A New World: Untold Stories

by O'Brien, John

  It wasn’t that he didn’t care for humanity. He did. He started his life in epidemiology with the hopes that he could make a difference…save people. In a way, he feels he is doing that very thing. People die during research and in the pursuit of knowledge. This is really not that much different, just on a larger scale. And, he’d become jaded during his many years in the field.

  The spread of humankind unearthed things that would have been better left untouched. The constant push of civilization outward into unexplored territory brought horrors that were better left undiscovered. It was only a matter of time before the ‘big one’ was unearthed, so this was going to happen regardless. This way, it was controlled. At least that’s the way he thought about it. Seeing everything spiral out of control like it has, altered his thinking to a degree. Looking at the reams of paper stacked on his desk, he feels that he should have seen the failure of the plan coming.

  It’s a little too late to be having those thoughts now, he thinks, heading to the door.

  He shuts the door and tells the secretary, still at her desk, that he’s leaving for the day and she can go if she wants. It’s not long before the actual end of the day, but she thanks him and begins loading personal items into her purse. Walking down the pristine corridor to the elevator, he notes the almost empty hallway. Usually, it was full of staff on one errand or another. The sickness took its toll on the CDC. Plus, there are still many teams in the field trying to combat a losing endeavor. Entering the elevator, he punches the down button and waits for the slow ride to end.

  Exiting the building, the hot, humid day pummels his senses. It’s cooled down with the lowering sun, but it still causes beads of sweat to break out on his brow. He feels trickles run down his sides and knows that the sweat is staining the shirt underneath his tailored suit. Reaching the half empty garage, he hustles through to his new Mercedes. He opens the trunk and checks on the gear he always has on hand: Food, water, first aid kit, extra clothing, batteries, and other sundries. He never knew when the call would come so he kept his gear on hand just in case.

  Climbing into his car, the interior is stifling but barely noticed through his anxiety. Laying the briefcase with the hard drive in it on the seat next to him, he starts the car and heads out of the lot. Soon, the blue CDC sign vanishes from his rearview.

  The traffic is light as the world has very few commuters anymore. Those that are still working are having to pull extra shifts to make up for those out ill.

  Even that won’t make it another day…two at the most, Gabe thinks, taking the Interstate north.

  A little over an hour later, he stops on a country road he has been following for the last twenty minutes. To the left, a branching, dirt road heads through a steel-barred gate that has seen better days, leaning at a slant with one end resting on the ground. Hanging on the fence is a sign with letters so faded that they can’t be made out against its weathered surface. Planted in the ground beside it is another worn and barely legible ‘for sale’ sign. The contact information has been purposely removed to look like it was weathered off.

  Pulling onto the road, with the sun descending to the horizon, Gabe exits and, with effort, opens the gate. Driving through, he closes the gate behind. The dirt road is bare and even he can tell that no one’s been on it for a while. The bunker was completed some time ago and only had maintenance crews show up periodically to make sure the equipment still functioned.

  A short drive later, he pulls into a dirt-covered courtyard. Two large aluminum pre-fab buildings edge the courtyard on two sides. The structures look like they’re about to fall into themselves, but Gabe knows better. The framework inside is new and only made to appear rundown. The place used to be an old chicken farm that went under some time ago. The group purchased it, dug the bunker, and reinforced the buildings. The underground entrance is located in the middle of the facility on the right.

  Gabe exits and gets the feeling that he’s alone. An evening breeze kicks up, rattling several of the steel sheets on the side of the buildings. He can almost imagine the sound from the thousands of chickens that once inhabited the place. Grabbing his case, he walks into the entrance building.

  Inside, there’s a large two and a half ton lift next to a thick, steel bunker door that is fitted into equally thick concrete walls. It reminds him of some of the ammunition bunkers he’s seen. There is a digital keypad with a retinal scanner beside the door, neither of which will work for him. Being only one of the ‘specialists’ to be housed in this facility, he wasn’t given the codes to get in. His journey to the bunker was wishful thinking, hoping that his message would be seen and he would be met. The lack of tire tracks leading in gave him the first clue that no one would be here to greet him.

