Doomsday Minus One

by Andrew Dorn

  “Emmeline...” he mumbled, his voice failing.

  There was a microscopic and final pinpoint of bright light then he blacked out, his body slumping to the ground in a heap.

  He had collapsed, unconscious, but part of his brain still worked. Images began to coalesce from the nether, the way bubbles floated in a glass of champagne. Visions of blue skies, majestic woods, towering pine trees, dark lakes and ancient mountains. But also of a familiar, tranquil, meadow drenched in sunlight. It was a spot he knew well, a land he had often explored with his dad, when he had still been alive... before the accident.

  There were wolves, gray and gaunt, doing their best to escape contact. Birds and squirrels and coyotes, living in unity, as they had done so for eons. There was a magnificent whitetail buck, enormous, with big expressive eyes that seemed to reach out to him. The buck looked at him and he stared back, startled by the encounter.

  The pleasant sensations began to shift, becoming darker, and the forest transformed into a grotesque copy of itself, a sinister realm of unsettling alienness. He felt panic, despair and death from all around him, from life itself. It was a primal and elemental terror unlike anything imaginable. Shaken to the core by its inexorability, the terror embedded itself into his very soul. He was horrified and wanted out, out of the nightmare and the fear.

  As he despaired on the edge of darkness, he noticed a light piercing the black veil, beckoning him to resist. A light so bright with promise, he understood in an instant that all was not lost, that darkness could be beaten and banished from where it came. It was a belief he felt compelled to nurture, to defend and to love.

  A hope worthy of his life.

  A hope that was right here...

  9 Level Sixteen

  FRANK CURTIS EXITED the conference room and strolled toward his office on level zero, or just ‘Z’ as it was known. ‘Z’ was the mine’s command post, the place where most of the staff worked, from administration to operations. The cubicles, organized by functions, occupied every inch of space, so you had HR near the entrance, Admin in the middle and Operations in the rear. It was a no-frills environment yet no one complained, this was a mine after all and one couldn’t expect offices with scenic views, like those enjoyed by Upper Management in Chicago.

  Wachibou’s weather ran the gamut from hot summer months to arctic winters. The global climate change had created spikes in weather uncommon for the area and Frank wondered if he would ever grow comfortable with the new normal. He yearned for a stable temperature range, shirtsleeve compliant, similar to the one San Diegans enjoyed. Halloween was around the corner and Frank was already weary of the first signs of winter. It seemed as if summer ceded over to winter, skimming past autumn, as if it was inconsequential.

  One had to have the proper attitude to get thru those winter months and not everybody could, those that did stayed employed while the others moved on. It was a fact of life for everyone living near the Canadian border, a filter of sort for those with the wrong internal plumbing. Frank had no issues with the cold, he was a Minnesotan, born and raised in Duluth, and was acquainted with its challenges.

  “Dad?”

  Frank went over to Anna, his assistant and only daughter, and gave her an affectionate smile. She had the aura of her mother: petite but fit with big brown eyes and a shock of black hair streaked with dark red. He was proud of the way she had silenced the naysayers, those that had grumbled about favoritism and such, proving to all that she could do the job, despite being Frank’s offspring.

  She had been at Wachibou for six months now, moving up from Boston after yet another painful separation. Frank had dreaded having to deal with a depressed person full of angst but had been relieved by Anna’s focus on ‘getting on with her life once and for all’. She had inherited Frank’s can do attitude; a character trait looked for and appreciated in any production environment.

  He hoped she would stick around for a while but he also recognized that settling in the middle of nowhere wasn’t her cup of tea. It pained him to admit it, but Anna was over-qualified for the job and once the scars on her heart were healed, she would disappear from his life... like she had done five years ago. Still, he thought with a ray of hope, you never knew what life had in store for you.

  “Yes Anna, what is it?”

  “Security just informed us that communications are out on 16,” Anna said, smoothing a strand of fiery hair behind an ear.

