Felix lifted Josiah up on his feet and pushed him forward. Josiah vomited as he walked. Felix didn’t appear to care and pushed him through the doorway into the dim basement. Mechanicals hummed all around them. Heat from boilers kept the room abnormally warm. Felix flung Josiah up against a concrete wall. Josiah lost control of his bladder and could feel the warmth of his urine blend into the expensive silk pants he had on. He fell to his knees, tears blurring his vision.
“Don't do this,” he mumbled.
“You did this to yourself.”
“For the love of God, Felix, don't do this.”
Felix leveled the rifle at Josiah's chest. “You have the stones to bring God into this?”
Josiah didn't respond but dropped his head, knowing the sight of his face probably incited rage within the young man picturing it next to his wife’s face.
“As much as I hate you, I'm still sorry it came to this, but I have no choice.”
Felix racked the shotgun to put a shell in the chamber. Josiah vomited again. An explosion louder than anything Josiah had ever heard went off. He covered his head and screamed, thinking it was gunfire. A moment later heat and flames surrounded them both. It took only a split second for him to realize a boiler had exploded. Steam mixed in with the smoke and flames.
Josiah bolted deeper into the basement toward the flames. He ran as fast as he could, hoping the wall of fire was not deep. He jumped through the flames and turned a corner into clean air. His skin was hot but not burnt.
Gunfire from Felix's shotgun echoed throughout the area. He had no line of site but kept firing at random. Steam pipes exploded to his left as Felix’s shots missed their target. A moment later another explosion rocked the basement and Josiah heard Felix screaming. Whatever exploded was burning him alive. He had never heard wailing like that before.
Josiah kept running. He had to get to the tram. It would get him out of the building and to the safe room offsite. More explosions erupted. Heat was rising by the second. He reached the final storage room. His thumbprint didn't open it. He grabbed a fire extinguisher hanging off the wall and raised it to break the knob but stopped when he heard the delayed click of the locking mechanism.
He dropped the extinguisher and rushed into the room. As he went to shut the metal door, a ball of fire rushed straight at him. The wall of fire slammed into the door and sounded like some rabid animal trying to get in.
An emergency light came on in the corner revealing cleaning supplies and racks of mops, brooms, and other paraphernalia. There was a six-foot-tall wooden bookcase filled with old facilities catalogues and dusty cleaning supplies. He forgot how to access the space behind the shelving.
“Unlock,” he shouted, but nothing happened. “Open,” he tried again, still nothing.
Josiah stood on a desk and felt around. He found a small hole between the wall and shelving unit where cool air was coming from. He grabbed two brooms and stuck their handles into the space and pulled. Slowly, a creak turned into scraping. The shelf started to move. One of the broomsticks broke, but the other held long enough to finish the job. The shelf crashed onto the floor.
Facing him was a compartment with what appeared to be two rollercoaster-sized cars on a track. Enough for two people to sit in each car. Behind Josiah the metal door groaned, and the smell of burning paint filled the room. The amount of heat coming from the door and cinderblock wall was immense.
He crawled over the broken shelf and into the front car. A small dashboard lit up in front of him. “Welcome Josiah,” a computer said in a low male voice. On the right side of the screen was a scale that showed the batteries were powered up, and then two simple buttons, one green and one red. He touched the green button. The carts started to move with a loud creak, but a moment later they stopped.
The cart behind him caught on something. The thumping sound from outside the room was growing. Still no sprinklers had kicked on. He pulled the single pin that daisy-chained the two carts together and pushed against the rear cart. The front cart started to move. After a long pause the cart moved on its own power and dropped down a steep slope into darkness.
Looking back, Josiah could see the room collapse. Flames and debris exploded into the tunnel, chasing him down the track like an unformed monster from hell. The tracks started to break and fall apart, but his cart was staying ahead of the destruction.
