training would be for naught, that they might never see each other again. She didn’t want to think about the comet barreling toward them and all the people who would die before she woke. She had given a suggestive wink and promised to save him a spot in the future. He had blushed in that old-fashioned way of his, squeezed her hand, and wished her sweet dreams.

  Joanna’s chest tightened painfully as she stared at the empty couches. It felt as if only a single night had passed since Garrett stayed at her side until the tank technician shooed him away. Why couldn’t she have said something more meaningful? Why couldn’t she have told him how important he had become to her in such a short time? She thought she would have plenty of opportunities for those conversations two hundred years in the future, but now he was gone, buried beneath a cascade of rubble and rock.

  The thought of the destruction in the cryo room made her shudder. Her breathing quickened, panic rising like a tsunami. The grief that waited beneath it was far worse. She couldn’t touch that dark cavity. Not yet.

  “Stupid comet.” That was really what her first words should have been.

  She collected water, a blanket, and a fistful of protein bars and closed the cupboard. As the door slammed shut, a tremor shivered through the chamber, a vibration like a wave traveling from the cupboard through the ceiling. Dust shook loose, specks that had been waiting to fall to the linoleum floor for hundreds of years.

  Then the lights went out, plunging the chamber into darkness.

  Joanna barely had time to gasp before the lights flickered on again.

  Off.

  On.

  She froze, afraid that if she moved another inch the lights would go out for good.

  Off.

  Darkness bloomed before her eyes.

  On.

  She waited for the next flicker, but it didn’t come. The fluorescent lights burned, illuminating the slope of the ceiling, which sagged a little lower than before. A long crack spidered across it.

  Joanna wanted to run for the exit before the lights went out for good, before the ceiling collapsed, but her legs were trembling like a newborn colt’s. She staggered over to a couch and fell into it, dust puffing up around her, and ripped open a packet of food. She still felt nauseous, and the protein bars tasted like condensed cardboard, but she forced herself to eat, to cram strength into her body as she tried to work out a plan.

  Three doors opened off the exit chamber. One led to the lockers and camp showers, one to the cryo chamber, and one to the control room, where the mineshaft opened and the communication equipment was set up. She needed to contact the other bunkers. Dozens of facilities were tucked into caves and mines across the country. She refused to entertain the idea that none of the others had survived, that she was the only person left. No matter what, she had to keep moving forward, to follow the exit routine, to stay a step ahead of the horror and grief that would surely overwhelm her the moment they caught up.

  The lights flickered again, as if to remind her she had already strayed too far from the original plan. She had upset whatever delicate balance had left this space mostly intact. She couldn’t stay.

  She ripped open another protein bar, desperate for the energy it would give her to escape. As she swallowed sticky lumps of protein, she struggled to piece together those final months before the disaster, which felt like recent history to her. Everything since the phone call with Theresa Simmons had happened so fast it was easy to feel as though she’d been kidnapped by an apocalypse cult.

  Chapter Five

  BEFORE

  Joanna left for orientation three months and twenty-one days before the comet strike. Theresa gave her a window of a week in which to arrive at the training camp. Most forms of transportation were unreliable by then, making planning for delays essential. Air and rail transit service became increasingly erratic as the end neared. Train tracks were pulled up to build makeshift bunkers. Pilots decided to change their destinations mid-flight. Bus drivers quit en masse. Driving and hitchhiking were the best ways to get around, but road hazards often weren’t cleared away. Highways could back up for miles before a big enough truck came along to bulldoze a path through the obstruction. The breakdown of society was in full swing by the time Joanna made her final drive.

  She only lived a few hours from the training facility, so she lingered at home, sharing cooking duties with her dad and sitting in the armchair in her mom’s study. Her parents had helped her pretend things were normal until the last moment, and she couldn’t bear to rush away.

  In the end, she waited until the morning her arrival window was about to close to say her final goodbyes. Her dad woke her up before dawn, pressed the keys to his old Tacoma into her hand, and told her it was time.

  “There’s an extra can of gas behind the passenger seat, just in case.”

  “I don’t have to take the truck,” she said. “You might need it for—”

  “No telling what the roads will be like,” her dad said. “You have to get there safely.”

  “But what if you need to go to Home Depot?”

  “Just take it, Jo.”

  Her mom didn’t say a word as she enveloped Joanna in a fierce embrace in the driveway. It had always been like that with them. She and her mom were on the same wavelength. They rarely needed to say what they were feeling out loud.

  At last, Joanna loaded her duffel bag into the cab of the truck—it would get stolen from the back the first time she stopped, otherwise—and drove out of their suburb. She watched her parents in the rearview mirror until the last possible moment, only looking ahead when she had to swerve to avoid a neighborhood day-drinker lurching across her path.