  “What do you mean by ‘are out’?”

  “We can’t reach anyone... both the intercom and the TTE appear to be out.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “About two minutes ago.”

  “Have Farrow meet me at the elevator,” Frank said as he dashed out the room.

  “Yes, sir,” Anna hollered back.

  Frank grabbed a coat from his office then made his way outside. The main gateway to the underground levels was a stone throw away and a minute later, he entered the building. He glanced at the safety equipment adorning the corrugated steel walls of the enclosure. There was a fire extinguisher, a first aid station and a locker. He knew the locker was stuffed with helmets, tools and clothing because he had inventoried its contents a few weeks ago and unless someone had screwed around with them, they should still be there.

  “Mr. Curtis?” A voice called from outside the building.

  “In here,” Frank answered from inside. Sterling Farrow, a tall black man, late thirties with a shaved head and elaborate goatee, walked through the door.

  “We got a problem on level 16,” Frank said by way of introduction.

  “Oh, what kind Mr. Curtis?” Farrow asked, adjusting his utility belt loaded with tools.

  “Communications.”

  He held the gate for the technician’s behalf then let it slide shut with a clang. “All set?”

  Farrow nodded. Frank pressed the button and the cab started its slow descent into the earth.

  What was going on down there? The TTE system should not have failed.

  “Farrow, aside from a power disruption, what could provoke a breakdown in communications?”

  “Nothing, the system is fail proof.”

  “Fail proof?”

  The tech cleared his throat. “Well, unless, there is a problem with the surface antenna...”

  “Which we know is not the case,” Frank interjected.

  “Right, so the only remaining culprit is the emitting gear. It might be compromised.”

  “Compromised?”

  “Yes,” Farrow said with an uneasy nod. “By malfunctioning equipment or...”

  “Or by the inability of the crew to use the gear.”

  Frank had been considering the same. If there had been a cave in, they would have known about it, what with all the sensor technology in place.

  “We have four people down there and—

  The cab screeched to a halt amid a loud shriek of grinding gears. Both men were jostled like birds in a cage but managed to stay upright.

  “What the hell!”

  Farrow flicked on his helmet lamp and moved over to the lift’s panel. He pressed the Down button. The cab refused to budge. He repeated the action but the lift still didn’t move. “I think we have no power!”

  “Damn, how’s that possible? Shouldn’t the generators have kicked in by now?”

  There was a far away noise, and a strong vibration shook the elevator along its length.

  “We should get out of here,” Frank said.

  The tech nodded in agreement. The cab had stopped right about level 10, a short way beneath the ground floor. All they had to do was open the gate and climb out. Frank slid the mesh gate open, and it struck the side wall of the shaft with a heavy bang.

  “Go,” he said to Farrow.

  The technician heaved himself out of the lift with a grunt.

  “Give me you hand, Mr. Curtis.”

  Frank thrusted his arm out and with Farrow’s help climbed out of the lift.

  “Let’s go find out what’s g
oing on.”

  The string of lights in the passageway flickered on and off but to Frank’s relief kept working as they made their way deeper inside. Level 10 had been repurposed as a staging area after the anomaly had forced the complete shutdown of operations. It featured few amenities but the necessary stuff was there: a RoboPotty, an industrial-size work bench, a beat-up refrigerator and an even more battle-tested coffee machine. Frank punched the letter ‘Z’ on the bench’s built-in comm gear and a moment later Anna’s concerned face materialized on the 15 cm display screen. At least communications are working on this level, Frank thought. But why was the lift without power?

  “Dad?”

  “Anna, we’re on level 10. The lift is out. We can’t come up and we can’t go down.”

  “The lift is out?” Anna said. “But how? I mean, we have power throughout the facility. I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but we need to get down there.” Frank paused for a second, an idea popping into his head. “Patch me to Security!”

  “Just a second,” Anna replied.