The cart continued to drop as it had to get below the subway system. It leveled off, and the damp underworld air seemed as fresh as anything he breathed growing up in the woods of New Hampshire. He checked for any broken bones or severe burns. His entire body ached, but other than a deep gash on his hand and two swollen knuckles, everything else was superficial.
For five minutes the tram carried Josiah along the track. The display screen showed the distance to the safe room was eight minutes away. He was going to live.
Fear stepped aside to allow anger to slither back into his mind. Josiah wished he could have witnessed Felix burn to death. The thought of exacting revenge on Lewis was intoxicating. His death would be slow and drawn out. Try as he might to hate Carolyn, he knew losing Felix was the punishment she deserved for betraying him, yet he wished he could be the one to deliver the message to her. Bradley, of course, would pay with his life.
With a shudder the tram stopped. The screen went dark. Josiah searched but found no other controls. Below the dash was a small emergency flashlight held on with a Velcro strap.
In the distant darkness, metal creaked and crashed as portions of the track continued to collapse. The flashlight was dim as it had never been used and the constant recharging of the battery weakened it. The tram was a few feet off the ground. Josiah got out and started to walk alongside the rail. If the flashlight died he could still feel his way to the end by using the rail as a guide.
Smoke started to waft into the tunnel. The noxious fumes were unbearable. Josiah tried to move quicker, but the breeze carried the fumes and smoke beyond him. After everything he had been through, he wasn't going to make it. The flashlight started to fade, just illuminating a small space in front, or was he about to pass out?
His hand slammed into a wall. The track had ended at a cement wall. A few feet above was a small ledge and a steel door with no doorknob. Josiah crawled up and placed his thumb where the flat silicon pad was on the door. Nothing happened. It was his hand with the cut on it. He used his sweater to wipe the pad clear of blood before applying his other thumb. Still nothing happened. The door got its electricity from the tram's rail, which was dead.
The noxious smoke increased. He had to get to fresh air. Just before the flashlight faded to black, Josiah saw a metal rung to his right. He dropped to his knees and crawled over to the bar. Another bar was above it along with more rungs continuing up. For five minutes he climbed the ladder in the dark. He stopped once when coughing turned to more vomiting. Little by little the air started to clear. On the backside of the metal ladder was a large gap between concrete and the rungs. Once he reached cleaner air he slid around into the space and lowered himself a few feet until he rested on a metal support. The smell of urine, smoke, and vomit wafted up from his clothes. He leaned forward with his chin resting on a rung, exhaustion catching up. It took all his energy to remove his five-hundred-dollar Italian leather belt and use it to lash himself to the ladder.
The rumbling of a subway car overhead woke him. Had it been a few minutes or a few hours? Josiah unlashed himself from the ladder, swung around to the front, and continued to climb. He would not let his mind think about the distance below and how painful a death that fall would be.
A pinhole of light shone down from above. It was a manhole cover. Within minutes he reached the metal cover and pushed with what little strength he had. The cover lifted and came off its casing. He squeezed through into the dimly lit subway tunnel and sat there drinking in the stale air that tasted like a mountain breeze. He pushed the cover back on and started to walk in the direction the last subway car had gone.
; A rumble behind announced another car’s approach. That also meant it was still daylight out. For the past five years the subways in New York only ran during daylight due to increase in crime. The government wanted people home, and in bed, after the sun went down. It was easier to control the populace that way.
Josiah found a small ledge and tried to melt into the wall as the subway rushed by. Warm wind pulled on his body as if to throw him into the path of the subway car. He fought against the gust like it was a person attacking him. He was not going to die. There was too much pain he needed to exact on his enemies.
The subway passed and Josiah continued to walk in the direction of the car. A half hour later he reached a near-empty platform. He climbed up to find six random people staring at him like he was some animal that crawled out of a sewer. They probably thought he was a homeless man rather than the second richest man in the world. Another subway came to pick up the audience, leaving him alone on the platform. He walked the area until he found a restroom.