  Seattle smelled of low-level despair—a mix of gun smoke, uncollected garbage bins, and body odor. Half the shops were abandoned now, and only a handful of the owners had bothered to shutter the windows. The churches were covered with graffiti and filled with people.

  Joanna left the city’s sprawling boundaries and took the highway for as long as possible. The conditions weren’t as bad as she feared, helped along by the good weather they’d been having that spring. She only had to slow down for accidents twice, one of which cleared up in record time, as the drivers didn’t bother exchanging insurance information. A couple hitchhikers snuck into the back of her truck, but they only stayed with her for twenty miles before hopping off and disappearing over the guardrail.

  Eventually, she left the highway and wound into the mountains, leaving behind all traces of civilization—or the lack thereof. BRP had commandeered a private boarding school in southeastern Washington for their orientat
ion. The rustic campus was set amidst towering pine trees with easy access to hiking trails and a nearby river. A fence patrolled by armed guards had been hastily erected just out of sight of the school.

  Joanna showed her driver’s license and passport and endured the scrutiny of a security guard before driving up a forested hill and parking in a gravel lot next to the log admin building. It looked more like a hunting lodge than a school. The sharp scent of fresh pine surrounded her when she hopped out of her truck, and she could have sworn a woodpecker tapped out a greeting. With her duffel bag on her shoulder and her favorite pair of Converse on her feet, Joanna felt as though it were the first day of summer camp. Well, apart from all those guards. The depressing sights she’d quickly gotten used to back home were gone completely.

  At the reception desk, the intake coordinator scrutinized her IDs even more thoroughly than the guard had. He was a prim-looking young man with his hair neatly parted and slicked down with gel.

  “You’re late.”

  “I thought we don’t start until two,” Joanna said. “Had to water my houseplant.”

  The intake coordinator didn’t even crack a smile. After making her turn over her cell phone for security reasons, he handed her a name badge on a blue lanyard and directed her to a dormitory.

  “You’re on Blue Team Seven. Report to the courtyard in half an hour.”

  “When will—?”

  “All your questions will be answered during orientation. Move along, please.”

  No one was waiting in line behind her, but Joanna took the hint and hurried through the admin building to the door the young man had indicated with a peremptory wave. It opened onto an inner courtyard surrounded by dormitories and classroom buildings. She walked across to her assigned dormitory, whose interior was bedecked with rustic exposed beams and filled with wooden bunk beds. A few people looked up when she came in—all of them young—but no one spoke to her. Some had already been there long enough to accumulate small piles of dirty laundry on their bunks and spread the contents of makeup cases on the dressers.

  Joanna tossed her duffel bag on an empty bed near a window then snatched it right back up again. Memories of her parents flooded her out of nowhere. She’d been proud of herself for keeping it together, so she wasn’t prepared for the flash of panic, as hot and blinding as a lightning bolt.

  I could just turn around. She could get back in the truck and be home in time for dinner. That was why she had wanted to drive herself in the first place: so she’d have a way out. She hugged her bag to her chest, wracked with indecision. I don’t have to do this.

  But if she left now, there would be no coming back. She couldn’t face her parents after giving up her one chance for survival. They had both insisted her selection for BRP made their final days worth living.

  “You’re our legacy,” her mom had said once, turning away from her desk where she was busily researching for a paper that would never be published. She had always hated leaving projects unfinished. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

  “You have to show the world we Murphys are resilient,” her dad had added. “Nothing can keep us down.”

  Joanna drew a deep, shaky breath and began unpacking her duffel bag, making no effort to be tidy. She wasn’t sure how long they’d be here before moving to the bunker itself—the location was a strictly guarded secret—but she didn’t want to get too comfortable.

  The window by her bunk looked out on the courtyard, which faced the gravel parking lot on one side. Big trees scattered around the courtyard, their leaves summer-bright and rustling in the breeze. People were beginning to gather at a group of picnic tables, where flags marked the color and number of each team. The few who’d been in the dormitory were filing out too. Orientation must be starting soon.

  “You can do this,” Joanna told herself. “We Murphys are resilient.”

  She abandoned her efforts to unpack and went out to take her place at the Blue Team Seven table. The world she’d left behind was in turmoil, but as she crossed the sunlit courtyard, the first hints of excitement began to buzz in her chest. She would finally see what mysterious plans BRP had in store.

  Five others—three men and two women—were already seated at the Blue Seven table when Joanna scooted onto the bench.

  “Hey. I’m Joanna.”

  A guy with close-cropped black hair, built like a soldier, held out a hand. “Welcome to Apocalypse Camp.”

