by J J Perry
“It’s the group from three years ago,” Catelyn said, panting with effort and excitement. “There are seven graves with their names.” She wore a knee-length white coat and almost knee-high soft shearling boots.
“Their campsite is on the other side of the hill,” Brandt said. “It’s, like, ten minutes to get there. There’s water.”
“Nice work, Bridget,” said Maroche, the leader. “You found the place.” He wore an expensive-looking long gray coat, the only one without waterproofing. A wide-brimmed hat fell low over his dark eyes. His short, black bead lent him a harsh, stern demeanor.
“It only took us, what, almost four weeks?” she replied. Bridget was in her early twenties, a light-haired woman who began the journey heavy. By now, she had lost weight, as had most of them other than Maroche, and had become shapely. She wore green and black and could not always be easily seen in the trees from a distance. She was a civil engineer, a straight A student with a high-paying job in a Saharian international firm. She had taken a sabbatical for the trip to act as the navigator. Her pale yellow-brown eyes could be intense if not mysterious.
“It will be shorter the next time. We marked the dead ends, and you recorded sites on your satellite-positioning computer. That’s more than the previous two parties did,” Maroche said as he put his hand on her once stocky shoulder. He felt firm muscle and bone underneath the coat and had a twinge of desire. “You’ve done well.”
“Thank you, Pastor.”
“In the big picture,” offered Su, a balding middle-aged electrician, “four weeks is nothing. This place has been lost for about six thousand years.”
“If everyone is rested, we should go to the campsite,” Pastor Maroche addressed the group. “We may not want to stay there. It depends on where they searched.”
“If the map they brought back is accurate, we should be able to tell,” Bridget said. “I’ll get it out when we get there.”
By evening, the group had established a campsite about two kilometers from the previous party’s location. A committee of four went over the archaic maps, the information from the two earlier expeditions, and current maps available, derived from aerial or satellite images. The topography was clearly confusing, but the gross features were not very different. They were about halfway between the large lake to the east and the foothills to the west and four kilometers north of the river from the lake. They had to be fairly close.
“How are you with history, Catelyn?” Su asked.
“I’m real good when I have a computer. Why?”
“No reason. Just wanted to talk. This is an area with a lot of history.”
“A long time ago,” said Bab, a thirty-year-old skinny teacher with a long, rectangular face, “they had a big machine that crashed atoms together for subatomic research near here. That was more than eight thousand years ago. The REAP missions were about seventy or eighty years after an epidemic that killed billions of people.”
“We hear that all the time in church,” Catelyn said.
“REAP had nothing to do with this area,” Su said. “Why did they put the spinning electrons here?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Because they had experts here with the atom crasher,” Bab said.
“When is dinner?” Catelyn asked.
“Probably in an hour or two,” Su said. “We need to find some game. We have eaten more provisions than planned.”
“Are we cooking with wood again?”
“Gotta save the liquid fuel for the generator,” Bab said.
“Hey, Bridget,” Catelyn called. “Come on over!” The orienteering meeting was over, and the trustees were dispersing. Bridget angled toward the trio and was joined by Brandt. “So what’s the verdict?” Catelyn shook her hair as she asked the question.
“We are going to divide up the area into grids and start looking and probing in the morning,” Bridget answered.
“Cool,” said Brandt.
“We are going to camp here?” Catelyn asked.
“This is the place,” she said.
“There are so many rocks!” Catelyn complained.
“Glacier debris,” Bab said. “It will make probing and digging hard.”
13.2
2051 AA
Three weeks later, four of the party had died of injury and illness after a ferocious ice storm late spring followed by a week of bitter cold. Food was scarce, and a lot of time was spent in search of game instead of the Bunker. Of the twelve survivors, five chose to return for provisions and fuel. This left fewer mouths to feed. Bridget guided the rescue expedition out and back, returning six weeks later with an old jalopy truck and only two other Reapers.
“It’s late, and I’m tired,” Salish said. “We should stop here for the night.”
“We camped near here the first time in,” Bridget said. “I think I can find the site. It will be easier.” She looked at her device. “Brandt, look to the left and up ahead a couple of hundred meters.” She kept walking, while Salish sat on a boulder.
Brandt had moved ahead. He stopped and turned around. “I see something! Hurry up here.” He loped forward.
A few minutes later, Bridget arrived. Brandt was kneeling, supporting Su, who had been lying in the dirt, giving him a drink from his canteen. There were three others on the ground, not moving. She approached the wasted bodies of Catelyn, Bab, and Maroche. In minutes, they had jointly determined they were dead. Bridget knelt by the pastor and felt his ribs and shoulder bones through his coat, knowing that he lost a lot of weight and died of starvation together with his small flock. She had loved him as her spiritual advisor. More than anything else, his manner and persona kept her in the congregation more than the theology. Waves of tears rolled down her face. His suffering and sacrifice wrenched her insides. The person she respected most was dead because she could not return in time with relief. A little something snapped inside her.
