That was it. Obviously, chaos and rioting ensued after that. Not to mention a fair amount of negative media attention and threats on his life.
Hope and her family were already on the island, living at his home along with Mendi and Judy. It made for tight living quarters, and he wasn’t sure what he would do with other people. He hoped to expedite some more purchases, rent some rooms, whatever it took to save people. Once all this was over, his money would mean nothing, so he might as well spend it.
His realtor worked round the clock getting space, and he spent hours in his lab making calls and convincing people to come stay. In the end, he’d gathered a few hundred people to his cause, and he knew they’d gathered even more. It would be tight. Conditions would be tough in the long term, but they would make it work.
He’d already emailed Mendi a new code and the instructions for how to upload it. The breakthrough had been such a relief, and rather than totally disable the little demons, he’d been able to fix the problem. Although it was too little too late for the world, it could help save what was left of humanity on the island.
Mendi,
Here’s the new code. Please upload it as soon as possible. I’m on my way to help you, but don’t wait for me. I promise. I’m on my way.
Ben
His last task was to arrange a private helicopter to take him to the island. He already had decades worth of supplies taken over there, and had dug a new well for survivors.
The task wasn’t easy. Many people had fled in the wake of the unsettled atmosphere. Where they’d gone, Ashby wasn’t sure. Mexico maybe? Canada? Just away from the bots mostly. At least until they caught up.
But enough money could bring anyone back rather quickly. He laughed at the idea, knowing full well that money would soon be obsolete. But he didn’t tell the pilot that.
There wasn’t really anywhere to land, so a jet was out of the question. But a helicopter could land in a clearing and make it back to the mainland just fine. He doubted the pilot would stay with him, particularly if he had family on the mainland, but it was worth a shot.
The phone calls for that only took a few moments. They would be ready when he was. All he had to do was say the word, and they’d go.
Getting to his lab over the last few weeks had been difficult. The media had taken to camping out there, waiting to accost him with accusatory questions. He learned quickly that they didn’t really want true answers. Better to just keep his head down and push through. But, before he left forever, he felt he should return, just one last time.
The university was a ghost town, even though it was coming up on midterms. The absence of the media frenzy gave Ashby the chills. They knew what was coming just as well as he did.
The campus had been shut down in the wake of recent events. Although nothing had gone wrong in California, yet, the bots were making their way West rapidly. Each town they took added more bots to their population. As if once the sleeping bots sensed others around them, they activated and joined the cause of their own free will. It was something Ashby hadn’t anticipated, let alone dreamed as a possibility. They were becoming an unstoppable cloud of destruction.
Ashby walked the corridors to his lab. It was dark and silent inside. Hope had sent the last chimp to a sanctuary nearby when she left for the island. Although Ashby didn’t think the sanctuary was long for this world, it was a good gesture.
Without the chimp, it was cold and sterile in the lab. Going to his desk, he took out a small, black box made from the same material NASA had given him for the bots. Removing the journal from his briefcase, he sat at his desk.
He thought back on his time in the lab, and about everything that had happened. How Mendi had managed his success, even with a small stain on his record. Why hadn’t that happened to him?
Because Mendi’s cure wasn’t killing people, you fool.
Opening the book to the first page, he looked over his notes. At the very top, he scrawled,
I am Bennett Ashby. And I am not the savior.
At least if anyone found his book, they’d know the truth. He put the book inside the black box, secured the lid, and placed it back inside his briefcase.
That task competed, he then went to the back corner of his lab and took out a small key attached to his key ring. He opened the cabinet and took out the large EMP device.
“One last thing to do,” he said as he set it up near the sleeping bots.
After plugging it in, he hesitated. There was his life’s work, about to be destroyed. Even though he knew it was the right thing, he found it hard to do. Everything he’d worked toward—for nothing. Thinking back, if he’d known how it would play out, he wondered which choices would be different. How could he have changed this outcome?
Ashby sighed as he held his hand near the switch. He supposed it didn’t matter much. His bots would still exist and would still have the potential to destroy the world.
With a shake of his head, he flipped the switch, forever disabling the last twenty bots in his lab with a burst of electromagnetism. Despite the fact that they’d resisted his code, they were still vulnerable to that. Problem was, they were so numerous that a big enough machine didn’t exist to disable them all.
As a precaution, he packed up the EMP device, and then took one last look at the place where his miracle curse was born as he was turning off the lights. He wanted one more moment with his old life.
“Goodbye,” he said quietly to the lab before forever leaving it in darkness.
On his way to the airport, he flipped on the radio. It was something he didn’t do much lately. It was all bad news. Since the fall of Chicago and Detroit weeks ago, it seemed like the entire nation had fallen to the bots, and they were spreading out, making their way north into Canada and west toward him.
The more metal they consumed, the more bots they made. The terrorists had created a horribly beautiful code that would be the end of not only the greedy, selfish, and power hungry, but also of every last person and thing on the Earth.
The media had gone international. It was broadcasting from other countries, those smaller than the USA. Or maybe even straight from the main airship. Which meant the news was often behind actual events, because no one was dumb enough to be on the ground waiting to be eaten alive.