  Frank drummed his fingers on the steel bench: a nervous habit he had when he didn’t have a mug in hand.

  Anna’s feed switched to Gwen Rutledge’s expressionless face.

  “Security,” she stated with a brusque greeting.

  Frank would have preferred to have Willie be on call, but it wasn’t to be. He was stuck with Rutledge. It was a bad day and it was clear it would stay that way, at least until midnight struck.

  “Rutledge? This is Frank Curtis.”

  “Yes, Mr. Curtis.” Rutledge said. The way she inflicted her tone made Frank’s name sound like a disease. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you still have video from level 16?”

  He heard Rutledge sigh.

  “Just a minute.”

  She rose from her chair and out of sight of the camera. Frank waited, fingers dancing with impatience. Rutledge was taking her sweet time. How could the company keep this person on pay roll was beyond him, but then again ineptitude prevailed in all levels of hierarchy.

  At last, she slithered into her chair, a snake easing back to its nest.

  “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean?” Frank said, not quite able to keep the contempt from his voice.

  “We have a visual, but from one camera only.”

  Frank thought he could pick up you incompetent wuss in Rutledge’s dry response. Pushing down the urge to bark orders at her, he waited for further details. When none were forthcoming, he struck the bench with his fist, hard.

  “And?”

  “There is a problem with the visual.”

  “What?” Frank said. “You mentioned earlier we had a visual.”

  “Well that’s just it,” Rutledge said. “It’s sending back something but...”

  “What?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Show us!” Frank barked.

  Frank watched with bewilderment as the picture changed to a visual oddity of eerie shapes. He stared at the screen, struggling to make sense of it. Farrow came closer, also intrigued by the strangeness on display.

  It was a kaleidoscope.

  A maelstrom of shapes were floating in an ocean of golden light. Frank was reminded of microscopic footage of blood cells he had seen on TV, in broadcasts about the origins of life. He was fascinated as the blobs fused into semi-spherical shapes then broke up again and repeated the cycle. It was as if the blobs were seeking to grab hold unto something concrete, a base to build upon.

  “My God,” Sterling said, transfixed.

  Frank continued to stare at the profound complexity materializing in front of his eyes. A deep chill ran down his spine.

  “I’m sure God has nothing to do with this.”

  10 Elijah33

  ELIJAH ROY WALKED around the edge of what he loved to claim as his land, his own personal refuge, his reason for living.

  His land.

  It was about the only thing he owned.

  He had set up a rudimentary security system among the trees surrounding his property. It amounted to a wire strung about half a meter from the ground that snaked its way around the trees. The back of his yard opened to the massive acreage of land owned by the mining company. There was a no man’s land between his yard and the high fence put up by LTI. A land he used to trap on, a land that had always been his to use and exploit. But that had been before the company had shown up and staked its claim.

  There had been raised fists and much ballyhoo by some locals, people just like him, that felt the company had appropriated sovereign land; but like many of the promises made by politicians, the desire to hold one’s ground evaporated away.

  It had pissed him off...

  ... And it had begun his descent into destiny’s butt hole.

  The chain of bad luck which had clobbered him to the brink of poverty was a continuous assault brought on by LTI’s control of the land. He no longer could offer services as guide for tourists seeking to trap illegal game; or those looking to avoid fishing quotas. The bad luck had lingered for years, culminating with the fateful morning when he was apprehended for lobbing a Molotov cocktail at a convoy of government officials touring the mine for a ‘best regional employer’ event. He was infuriated by the sheer callousness of both the officials and LTI’s high management. They couldn’t care less about him and his plights. He was a poor simpleton, unworthy of attention, and even the attempt to torch their fancy limos had fizzled away like embers in the wind. He had avoided jail time, serving his sentence doing god-awful community work during 24 painful weekends. He had learned a lesson. A lesson he vowed to never forget.

  Never trust those in charge.