The bathroom smelled of urine and excrement, which covered the floor around the toilets. The sinks were stained with mold and dirt. The wall of mirrors was smashed and only one flickering light serviced the large room. Josiah used his sweater as a barrier to turn on the faucet. In a small piece of unbroken mirror, he washed away dirt, grime, and blood to reveal a red, swollen face. His hand was cut and swollen but not broken. How he had survived was nothing short of a miracle, but he didn't have time to ponder probabilities. Instead he needed to get food, water, and find a safe place to work. The thought of revenge gave him energy. It was almost euphoric.
A voice cleared its throat. “Oi.”
An overweight, middle-aged man stood in the doorway with a shorter, balding man. Both were dressed in drab clothing, revealing they were transients.
“I don't want trouble,” Josiah said, putting the wet sweater back on. “If you can get me to a terminal, I'm sure I can get you money.”
“We don't use crypto currency,” the shorter one said, removing a crowbar from inside his jacket. “If you had weapons, food, or silver, we'd be happy to leave you alone.”
Josiah opened his pockets.
“That's not what I want anyway,” the bigger man said in a thick British accent. Both men closed in on him.
For the next half hour Josiah's screams were drowned out by the sound of periodic subway trains going by. Once or twice people wandered into the bathroom only to be yelled at by the two men from the stall they had pushed Josiah into.
They beat him until he stopped fighting and let them have their way with him. The germs, the pain, the filth, the rage all blended into sobs that sounded like a dying animal. He had never felt this violated, felt this level of pain, felt this level of fear and rage. He was dying. No, he wanted to die. He was utterly broken.
Chapter Fifteen
New Sacramento 2077
Kyle and Maria approached the new building. There was a line of people out front that wrapped around the side. All of the people were clothed in dirty rags. Many held on to infants. Kyle picked up on several clear sicknesses. The sound of a child with whooping cough. The rashes of children with hives, chicken pox, and the distended bellies of malnourishment. All of these he could help were they on the Atoll.
Those closest to Maria stepped back toward the side of the building as if she was royalty. She led Kyle inside and walked past a muscular armed guard as if he didn’t exist. Kyle was impressed with the building’s interior. They stood in a massive room with polished hardwood floors. Loud air purifiers lined the walls, humming out a relaxing background noise. Every square inch seemed to be filled with patients lying in beds. All of them were late teens, early twenties, males.
For the next few minutes he observed the operation of the hospital. The medical staff wore the same scrubs and gloves as they floated between patients. They washed their hands with the latex gloves on before moving on to a new patient. Only when their scrubs got heavily soiled did they swap them out.
“I take it these patients are all soldiers?” Kyle asked. Maria confirmed it with a nod. “And the people outside?”
“If we free up space, they come in according to priority.”
“That being?”
“Able-bodied males and teens, females, children. Then it’s a toss-up between infants and elderly.” Before Kyle could ask she added, “It’s based on how they benefit the state.”
“Barbaric.”
Maria ignored the comment. “Follow me.”
She led Kyle up a staircase to the second level. This had a long hallway down the middle with eight rooms off to each side. Several staff in white gowns walked in-between the rooms, some of their outfits sprinkled with blood.
“Although we have mobile medical facilities, this is the only permanent surgical suite we have in California.”
“You have upwards of a million people under your control and you don’t even have twenty surgical suites?”
“We’re just getting back into farming, infrastructure, and other utilities such as sewer and electric.” She lifted a binder from an old wooden desk and handed it to Kyle. “Here’s a breakdown of everyone in this facility. The top yellow pages are the surgical suite and the rest are the hospital below. I need you to triage the situation.”
Kyle flipped through the book. A woman orderly in her early forties joined them carrying her own notebook. The three of them toured each room. Young males in their twenties filled all sixteen rooms. The spaces were small but clean. The first patient had an infection from a botched appendectomy, another had gangrene on his right foot, a few suffered broken bones. Others were being prepped for surgery to deal with stab and bullet wounds.