Su was gaunt but had survived possibly because he started with more weight to lose, more fat to burn. After an expanded search, it was clear that he was the sole survivor. As night fell, Salish drove the vehicle into the camp as Bridget was digging a grave. He and Brandt set up a tent and fired up a stove, making dinner. As light slipped away, Su sipped on hot soup, clutching his coat around him despite the mild temperature. Bridget sat next to him, talking with the others, Su remaining silent. When Su finished, he dabbed his mouth with a sleeve and was able to croak out one important sentence. “I think we found the Bunker.”
It was an hour of driving to the site. It took all day as they moved boulders and fallen trees to permit passage of the truck. Bridget, who had taken the pastor’s final goal as her own, and Brandt did the lion’s share of sawing, leveraging, hauling, pushing, and rolling to give Su a chance to replenish calories and fluids. All day, Salish hovered over Su and shouted directions that were ignored. With these handicaps, they moved slowly and arrived at sunset.
It took well over a week for Su to recover enough to do much digging. Three weeks of moving dirt and rock out of the tunnel entrance passed slowly. Finally, there was a road of sorts where they backed the truck down to the cement-framed opening in the afternoon.
“We should celebrate,” Brandt said, leaning on the tailgate, mopping sweat, and rearranging dirt smudges on his freckles. A canopy of trees filtered the waning sunlight into a moving speckled pattern, like a million dim ghosts of fireflies. Roots extended from the dark wall of dirt behind him.
“I’ll drink to that,” Su croaked, lifting a canteen to his lips.
“I think we’re going to have a storm in a day or so,” Bridget said.
“The south wind?” Brandt asked.
“It seems to start up before a storm around here.”
“All the more reason to have a party,” Su said. “It’ll probably get cold. It’s September.”
“Ye have done nice work
,” Salish said as he walked down the irregular path to join them.
An hour later, they sat before a steel door, seven candles burning and a tattered book, the holy Book of Reapers, lying open on a deep-red shawl. Salish waved his hand above the flickering flames, bringing the smoke and heat to his face and then toward heaven. He opened the book and, in the dancing light, read a passage.
“The travelers left in faith perfect, in peace supreme, knowing they would die far away from the homes they loved, never seeing again in their sacrificed lives family or friends, their earth or sky, mountains, seas, or deserts. They traveled not knowing which of them would be favored and chosen for all eternity, brought by divine providence to a new jewel of creation of God for the temporal salvation of mankind hundreds of generations into the future, not knowing which of them would be brought back to the bosom of God from the cold vacuum of space or a harsh and lifeless planet.
“With them they bore all knowledge of mankind, their own memories of their brief sojourns and sacred electrons, irreversibly paired with a mate.”
“They’re in here,” Brandt wept. “Like, dude, right in here. Oh my god.”
“Sshh,” Salish scolded and then continued. “With science and mystery fully understood only by God, these eternally bound pairs would reveal the merciful finger of the Lord in the holiest of holies, abandoned by man but preserved under the pure white cloak of sanctity and the skin of glory in the bowels of our Mother Earth.”
Salish closed the cover. “We are the ordained. God hath winked upon us, given us strength and means to arrive here to witness his power of salvation. We, though not worthy of his approbation, are his instruments. On the morrow, we shall peer into the eye of God.”
“Amen.” The three voiced agreement.
“And may God grant that we are not consumed,” Su uttered.
“Speaking of consumption, is the venison done? I’m starving,” Bridget said. “And how about opening a bottle of wine?”
Salish glared at her.
“Well?” Bridget defended. “We’re celebrating, right?”
Tomorrow, they planned to enter what they held was the holiest site on the planet. Bridget was no longer quite as certain as she was before she left her good job, soft bed, and warm house. She had begun to doubt. The place had been dormant for so long, thousands of years. Everything she knew about engineering, electricity, paleontology, and physics told her they would walk into a man-made cave and find a whole bunch of nothing.
13.2
“Su, are you sure you are strong enough to work today?” Bridget asked. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m a little slow today. Don’t feel quite right.”
Brandt and Salish were working a flame torch on a heavy metal alloy door that was recessed half a meter into a decaying cement frame. Shortly before noon, there was a loud clank followed by shouts of hurrah. Within seconds, all four were peering into darkness and breathing air uncirculated for six thousand years.
“Let’s get inside this baby,” said Bridget.
“Bridget, I know not what to do with you,” Salish rebuked. “This is a sacred place. Treat it with reverence.”
“Kinda stinks like mold or somethin’ in there,” Brandt said.
Salish, a small, swarthy young pastor, who was the titular leader, led the way until it became too dark. The entry was a tunnel fifty meters long. Straight ahead was a dead end. There were two more doors, each recessed about three meters on opposite sides of the tunnel and about eight meters from the end. “This is the sign of the cross,” Salish said. “Undoubtedly of religious significance.”
“I don’t think it was built by religious people,” said Su, right ahead of him.