  “Go Blue Team, right?” Joanna thumbed her name badge.

  “Oo rah.”

  “So, what are we doing?” she asked.

  “Who knows?” The guy shrugged, his muscular shoulders straining against his camouflage jacket. “Organization doesn’t seem to be our bunker’s strong point.”

  “As long as they know how to run the cryo tanks, I’m happy,” Joanna said.

  They commenced a round of introductions while they waited for further directions. The soldier, Blake, was the oldest of the bunch at twenty-five, and Joanna was pretty sure she was the youngest at eighteen. Everyone appeared to be in good health—and sane, as far as she could tell. The teams were divided evenly by gender, perhaps to encourage people to pair off. BRP had selected young, able-bodied people for the bunker reservations to facilitate the repopulation of the earth, but they’d made no explicit statements about sexual orientation or whether non-straight couples would have options for childbearing if desired. Joanna eyed the three guys, wondering if they’d eventually be assigned breeding partners.

  One guy, Vincent, informed them he was blind. He was Asian, with a slim build and stylishly unruly hair. Joanna never would have guessed he couldn’t see if he hadn’t said something, as he seemed to make eye contact when he spoke.

  “It’s not genetic. Don’t worry,” Vincent reassured them. “I got in an accident as a kid.”

  “Weren’t they supposed to pick people who could be self-sufficient out there?” said a woman with a rough voice and a severe blond ponytail edged with red dye.

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Vincent said. “But my parents did have to pay off a few people to get me a spot in the bunker.”

  “Oh,” the woman said. “You’re one of those.”

  “What’s your name again?” Joanna asked. The blond woman hadn’t bothered putting on her name tag.

  She looked Joanna up and down, as if sizing her up for a fight. “Ruby.”

  “I’m sure you’d do the same for your kid if you could, Ruby,” Joanna said.

  “He took a spot that could have gone to someone else.”

  “So did you,” Joanna said. “We’re all about as lucky to be randomly selected as he was to be born to a millionaire.”

  “Billionaire, actually,” Vincent said. “My father is—”

  “Don’t shoot yourself in the foot, dude,” Joanna said. “We all got lucky.”

  “Still,” Ruby said. “At least we were chosen randomly.”

  “Were we?” the other girl chimed in. Her name was Chloe, and she had an air of eager intelligence that reminded Joanna of her mother. “I’ve been here a few days, and everyone I’ve spoken to has things in common—besides health and age, obviously. I don’t think the selection process was as random as they claimed in all those press releases.”

  “What kind of things?” Vincent asked.

  “Most of us have read a lot about cryogenics, for one,” Chloe said. “My guess is BRP used Internet browsing histories, among other things, to get their short list. They wanted to save time by choosing people who were already informed and likely to consent.”

  “That fits me,” said a gangly black guy sitting opposite Joanna—Troy, according to his name tag. “I tried to get my dad into cryosleep when he was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer last year. Thought he might be able to wake for a cure later.”

  “Did he do it?” Vincent asked.

  “No. He’s still alive, though,” Troy said. “Or will be for the next few months.”

  The group fell silent. They�
�d all left people behind, knowing there was no way they’d survive outside of the bunkers. The six of them were still raw from their final goodbyes, the first of many experiences they’d share. Joanna wished she could text her parents. She’d been told in advance that all phones would be confiscated to avoid security breaches, but her fingers twitched with the urge to reconnect with her old life—a life that would not exist from this day forward. Across the table, Chloe took out a spiral-bound notebook and scribbled a few notes, the scratch of her pen filling the painful silence.

  Joanna leaned back to survey the other tables, trying to estimate how many people there were. BRP hadn’t revealed the exact numbers for each bunker, but it looked to be in the hundreds. Some chatted comfortably, seeming to know each other already. They must have been here for a few days, like Chloe. Most were young, strengthening the impression that they were at a camp or a college orientation. Cryosleep wasn’t easy on the body, so the youth of the participants made sense—apart from the eventual need to reproduce, of course. Some older people had been selected for the program due to their specific areas of expertise, but not as many as she expected. It was strange to think that these individuals—and their counterparts at other training camps—made up the future human race.

  The door of the admin building at the north end of the courtyard opened, and a group of people wearing name badges in different colors emerged. The camp counselors had arrived. Clipboards were the only things distinguishing them from the rest, as they appeared to be in a similar eighteen to twenty-five age range.

  The newcomers quickly dispersed to join their respective teams. Joanna spotted a fluttering blue lanyard as their team leader approached. Perhaps in his early twenties, he wore his brown hair neat, and he had the aura of a young man determined to do a good job at whatever task he’d been assigned, a Boy Scout in search of a merit badge.