  The wire circling his perimeter had been broken by an animal and Roy knelt down to fix it. He pulled out pliers and went to work. In the distance, between the trunks of the great pines, he could see the mine’s enclosure. How he would have loved to get in there and do real damage, to make them pay for what they did.

  It was all their fault.

  He had no job, was on welfare, and lived in a crappy old house inherited from his dad.

  Good old dad.

  And his daily lessons.

  Oh, how he feared them. When they came, those horrid days, he would flee to the woods, the only sanctuary he had.

  Then came his twelfth anniversary.

  The day he stood up to his pa.

  His father, diminished by alcohol and disease, had chased him into the forest only to have part of his leg shot off as he stumbled drunkenly with his loaded rifle. He never recovered and passed a few months afterward, tormented and broken.

  But Elijah, it seemed, never got a break. Old Aunt Sadie, a recluse and only remaining family, was given the unenviable task of being his legal parent. The woman suffered from bouts of narcolepsy and lapsed into depression with alarming regularity, a problem she dealt with by yelling at the kid who had the knack of being around when he wasn’t supposed to.

  Then there was school. Which for Elijah, was as dreadful as being home.

  He was a misdiagnosed dyslexic and his years of struggle led him to detest what school represented. His failings in school were a mirror of his whole life. With no family supervision and support, his grades floundered; and if not for the charity of kindhearted teachers, he would have quit school before he did, at 14 years of age. In what he believed was fate combined with good karma, his teen years were the best of his life. He made a good friend, Kai Eaton, got a job cleaning and repairing gutters and scrounged enough money to buy a battered 15 years old Ford Ranger.

  The wire repaired, Elijah continued his inspection of the perimeter. The sun had disappeared between thick gray clouds, metamorphosing the forest into a sullen land of tall sentinels flexing into the biting northern wind.

  Kai Eaton.

  The face of the eighteen year old popped into his mind. A mass of chestnut hair, freckles on a sharp nose, big ears sticking out and a cav
ed in face drenched in blood.

  Kai had been his only true friend.

  And he had killed him.

  It had been an accident but it might as easily been a murder. By his actions, or rather inactions, Elijah had allowed his friend to die. It had taken place on a dreary late October day, when the wind blew in from the North and the leaves whirled about like capricious devils. They had been cleaning the gutters of old man Beukes. Things were not going well and he had been on edge all morning. The boss was pushing them to work faster but Beukes’ home was a ruin of a former illustrious cottage that had fallen in a state of disrepair as dangerous as anything Elijah had ever seen. The roof was in dire need of new shingles but it was the chimney which caused Elijah concern. The bricks of the towering smokestack were breaking loose and some had rolled down the steep roof and lodged themselves in the gutter. Kai, standing on the top of the ladder, had been removing those bricks when all of sudden the entire chimney gave way. Elijah, who was on the roof a short distance away, scrambled out of harm’s way.

  But Kai wasn’t so lucky.

  He was hit by the volley of bricks but managed to hold on to the gutter as the ladder was kicked out from under him. Elijah, who was clinging to a vent pipe in fear of slipping down the roof, watched in horror as his friend reached out to him, clawing at the flakey shingles in a desperate attempt to save his life.

  Paralyzed with fear, Elijah didn’t move a muscle even if his brain was screaming at him to do something and a second later he heard the sound of his friend slamming into the company’s pick-up truck... two stories below.

  His only friend was dead.

  After the accident, things were never the same as they were before. He started drinking which led to his dismissal and eventual string of bad luck.

  And back to his miserable life.

  But things were about to change.

  There was something coming, something big. The signs had been brewing for ages now, even though nobody seemed to care.

  Except those who followed him on SComm.

  The online community had been a floundering mess before he took over from the original founder, a man now rotting in a Colombian jail for drug trafficking. Though the virtual world had never been part of his life, the allure of shaping opinions of poor saps was too captivating to ignore. The fact those same saps believed his teachings, his sayings, even his doctrine, was a life-affirming event.