“It’s a classic bomb door design,” Bridget said. “I’ll check this door, and you see if the other one opens.” She pulled down on the lever handle. “Mine is unlocked,” she said as she pulled the creaking massive metal door slowly toward her. “It needs lubrication,” she said as she stopped pulling with the door open a few centimeters. She slipped a pack off her shoulders and extracted a can of oil. She placed drops on all the hinges as Su and Salish pulled the opposite door open even less and with a great deal of noise.
“We are in need of lubrication over here, Bridget.”
“The can is right here, Salish.”
“Canst thou bring it over?”
“Come and get it.”
Sal did not move. She threw the can at him in the dark. She and Brandt pulled their door open. Inside on the right, their headlamps illuminated a sign in English and French. Prepared for this, Bridget pulled out her universal translator, programmed with ancient languages, and, in a few minutes, deciphered the writing.
“Dudes!” Brandt exclaimed. “We rock! We are here, in the bunker, the Bunker! Awesome. Praise the travelers!” He fell to his knees in humble honor.
“This says Missions 13 through 25 on the top line and ‘Power plant’ on the next,” Bridget said as she walked across the hall to watch Su and Salish struggle mightily to pull their door open. “It would be easier if you moved the dirt away from the bottom of the door, fellas.” A mound of earth was impeding the progress.
“Aren’t thou the smart one?” Salish scowled. Su smacked him on the deltoid.
“That was pretty stupid of us, Sal. Admit it,” he said as he kicked the dirt away with his boot. Seconds later, the door opened without a fight.
After translating the sign inside the left entry, similar to the one on the right, Bridget said, “OK, Missions 1 to 12 are on your side, and Missions 13 to 25 are on ours. You also have the master control and administration rooms.”
“But we have the power, dudes,” Brandt said, smiling his boyish, dimpled grin.
“Why did we bring along a kid?” Salish asked of no one. “Do you want to split up, Bridge?”
“I think so. That way we can see what’s up. I don’t know if the radios will work underground and through all this cement and steel, so let’s meet back here in twenty minutes and come up with a plan.”
“Is everybody OK with that?” Salish looked around for resistance or comments.
“Go,” Sal said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
All four wore headlamps that cut a bright and wide swath through the absolute darkness. In addition, they each had a handheld broad light. With two people moving on opposite sides of the corridor, lighting was good. No one but Brandt knew these items were stolen. Requisitioned for the work of God, he rationalized.
Salish and Su went into their side, finding yet another door that was rusted shut. Twenty minutes later, they had not yet opened it and returned to the main tunnel and waited. Brandt appeared, telling them their next door was also stuck. The three decided to meet in two hours and returned to work.
The chemicals and lubricant worked, allowing Salish and Su entry to their side. They found a recess that contained a dusty metallic cabinet about two meters tall and one meter wide that had a simple display of three lights, all of which were dark. Each light had a sign in English and French designating what the light meant. Bridget had the translator, but because the lights were all blank, they did not feel any need to translate the labels. They were able to understand “REAP 1” located above the machine. They found five more machines in this hall and another six machines in a parallel hallway, all with a similar appearance. They walked to the other side where Brandt and Bridget were looking.
“Turn off your damn lights!” Bridget’s voice boomed from the darkness ahead. It took a few seconds, but they then moved to comply with the demand.
“Watch your language, Bridget,” Salish requested. “This is holy ground.” The two of them shuffled forward with a hand on the wall to keep from becoming disoriented in the blackness. They reached the end of the corridor.
“A hole underground, Your Highness,” she retorted.
“Sacrilege,”
he muttered.
“Where are you guys?” Su asked.
A red glow lit the entry to the parallel corridor. “Over here, dude,” Brandt said. The red light jostled and then went out. The two men walked in the direction where the glow had been and entered the next hallway. “Keep coming,” Brandt said just a few meters ahead. He flicked his red light twice.
“Put your light on the sign, Brandt,” Bridget requested impatiently. The red beam illuminated REAP 22.
“When the headlamps are on, we can’t see anything in the indicator lights,” Bridget spoke quietly, as if her voice would disturb something. “But in the darkness, there is a little glow under the sign that says ‘No signal.’ They must be getting a tiny bit of power from somewhere.”
“Did you find a power source on your side?” Brandt asked.
“No,” they both answered, almost in unison.
“The sign said the power plant is on this side, Brandt,” Bridget said. “Let’s move down to 23.”
Brandt’s broad light illuminated the sign above the recess. REAP 23. He turned the light off. The room plummeted into absolute darkness. The four were silent.
“I’ll be damned,” Bridget said. “Sorry, Salish. Do you see that faint little glow?”
“I see it,” Brandt said after a hesitation. “How radically awesome is that?”
“Shine your light here,” Bridget demanded impatiently. “Here,”—she tapped on the box—“on the label.”
The writing required translation. A minute later, Bridget spoke. “Optimal. It says optimal. What in the hell does that mean? Shine your light on this damn label.”
“Bridget, for heaven’s sake, watch the language, please!” Salish was worried. “God shall smite you. Or all of us.”