One by one Kyle visited each patient. He ran through their stats and took their vitals before he moved on to the next room. They all seemed young even though most were near his age of thirty. Those who were conscious were scared and pleaded with their eyes for hope. Kyle tried to offer as much as possible by assuring each of them that he had seen worse and could help. Maria stood by watching intently. Every once in a while he would see her take notes on a small pad of paper.
When Kyle finished the tour, he sat down at the small makeshift children’s wooden desk in the hallway. He began to list the patients who needed attention first. All the while, Maria stared over his shoulder like an annoying little sister.
When Kyle finished, he said, “I need to get patient number two into surgery.”
“It’s backlogged until tonight, Doctor-”
“What about access to a hyperbaric chamber? If I can give him antibiotics and stick him in an oxygen-rich environment maybe—”
“No need.”
Kyle stifled a laugh. “Forgive me for being blunt, Maria, but if you want me to help then you need to trust my judgment. So, with all due respect, do you have access to a hyperbaric chamber?”
Maria stifled a laugh that mimicked Kyle’s, only hers had a darker tone to it. “Doctor Faison, you misunderstood me when I said it’s not needed.”
“How’s that?”
“He’s been euthanized.”
It took a moment for Kyle to realize the female orderly that was with them had disappeared. He rushed into room number two. The patient lay dead. The orderly was shutting off the patient’s saline drip.
“What did you administer?” he said, checking the patient’s vitals and finding none. The woman stared past Kyle to Maria standing in the doorway. He slapped the woman’s face, forcing her to look at him. “I said, what did you give him?”
“She can’t speak,” Maria said.
Kyle noticed a shot sticking out of the saline, which read pentobarbital. He dropped his head, knowing it was too late.
“You can leave us, Estelle,” Maria said. The woman complied, clearly confused. When they were left alone Maria said, “Estelle’s tongue was cut out years ago for questioning a superior’s order. Only because she was a nurse was her life spared.”
“Who’d do such a thing?”
“I did.”
A veil lifted in Kyle’s mind. Maria wasn’t some cold woman doing whatever she could to survive. She was a monster.
“I motioned for her to administer the pentobarbital when I saw your note about amputation. A one-legged soldier is a burden we can’t afford.”
“You’re insane!”
“You, Doctor, are naïve to think you can waltz in here and change the way we live.”
“Live? This isn’t living. This is hell.”
“I won’t argue on that point.”
“So when you said triage you meant it in the rawest way, didn't you?” Kyle asked.
“Yes. You need to tell me who can and cannot be healed so I can euthanize and dispose of the bodies.” Kyle gasped, but Maria methodically continued pointing toward the dead soldier. “Furthermore, those that cannot be healed to a capacity where they can be a functional soldier or member of the farming community are to be euthanized as well.”
Kyle walked over to a tiny sink. He turned on the water but only a trickle came out. He splashed what he could gather onto his face as if to wake himself up from the nightmare. “I’m not going to be a part of this.”
Maria squinted at Kyle like a mother who discovered that her son had taken in an injured animal, but had to tell him to let it go. The moment passed and in its place returned her cold demeanor. “Doctor Faison, I appreciate the strength of your moral character, but you need to recalibrate.” She pointed out the room’s window at a one-story metal shack. “Do you see that building? We give food to people for abortions over there. The simple fact is we can’t feed everyone. The unhealthy, those who can’t serve the state, and less desirable must go or we will all die.”
“Less desirable?” Kyle said, following her arm out the window to a line of people around the building. “That’s horrific.”
“That’s reality,” she said.
Two male orderlies came in and placed the body of the dead patient onto a manual stretcher. They exited, leaving a stained bedsheet. It was as if God had tied Kyle’s hands behind his back. Kyle exited the room. Maria called after him, but he ignored her.
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