  Walking to the keypad, he pokes a few buttons in the hopes that someone is watching through the camera overhead and he’ll be buzzed in. He waits without a reply. Inspecting the lift, he doesn’t see any way that he can use it to go down.

  It was a longshot anyway, he thinks, returning to his car. I’ll sleep the night here in case anyone shows, and leave in the morning.

  The only place he knows is manned and operational is the command bunker located northeast of Denver. That’s the only place he can think of to go and will leave for there in the morning. The drive will take him a few days but, if he sleeps in remote areas and takes the back roads, he should make it okay.

  Pulling out his smart phone, he connects with his work computer and downloads the coordinates. Gabe also downloads the schematics of the bunker just in case. He knows he shouldn’t have those on his computer, or anywhere else for that matter, but does anyway. It was a risk. If the security surrounding the group ever found out he had those on his work computer, he would have vanished without a trace. Others have. He’s actually surprised they haven’t found out, but he keeps those files under the tightest security protocols.

  Walking back to his car, he leaves the briefcase in front and settles into the back. With night descending, he knows it’s a little early to go to sleep, but he has nothing else to do. He lies in the back and lets his mind wander until sleep finally comes.

  He wakes with early morning light filtering in through the windows. The interior of his car is stifling from his sleeping in it all night. Rolling down the window, a touch of cooler air flows in and clears some of the cobwebs from his mind. Rubbing his eyes of sleep, he glances around the courtyard. There isn’t any sign that anyone showed up during the night. He steps outside and, as he relieves himself, he contemplates his choices.

  Leaning against the car, the smell of his shirt that’s been worn too long wafts to his nose. Paying that only cursory attention, he thinks about the only two real options he has. He can either wait here for someone to show up or he can drive to the command facility. There is enough food and water in the trunk to last him a couple of days; a few if he rations himself. Without the orders to head to the bunker and with the lack of communications lately, Gabe thinks it’s highly improbable that anyone will show. Even though it will take a few days and he’ll have to travel through the unknown, it’s a better solution.

  It’s better to leave and have supplies than have to forage on the road, he thinks, pushing himself off the car.

  The trip to the west is a long one. He found and transferred his gear to a 4wd vehicle late the first day. Sticking to the back roads, he avoided built up areas. At first, he saw a few people meandering, seemingly in shock, on some of the streets of the small towns. Most of the townships looked the same; windows broken out of shops and bodies lying on the sidewalks and in the roads. Each one looked like it had sustained a riot the night before. That was his reasoning for obtaining a 4wd vehicle, he wanted to take to the fields and avoid any population centers, regardless of how small.

  On the second day, he noticed that most of the towns, as seen from afar, seemed completely void of life. Some had a few signs of life, but of those, very little remained. It seemed as if each one had been abandoned.

  Day
s later and miles down the road, with the front floorboard of the vehicle filling with wrappers and empty water bottles, his clothes smelling of long days spent in the 4wd, he nears the outskirts of Pueblo. His plan is to head north along the north-south Interstate that parallels the large mountain ridges to the west. He’ll circumvent Denver and cut to the northeast to the coordinates of the command facility. Surely, with his credentials, he’ll be let in.

  Turning north, he contemplates the changes in his life the past few days. They seem to mimic the changes of the world in general. Just a week ago, he woke, dressed in one of his fine suits, and drove in his expensive car to his plush office. He was an important man, esteemed in many high circles. He was civilized. Now, he’s driving a stolen car across the country, eating his meals out of a wrapper and nursing a few scant bottles of water, wondering what the next mile, the next hour, will hold. He’s no longer a member of the society that fell apart in a matter of days. Everything he ever knew is dead. The world underwent profound changes and foraging became a matter of survival. People died and those left alive scavenged during the day for the remnants. Their nights were spent avoiding those that underwent the mutations.

