80

by Aaron Denius

  Behind me, I spot some rubble from a chunk of the ceiling that has collapsed. This corridor has some damage, but it's more intact than not. I think of Pocket and hope that she is safe. It won't matter if I can't block the door. In that rubble is a large slab about my size. Much denser material, so I know it will be impossible to move, but it's the only option I have.

  I run behind it and push. For each inch it budges, my feet seem to slide back two feet. At this rate, I won't get it there in time, and the throbbing pain from the wound in my side drains me of energy with each attempt. I force my weight against the slab again, but it won't move this time, and my body falls to the ground. I can't do it.

  “Give me room!” a familiar voice yells, and a hand pushes me down the slab. I look, and towering over me is Paz. She leans her shoulder into the slab and pushes.

  Her strength is contagious, and another rush of adrenaline courses through my body. I dig into the slab next to her and push. The concrete scrapes on the ground, leaving scratches on the floor. It's moving! A couple of the faster outsiders get to the door and push, but the slab stops their momentum. An outsider reaches through the small gap between the doors with a gun and shoots, but she can’t aim. There’s no risk to us.

  Paz smacks the gun out of the hand, and the slab forces the doors to shut on the arm. Blood flows down from the arm as the owner screeches in pain. More outsiders have reached the doors, and they push hard against them. Their force separates the doors enough to let the outsider retrieve her now-broken arm.

  “Give it everything you've got on three,” Paz orders. “One. Two. Three!”

  We push. I put everything I can into this last push. My side burns with pain, and the blood I am forcing out of my body soaks the ground beneath me. My feet slip as my eyes get blurry. I slide back and down the slab. When my body hits the ground, everything goes black.

  CHAPTER XX

  The blaring sound of an alarm startles me awake. It's deafening and causes me to curl up against the nearest wall, covering my ears. My eyes blur when I open them, and my head throbs, trying to make sense of this unknown room. Two figures stand above me, also covering their ears. One of the bodies is at least five times larger than the other.

  “80!” A faint voice penetrates through the alarm. It's a young voice, and the owner runs toward me. My eyes adjust, and I see Pocket wrap her arms around me.

  I pick her up as I stand and squeeze her tight. I wince because her weight puts pressure on my wound, so I place her back on the ground. When I lift my shirt, I notice that my injury is dressed with a bandage.

  “I did the best I could,” Paz speaks over the alarm, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  “Thank you.” I smile at her. “Is that—”

  “The Ragnarok. Yes.” She pulls Pocket into her protective arms. “We need to find somewhere to try to ride this out.

  “I know where. Follow me.” I grab one of the boxes that hold the pouches of food, and head out the door. Paz grabs another and follows, with Pocket trailing close behind.

  When I step out of the room, I see down the left end of the hallway the outsiders still trying to break through the doors, though the concrete slab is blocking them. Our destination is in the other direction, so I turn and head that way. Unable to hear their footsteps because of the alarm, I look back every few seconds to make sure they are close.

  “We're fine. Keep going,” Paz reassures me.

  After a couple of turns, we reach an intersection. There is a corridor to our right and double doors leading outside to our left. The hall is the safest bet, but it could take twice as long to get to our destination. If we go through the doors to the outside, we could cut across the yard to our goal. The blaring alarm makes the decision easier. We might expose ourselves a little too much going outside, but most of the fighting is happening at the other end of the compound. Plus, we could hear each other if we weren't competing with the siren.

  I open the door with care and look for any unwelcome signs. The yard is quiet, and if it weren't for the audible reminders of what is going on, I could be convinced it was nothing more than a regular day.

  “Where are we going?” Pocket asks as the door shuts behind her.

  I turn to face her. “To the—”

  Pocket's scream stops me short. An outsider has grabbed her and has a gun pointed at her head. His other hand covers Pocket's mouth. How did I miss this? They must have hidden right at the door.

  “It's okay, Pocket. It's going to be okay,” I reassure her.

