Deadlocked 7

by A. R. Wise

  “None of this shit makes sense,” said Hero.

  “Those of us that will be transferred are only doing it so our memories are recorded forever. It’s a way to preserve what we know, but not just by writing it all down. By doing this, everything we know can be kept on record, and we’ll always be able to explain what we’ve done. The Dawns are our way of communicating with our successors, of explaining how we hoped the world could live on without us.”

  Hero’s expression was unmistakable; he didn’t understand what she was talking about.

  Bea sighed and continued, “You were alive before the virus. You must remember how politicians would use leaders from long ago as examples of how to govern. In America you called them your Founding Fathers, right?”

  “Sure,” said Hero.

  “And all of your politicians would cite the Founding Fathers, saying that they meant this or that by the laws they wrote. Your damned constitution was written hundreds of years ago, but the idiots you elected kept insisting it was still relevant. As if men that lived two or three hundred years ago somehow had any clue what life would be like centuries later. How was Benjamin Franklin supposed to understand how the internet would affect free speech, or how automatic weapons would challenge the idea that everyone should be able to own a gun? We didn’t want that to happen in our Age of Reason, which we worked so hard to create. That’s why we started the Dawn program. We wanted to provide future generations with a way to consult us, and allow us to guide them forever.”

  Hero smiled and nodded, his eyes alight as he came to a realization. “Holy shit,” he said and shook his head before he chuckled.

  “Do you understand now?” she asked.

  “Yeah, and I think I understand better than you do.”

  Bea was confused and her expression soured. “What do you mean?”

  “Reagan told me about your Age of Reason, and how you guys built a monument in Georgia that was like some sort of Ten Commandments.”

  “The Guidestones,” said Bea. “Exactly.”

  “You brought Moses up the mountain, but didn’t trust him any further than that,” said Hero.

  “What are you getting at?” asked Bea.

  Hero sat in a chair across from Beatrice and shook his head. “You’re playing God.”

  She was about to respond, but then stopped and closed her mouth as she settled back in her seat.

  “And not just in the way a lot of power hungry people do,” said Hero. “You’re really doing it. Calling the next apocalypse the Noah Initiative, wiping out mankind and setting yourselves up as some sort of ever-living, omniscient super power. No joke, you guys are seriously playing God here.”

  She smiled. “Someone has to.”

  Chapter Eight – Just One That Mattered

  Seven months after the apocalypse

  Reagan led the group back to Estes Park to investigate the base.

  They snuck through the brush beside the concrete building where they’d seen soldiers gathered a month earlier. The area was desolate now, a dead town populated only by the elk that roamed the streets. It was cold, the final days of fall, and the grey sky threatened snow. The brush was stiff, as if the weather made it brittle and louder as they crunched through it.

  Reagan held up his fist as he neared the corner of the building. Then he pointed two fingers to the left, past a short expanse of paved area to a small guard shack beside the gate. They were already inside of the restricted area, having snipped through the fence a few yards back. Reagan wanted to make sure to search the outside before moving in, worried they were being goaded into a trap with the promise of easy supplies.

  Hero and Clyde moved fast to the shack, hunched as they went. Hero knelt beside the shack’s window and then sprung up to look inside. He got back down and gave Reagan a thumb’s up; the shack was empty.

  There were crates littering the area, each filled with weapons that any survivor would be happy to have. As Hero glanced at them, he was certain Reagan was right. This was too easy, and certainly a trap.

  They weren’t interested in the guns or ammo. Reagan was intent on getting into the facility, and Billy was carrying a pack of tools they would use to break in. This was a cargo hold, with a line of garage doors raised above the ground so that trucks could back up to them. Beside the corner where Reagan crouched was a steel door that they were going to try and pick the lock on. If that didn’t work, they would wire it with explosives and then retreat to blow it open, then spy on the entrance for days if necessary to see if anyone inspected it.

  Billy moved to the door as Reagan covered him. He set his pack down and unzipped it, prepared to start trying to pick the lock, but then he tested the handle and found the door unlocked. He glanced at Reagan, puzzled, and shrugged.

  Reagan motioned for Clyde and Hero to join them as they went inside, all of them uneasy with how easy it had been to sneak in. The building was nondescript within, a cavernous warehouse with zinc oxide racks that stretched for what seemed like hundreds of yards. The shelves were almost entirely bare, except for a few wooden cases filled with straw. Hero searched through a few, but then turned to Reagan and shrugged.

  “Nothing here,” said Hero.

  Reagan angrily put his finger to his lips, shushing Hero. Then he led them deeper into the building. It was oppressively dark, only slightly illuminated by windows near the ceiling, and the area smelled of oil, as if this had been where the military vehicles had been worked on. They moved to a wooden door on the far side, opposite of where they’d entered. Reagan took point and counted down with his fingers before rushing in.

  Hero and Billy followed, covering the corners as Clyde covered their rear. It was a choreographed entrance that Reagan had trained them on as they perfected how to deal with the zombies that infested most towns.