The report he listened to was from a woman with a British accent, making it a bit soothing, in spite of the grave news she delivered. “It seems the bots have made their way through Arizona and are continuing westward on their path of destruction. Only a small percentage of the U.S. remains untouched, and the survivors are struggling to hold onto their wobbly existence.”
Arizona, Ashby thought. I wonder how old that report is. Surely by now, they’d breeched the California border, but maybe they’d gone down to Mexico instead, giving him some time. Maybe, just maybe, he’d make it out alive.
The airport rose out of the horizon like a holy grail. He could almost hear the singing of his savior as he pressed the gas pedal down harder and sped toward it.
But a quick glance in his rearview mirror revealed something odd. Almost as if there were a smudge on the mirror. A large smudge. That shimmered. And moved. He blinked at it, knowing he should bring his eyes back to the road as he sped along, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his creation. It had come home.
Looking over his shoulder didn’t give him a much better view. So, he turned his attention back to the road and raced to his helicopter. He’d called when he left and told them to have it up and running, ready to go as soon as he set foot aboard. He hoped they’d followed that instruction to a T, because they would have no time to spare.
The gate around the ramp was closed and locked, with security spikes on the inside of it to prevent people from plowing through, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have time to go inside. No one did. They should all be fleeing.
Pressing down hard on the accelerator, he braced himself as he crashed through the fence, around the hangar, and spotted the only h
elicopter with its engine running. The tires screeched on the tarmac as he came to a stop. The pilot nodded to him from the cockpit as he reached up and flipped a few more switches.
Ashby fumbled with his seatbelt, but he couldn’t help one last glance over his shoulder. The cloud was huge, and it seemed to be close enough to touch.
“No,” he said as he turned and ran to the helicopter. With all the life left in him, he sprinted to that bird. However, Ashby’s creation overwhelmed him, the helicopter, the airport, the city, the country, and the world.
24.
Approximate year, 2346
That evening, Lehman, Mattli, and Mason were sipping tea in the front living room of Mattli’s home.
But they weren’t quietly relaxing. They’d had a very exciting day. And it only fueled their desire for more. He remembered telling Ashley the more answers they got, the more questions she’d have. It was exhausting. But now that he was living it, it was almost exhilarating.
They had all the pieces they needed, so they could really start planning for their trip. It was becoming real. Going back to the journal, Lehman pulled out the schematics for the airships.
They stared silently at them for a few moments, trying to understand the layout, what everything was for, and how they operated. They even had designated farming areas with glass ceilings for sunlight, and water collectors from the surrounding clouds for water.
“What do you make of the airships?” Mason asked the two remaining elders as they studied the schematics over warm cups of tea.
“I think they’re brilliant,” Lehman said. “Modern masterpieces. Can you imagine living on one of those things?” She had a dreamy look in her eyes while she talked about it, like the mysticism of the mainland did affect her after all.
“I bet they have electricity,” she added.
“Have?” Mattli asked as he sat with one leg over the other, sipping his tea.
“Well, had. I don’t suppose they’re still up there.”
Mason sat up a little straighter, leaning forward on his knees. “Could they still be up there?”
“I…” Lehman shook her head, doubt on her face.
“Surely Ashley and I would’ve seen them when we were there. Right, Mattli?”
“Not necessarily. The schematics say right here that they’re to be stationed above cloud level to have direct access to the solar energy they need to stay afloat.” She leaned forward and pointed to the plans they had laid out on the coffee table.
“And if they’d fallen to the ground…” Mason stared, trying to put pieces together he didn’t even think existed a few moments ago.
“Well, from what you’ve told us, and what Ashby’s journal says of the bots and the apocalypse they spurred, there wouldn’t be anything left of the wreckage, would there? Nothing but gray ash not dissimilar from all the other miles and miles of gray ash.”
Mason sat back on the couch, feeling defeated. “There’s no way to know for sure.”
The room was silent for a few moments until Mason sat forward again.
“It’s just as possible that they’re still up there right now as it is that they’re dead. Ashley never thought we were the only survivors of the apocalypse. She never thought we were that special…” He let the possibilities run wild in his mind. “There could be others out there. Alive.”
Alive, the completion of The Dead Room Trilogy will be out in February of 2017.
Did you enjoy this book?
Let the author know!
Leave a review!
The following is an excerpt from Stephanie Erickson’s first post-apocalyptic novel, The Blackout, available now on Amazon.
Calm
1
“The nature of the world is to be calm, and enhance and support life, and evil is an absence of the inclination of matter to be at peace.” – Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
What a difference one hundred years can make. The 20th century saw the dawn of automobiles, the Internet, cell phones and the personal computer. All of which came to rely on one common denominator – electricity.
The world hummed and clicked away, consuming more electricity than those who lived a century ago would have ever dreamed could exist. But it was a fragile existence, one easily shattered by the sun’s fiery tendrils.
The light the world created blinded them. A storm was coming that would sweep across the globe like wildfire, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake.