  The outsider pulls Pocket closer. “Give me those boxes.”

  “Stay calm.” I look directly at the outsider as I hand my box to Paz. I walk toward the outsider with my hands up.

  “Get back!” the outsider screams. His hand is shaking, and sweat is rolling down his brow.

  I set out into a full sprint at him. I know he doesn't have any bullets in that gun, or else he would have already shot us.

  “What are you doing?” He trembles. The fear causes his arms to get weak, and Pocket pulls herself away before I charge my momentum. I throw my body weight into him and against the door.

  An elbow or knee of his must have caught me right on my new wound, because a fire of pain swells through my body. The damage I have caused to him is much worse. His body is limp as he falls out of the dent in the door and onto the ground.

  I don't waste any more time on him. The alarms have been blasting for a while. I'm not sure how much longer we have before all of this is in ruins. I grab Pocket by her hand, and we hustle to the other side of the yard. I want to make sure that I have her right next to me, and it doesn't seem like Paz needs much help with the boxes. She's handling them better than I was.

  We arrive at a second set of double doors on the far end of the yard and push through. Our urgency supersedes any danger that might be on the other side.

  “All clear,” Paz yells back as the siren's sound echoes through the hallway.

  I step through and lead them to a metal door with a panel. I put my hand on it and say my name, but nothing happens.

  “Is this the dungeon?” Paz asks.

  “Yes. It's the only place I can think of that might be able to protect us.” At least, I hope so. “Can you use the panel?”

  Paz places her hand on it, but nothing happens for her either. A commotion at the other end of the hall distracts us. Outsiders have spotted us and are sprinting our way. A few errant shots hit the walls between us.

  “Hurry!” Pocket screams.

  “Try again.” I share the sentiment.

  Paz places her hand on the panel and gets the same result. She tries over and over, switching hands, but nothing happens. The mob coming toward us is only a few dozen yards away. If they reach us, it's over.

  “Why isn't it working?” My fear is rising. The outsiders are closing in, and the nuclear missiles are seconds away. I don't want to die.

  “I think I know.” Paz moves her hand in an abstract pattern over the panel and steps away. “There's a pattern for this one.”

  All three of us stare at the panel. A shot hits the floor in front of us, and we turn to see that the fastest of the outsiders are about fifteen feet away. Pocket screams, but it's cut off as Paz pushes her and me into the elevator. The doors had opened.

  We huddle against the back wall as the doors close and catch a final glimpse of the world outside and the outsiders that inhabit it. The elevator makes its descent into what will either be our chance at a new life or our grave.

  Pocket has cozied herself under my arm, and I look over at Paz and smile. She smiles back, understanding the journey we still have before us. We might be down here for a long time.

  The doors open, and we step through to an unexpected scene. Dozens of scientists have sought refuge down here. Lights running down the middle of the ceiling illuminate the long dungeon.

  Every person down here is hard at work performing a specific task. They must have planned this. It's a thriving community, with everyone organi
zing the provisions. The two boxes of pouches we brought down pale in comparison to the full prison cells of food.

  Before any of us can process what's happening, a lanky scientist with more hair on his face than on his head grabs the boxes and adds them to the stockpile of food. To our left are a few cells with blankets, clothes, machines, and other survival necessities. When I focus down the long, narrow room, I get the accurate scale of this massive underground dungeon. There must be between twenty and thirty cells on each side. It is not at all like I remember it, but I was much different then too. More confined and in the dark, like the dungeon was.

  “Who is this beautiful young lady?” A woman's voice startles us. Standing next to Pocket is a woman closer in height to her than to either Paz or me. Her skin matches her light brown eyes, the kind that calm anyone who looks into them. She smiles at us.

  “I'm Pocket.” Pocket grabs my hand as she says it.

  “That's a beautiful name. My name is Shrutika.” She looks at all three of us to make sure we caught it.

  “I like that,” Pocket responds. Shrutika's demeanor has put her at ease, which is more than I can say for myself.