  After they escaped Georgia in the helicopter, Reagan had insisted on training the group in military tactics. He scoffed at Clyde’s insistence that he had already gone through basic training, and said that what the medic went through was the equivalent of a Boy Scout summer camp. Reagan taught them a lot about combat, both with weapons and hand to hand. As much as Hero liked to chide the old man, he had to admit that he learned a lot from him.

  The door led to a non-descript office, with a desk and a dead computer. Hero was going to turn and leave, but saw that Reagan was studying the room. The old man walked to the table and then to the filing cabinet against the wall. He slipped off his glove and put his hand on the yellow painted wall and then started to walk around the room.

  “What are you doing?” asked Hero in a whisper.

  “This room’s bullshit,” said Reagan as he continued to walk with his hand on the wall. “And they can’t be dumb enough to think we wouldn’t realize it.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Billy.

  “Look at the wear in the carpet.” Reagan pointed at the poor condition of the Berber carpet of the room’s entrance. The rest of the building had concrete floors, and the office was the only carpeted area they’d seen inside. It was severely worn, apparently by near constant traffic. “And nothing else in this office looks used up like that. The desk doesn’t look old, and the computer’s keyboard looks brand new. And the carpet leading over to the desk doesn’t look all worn out, just up here. It’s like hundreds of people just came in here, paced in front of the desk, and then left. Doesn’t add up.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Clyde.

  “That they used to walk through here a lot, because this wall wasn’t here before. Hero, you got any bombs with you still?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “We’re going to blow this wall up,” said Reagan.

  “And what if you’re right and we bust in on their little party,” said Billy. “I doubt we’re going to last long against them if they’re all hiding in there.”

  Reagan thought for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right. No sense getting us all killed. As much as I want to go see my wife and son in heav
en, I’m pretty sure they’re willing to wait. Here’s what we’ll do; let’s take out this wall,” he slapped the yellow wall behind him and then pointed across the room, “and that one too. That should give us a vantage in here from outside. It’ll be a mess of rubble and rebar, but we can try to watch for movement for a few days. Then, when we’re sure it’s safe, we can come back in.”

  “You scared me, old man,” said Billy. “For a minute there, I thought you had a deathwish.”

  Hero laughed, but then was sobered by Reagan’s expression. Hero was suddenly worried that Billy was right, and that Reagan really did want to die.

  They set the bombs, blew the wall open, and evacuated. They found a place to camp in an apartment complex across the street. It was a comfortable apartment, still adorned with pictures of the family that had once lived there. Reagan seemed intrigued by the pictures, and spent time walking through the abode, staring at the frames as if he knew the people in them.

  Hero and Reagan took first watch, using binoculars to spy on the wrecked building from their vantage. The moon was full, providing a surprising amount of light to see by.

  “Getting cold out there,” said Hero.

  Reagan sat on a couch by the open window, watching the building below. “Guess so,” said the old man. No one would ever mistakenly call him talkative when he wasn’t barking orders, but he seemed particularly distant that night. No matter what Hero said, Reagan always responded with a two or three word answer. His mind was elsewhere, and he kept staring at the pictures on the walls.

  They heard shuffling from down the hall and saw Billy appear in a pair of sweats and no shirt, his white back brace strapped around his mid-section. “Howdy.”

  “What are you doing up?” asked Hero.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” said Billy. “My back’s acting up.”

  “You should seriously think about trying to stay off your feet,” said Hero.

  “Fuck, it’s cold in here,” said Billy, purposefully ignoring his friend’s advice. He took a blanket off the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  “You two Georgia babies don’t know shit about the cold,” said Reagan.

  “And you do?” asked Hero. “I thought you lived in Georgia too.”

  “I did, but I spent a lot of time up here in the mountains. Beautiful up here.”

  “How come you didn’t move your family out here?” asked Billy.

  “I went where the job took me.”

  “You must’ve been close to retirement though, right?” asked Hero. “I mean, you’re old as balls, man.” Hero and Billy laughed.

  Reagan smirked as he looked back at them. He set the binoculars on the armrest and sat down. They didn’t need to watch the building at all times, and were only looking for signs of someone clearing the debris near the site of the explosion.

  “I’m not the retiring type.”

  Hero chuckled and then glanced around the room. “It’s weird in here, man.”

  “What?” asked Billy.

  “Look at the pictures and shit. This used to be someone’s home, you know? Some family lived here. Kind of gives me the creeps.”

  “Seem like good people,” said Billy as he looked around at the pictures of the family. “Loved their kids and all that. Kind of reminds me of my place, before my parents got divorced.”

  “How was that?” asked Hero. “Was it tough for you when they split up?”

  “Not really,” said Billy. “They were polar opposites. Honestly, when they split it was sort of a relief. I stayed with my mom, but my dad lived across the bay. Still saw him all the time though.”

  “Wish I could’ve met your dad,” said Hero. “From what you’ve told me, he seems like a good guy.”

  “He was,” said Billy. “How about you? What was your dad like?”

  Hero shrugged and looked away, reluctant to answer. “Didn’t know him.”

  “Oh really?” asked Billy. “Did your mom say anything about him?”