2
Molly was just finishing cleaning out her inbox when Cindy’s slender frame walked by the door. “Hey!” Molly called out.
Cindy stopped and poked her head in. “Hey yourself. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just finishing up here, and was going to get some dinner. Wanna come?”
Cindy knew Molly was lonely and didn’t get much social contact when her husband was gone. Even though she had a lot to do, Molly needed her. “Sure! The kids don’t need to be picked up for a while, but I’m not quite ready to go yet. Can ya’ wait like fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Molly smiled. Cindy was never quite ready to go. She had three kids and a sociable husband, so grading essays and preparing for the next class weren’t easily accomplished at home.
“Sure, that sounds great. Just holler when you’re ready.”
Molly, on the other hand, had lots of quiet time at home. Gary had already been gone for two nights and wouldn’t be back for another five. If nothing else, being a pilot’s wife left her with plenty of time to herself. It was an adjustment she hadn’t fully mastered, and she was grateful she wouldn’t be eating alone tonight.
When Cindy left, Molly sifted through the night’s work, thinking she’d get a head start. She opened the file for her Modern Poetry class and took out the essay on top. “Mutability”, it was titled.
What can a person rely on? Friends and lovers come in and out of a person’s life as often as they change their underwear.
Oh Lord, she thought, and flipped to the end of it. Seven pages of this crap? She leaned back in her chair, pulled off her rimless glasses and rubbed her eyes; her habit when she didn’t want to embark on the task at hand. She sighed and uncapped her purple pen (she never used red - she found it too harsh, too judgmental, and way too negative) attempting to ready herself for the potential garbage she was about to trudge through.
Four pages in, Cindy came to the rescue. She had pulled her long blonde hair back into a low ponytail and donned a gray blazer over her white blouse and khaki pants. She was always very put-together and stylish.
“Ready!” she announced. “Where do you want to go?”
“Thank God! This essay is a nightmare.” Molly paused, considering the options. “You know if I was alone I’d just go up to McDonald’s. So, what are you in the mood for?”
Cindy frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Not McDonald’s. I don’t know how you can stay so thin and eat there as much as you do.”
“I don’t eat there every day.”
Cindy laughed. “I know, but still! If I’m going to eat that many calories, I want it to be worth it!”
They walked to the stairwell together. Molly never took the elevator, so if one of her friends wanted to walk with her, they had to take the stairs. The building was only two stories high, and the elevator was installed in 1967. Molly didn’t trust it to get her where she needed to go reliably.
“Whatever. McDonald’s is delicious,” Molly countered. “So, since you vetoed my suggestion, where do you want to go?”
“I’m thinking pizza. How about the Pizza Garden?”
They stepped outside and Molly assessed the situation. “It’s a nice evening. Pizza Garden sounds great.”
The restaurant was only a few blocks from the campus, so walking was a no-brainer. Although they were likely to see some of their students, The Pizza Garden – with its homemade pizzas and calzones oozing with cheese and garlic – was well worth the risk.
The walk through
historic downtown was beautiful, with small shops and businesses on either side of the street. It was mid-October, and the temperature in northern Florida was ideal for an evening stroll.
Molly pulled her navy blue cardigan a bit tighter and crossed her arms, trying to keep pace with Cindy. Cindy was at least a head taller than Molly – as most people were – so she had to work to keep up with Cindy’s stride.
“Good Lord. Some of my classes this term are so defiant,” Cindy said. “They think everything is a negotiation. If I tell them I want a fifteen hundred-word paper on Twelfth Night they try to haggle me down to seven-fifty. I’m like, really? Fifteen hundred words isn’t that many for a Lit major. So quit your whining and just do it! I can’t believe they pull this crap with some of the other teachers. I know Terry wouldn’t tolerate that. I mean, are they doing that to you?” Her pace quickened with her declining mood, and Molly struggled to keep up.
“Well no, but I don’t think we have that many of the same-” Cindy cut her off.
“So, what is it about me, Molly? Do I look like I don’t know how to teach the material? Do I look like I need a nineteen or twenty-year-old to swoop in and rescue me from the burden of teaching Shakespeare? What is it?”
She turned to Molly with unbridled frustration in her eyes as they walked, and Molly only met her gaze for a moment. Not because she was uncomfortable, but because she knew better than to not watch where she was going.
Molly chuckled a bit, but not at her. It was comical how passionate they were about their craft, and sometimes the students just didn’t get it. Particularly those who took Shakespeare or Modern Poetry for an “easy elective.” It was nearly impossible to get through to them, but it didn’t stop most of the faculty from trying. It sounded to Molly like Cindy had ended up with an entire class of “easy electives”.
“Cindy, you have to try not to take it so personally. Some kids want to get the best grade possible by doing the least amount of work. It’s how they’ll approach their whole lives. I’m sure you’re not the first person they’ve tried that crap on, and you certainly won’t be the last. You just have to stick to your guns and lay down the law. They’ll learn by mid-terms not to try that stuff with you anymore.”
The Dead World (The Dead Room Trilogy Book 2) Page 16