  “This is 80,” Pocket adds.

  “I figured as much.” She looks me over. “Your story precedes you. The drone who lived.”

  No one has referred to me as a drone in a long time. It may have been who I was when I was first down here, but it feels so far removed from who I am now. No matter how much I try to run away from who I was, I can't. Maybe it's because my past is the pedestal on which my current self stands. If I take it away, everything I have worked so hard to become collapses.

  “Your growth has been a pleasant surprise, 80. We are glad to have you down here,” Shrutika adds, as if to quell any tension.

  “Paz,” Paz responds. “Chief psychologist in Nairobi.”

  “Happy to have you back in Egypt.” Shrutika leads us away from the elevator. “We don't have any psychologists down here. I suspect you'll be quite busy. I'm a pulmonary scientist.”

  I tune out their conversation as we pass my old cell. A breath of anger rises through my body, but it passes. This place was a part of my growth. I look at the cell across from mine, and for a brief moment, I catch a shadow of Anna. She wasn’t much older than Pocket, and wanted to go back home to her family. I broke my promise to her. I couldn't protect her. It makes my resolve to protect Pocket even stronger. I look at her, and I know that I can't break my promise to KJ, Pocket, or myself.

  “What happened to your arm?” Pocket's voice pulls me out of my trance.

  Paz and I look at Shrutika; we didn’t notice before that her right arm ends inches below the shoulder. Our eyes apologize to her for Pocket, but Shrutika laughs.

  “I like that curious mind. Never stop asking questions.” She waves the arm at Pocket. “I was born without it.”

  “Okay.” Pocket smiles.

  “Take cover!” a voice screams behind us. Scientists all around us scramble into cells.

  Shrutika pushes us into the cell to our left. “Quick. Get against the wall and cover your heads.”

  “What's going on?” Paz shouts over the commotion.

  “The nuclear missile. The Ragnarok. It's here.” Shrutika heads further down the dungeon, and screams for everyone to take cover. Everyone listens and finds spots against the walls. As gentle as this woman comes off, she is unquestionably the one in charge down here.

  “I'm scared.” Pocket shivers as she sits against the wall.

  Paz takes a seat next to her and grabs Pocket's hand. “I'm scared too.”

  Before I take a seat, I grab a blanket from the corner of the cell. I drape it over both of them and then take a seat on the other side of Pocket.

  “Are you scared, 80?” Pocket looks at me. The fear she feels reflects as pure innocence and vulnerability in her eyes. Her youth makes her oblivious to the world around her and what is happening. This is why humans needed a second chance, for her and others like her. They could have been taught to do better. The generations before them destroyed the Earth and humanity. Her generation could have saved it, if given an opportunity.

  “Yes, Pocket, I'm scared.” I put my arm around her. She and I never got a chance to live. I don't want her to die. I don't want to die.

  The deep rumbling sound comes first. Some scientists scream, but the long, low thunder dominates my ears. Next, the ground starts to shake, followed by the walls, ceiling, and everything else in this dungeon. The shaking is so hard that my head smacks against the wall behind me a few times. Parts of the ceiling and walls form cracks, and some small pieces fall to the ground. I look up to the area of the ceiling between our side and the one across from us. A large crack races back toward the elevator. It reminds me of the crack I saw on the ceiling of the building that fell on KJ and her sisters. My heart bleeds with pain as the image of KJ's lifeless body flashes in my head.

  I try hard to replace that image with a better one. We are standing a few hundred feet from her house. I just handed KJ a sleeping Pocket. I love you, she says. This time I say it back. I love you, KJ.

  Back in this musty dungeon, I hold the only thing left of KJ's life in my arms. A few small pieces of the wall fall on us. I cover Pocket's head, but I keep a lookout in the event that I need to move us fast. The shaking does not want to stop. I look back toward the center to see a crack splinter off the larger one and into our cell. This causes a chunk of the ceiling to peel off and fall. Then everything goes black.