  “No,” said Hero. “She just told me he was a junkie asshole. I actually met him once, and he was pretty much what I expected.”

  “That sucks,” said Billy. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I’ll never forget it, man,” said Hero. “I was out playing ball with Mark – this was before he got shot - and I lost a game, which meant I had to be the one to go home and get money for drinks. We always tried to stay away from home as much as possible, so we’d play to see who had to go home for shit that we needed. Neither of us ever wanted to deal with our mom. We were pretty much on our own, but she never wasted a chance to tell us that we lived in her house, or tell us to go buy her something to eat. Anyhow, I got home and saw a dude sitting on our couch. A fucking junkie if ever there was one, thin as a rail and no shirt on, fro sticking up in ten directions, hands shaking and big black bags under his eyes. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and when he talked it just hung there, like it was glued to his lip or something. He had ashy elbows, and sores around his mouth, and stank like fucking mustard. Swear to God, man, I never smelled nothing like it on a dude before, but that mother fucker smelled just like yellow mustard.”

  Hero laughed and shook his head as he nervously played with his fingernails. “He saw me and started to laugh, real low and slow like; weird as hell. His eyes were slits, bloodshot and nasty. And he had this grey crust on his right eye, like he never bothered to clean the sleep out of it, and it just turned black and gross and shit. He looked at me with a smirk, like he was judging me. He just said my name three times, real slow as he nodded. Levon. Levon. Levon. Then he shook his head, closed his eyes, and sat back in his seat. I got the money and got the fuck out of there, thinking the guy was just another one of my mom’s shitty junkie friends. That night she told me he was my dad.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s the only time I ever met him.”

  “Damn, man,” said Billy. “Fuck him. You were better off without him.”

  Reagan leaned forward and set his hand on Levon’s knee. He gripped it and shook his leg. “I think the first thing a man should aspire to be is a better father than the one he had. And I know you’d be a damn good father.”

  “Provided some girl was dumb enough to fuck you,” said Billy.

  Hero laughed and then swatted at his friend. “Listen to this virgin cracker.”

  “Virgin?” Billy laughed as he avoided Hero’s swipe. “I might’ve only had enough to count on my fingers, but I had some fine ones in my day.”

  “Shit,” said Hero. “I can count all the girls I’ve been with on my fingers too.” He started flipping his fingers rapidly, one by one counting to ten and then starting over. “It’d just take me a long damn time.”

  “You two are hopeless,” said Reagan as he turned around to look back out the window with the binoculars. “Here I thought we were having an actual adult conversation and then you two have to go and pretend like you used to be Lotharios. You two wouldn’t know your way around a lady better than a vegetarian at a barbeque.”

  “Listen to old man Reagan with the smack talk,” said Hero. “I thought back in your day they shackled women up in chastity belts and shit.”

  “Not hardly,” said Reagan.

  “All right,” said Billy. “What about you then? How many girls did you get down with in your day?”

  “All that matters is one,” said Reagan. “The one I married.”

  “Bullshit,” said Hero.

  “Honestly,” said Reagan as he turned back around and set the binoculars in his lap. “I don’t know what the future holds for us, but you guys are still so young. Guys your age think they’ve got it all figured out, but you don’t know shit yet. These things you think are important now, like how many girls you slept with, none of that means anything when it comes down to it. When you grow up, you’ll find the one girl that matters. It’s not fairy tale bullshit either, I’m talking about really finding the woman that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. The one you confess your soul to. Th
e one you can’t stomach living without.” His voice cracked and he coughed. Hero realized Reagan was struggling with the memory of his lost family, barely stemming a breakdown. “Then, after you meet that girl, none of the others matter anymore. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a chance to have a family with that woman, and you’ll watch her love and care for your child. You’ll watch that kid grow up, and you’ll see yourself in him. All the love you have for that woman will be reflected in the child that grows up with the two of you as parents. Then maybe when you’re asked about how many girls you’ve slept with in your day, you’ll understand it’s the truth when you say, ‘Just one that mattered.’”

  Reagan coughed again, then wiped a tear from his cheek. He chuckled uncomfortably and looked around the room. “Shit. All these pictures of this family in here are fucking with me. I’m crying like a baby over here.”

  Hero reached over and put his hand on Reagan’s knee. “I’m sorry, man. Sometimes I forget how much you lost. Honestly, Reagan, I don’t think I’ve ever respected you more than I do right now.”

  “Same here,” said Billy. “Give me the binoculars and go take a break, man.”

  Reagan handed the binoculars to Billy as he got up. Billy took the old man by the shoulder and pulled him in for a hug that Hero joined in on. Reagan was shattered, the emotional dam that had held back his grief for so long had been ruptured, and he was struggling to stop sobbing.

  Reagan pulled away and laughed uncomfortably again as he wiped his eyes. “Sorry guys, I don’t know where this came from. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, man,” said Hero. “You’re a human being, and we’ve finally got some proof of it.”

  “You take over,” said Reagan as he handed Billy the binoculars. “I need a fucking nap or something.”

  They watched Reagan leave and then Hero raised his eyebrows as he looked at Billy. “Holy shit, that was heavy.”