  With the windows down in an attempt to air the vehicle out, Gabe accelerates down the freeway. He’s only a few hours from the facility and should reach it by mid-afternoon. With the downloaded coordinates, it is just a matter of finding the right roads that lead to the entrance. There was more than a few times during his drive across the country that he thought about obtaining a better atlas. However, each time the thought of driving close to a town, or anywhere someone might be hiding out, worried him to no end.

  Of all the things I forgot to pack, he thinks, feeling the wind blow through the open window. Of course, I didn’t think I’d need one.

  A few miles south of Colorado Springs, lost in his thoughts, thinking about his route to the place and how to approach it without putting himself in danger, Gabe doesn’t see a small line of vehicles approaching in the opposite direction. It isn’t until he catches a bright glare of light that he realizes he isn’t the only one on the road. He turns his head quickly toward the glimmer of sunlight bouncing off a windshield.

  Oh shit, he thinks, slamming on the brakes.

  As he rapidly slows, the vehicle skids slightly on the very fine grit spread across the asphalt. His body strains against the shoulder harness as he gazes ahead. In the bright light of the sunshine, he makes out a line of pickup trucks streaming his way down the opposite lanes. Gabe has been able to avoid most everyone to this point and isn’t particularly interested in meeting the ones closing in.

  With his heart beating rapidly and fear settling into his gut, he puts the vehicle in 4wd and turns off the road. He knows his actions may generate an interest in those ahead, but probably not much more than him just driving along the otherwise empty highway. There is no way for him to ascertain their intentions in advance and doesn’t plan on asking them. He just wants to get to the command bunker. Knowing human nature, having seen the gamut of it in his lifelong travels around the world, anything outside of the bunkers represents a danger.

  Holding tightly onto the steering wheel, Gabe directs the vehicle off the road toward the fields lining the Interstate. The 4wd angles down the steep embankment. Reaching level ground, he steps on the accelerator and powers through a barb-wire fence. The fencing gets caught in the bumper and he drags a long length of it for a little ways before managing to leave it lying in the brown grass. Looking to the side out of his window, he sees several of the cars drop off the road in the same manner he did, enter the field, and angle toward him.

  Gabe has a head start on them and plenty of experience navigating four-wheel drives on rough surfaces. It’s been a while since he’s had to do it, but his reflexes take over. The other vehicles are cutting across the field in an attempt to intercept him. He’s had to deal with various armed gangs chasing him from time to time and had the privilege of being with several good people acquainted with dealing with such contingencies.

  “Stay ahead of them long enough and they’ll grow tired of chasing you,” one of his mentors had said. “It doesn’t matter how you do it. The key is to not get trapped or allow them to get close. After a bit, they’ll tire and give up…every single time.”

  Bouncing across the field, with the grass whipping along the sides, Gabe turns the wheel slightly. Lifting over a small rise in the land, the front wheels settle and the vehicle lurches to the side, settling onto its new path. He turned to negate the other vehicle’s angles of intercept. His lead isn’t that great, but it’s one he intends to keep. The sheer fact that they’re chasing after him says that their intentions aren’t such that they’ll be sharing stories together over drinks.

  With the other vehicles in pursuit, rolling through the grassy field behind, Gabe glances down at the fuel gauge. Having siphoned fuel he found near an abandoned farm, he has a little less than three-quarters of tank, which will enable him to continue for some time and hopefully elude those on his tail. It’s not the full tank he would have liked, but it’s enough to carry him some distance.

  Looking past the stalks vanishing under the hood as he races through the field, he isn’t sure where he is going or what lies ahead. There is only the swish of the grass sweeping underneath and alongside the vehicle, the bouncing of the tires as they roll over the uneven surface, jostling the interior, his hands gripping the steering wheel as it threatens to spin clear, and the pursuit. His only thought is to steer away from the trucks pounding across the field toward him.

  Just give up already, he thinks, wresting control of the vehicle as it bounces through a small gully.

  He thinks about driving back toward the road, but that will give an angle for the ones behind to cut him off. Glancing toward the highway, he notes a couple of pickups tracking him along the pavement.

  Well, it wasn’t a very good idea anyway.

  Ahead, he sees a thin line of trees rising from the starkness of the field. Knowing that trees like that usually accompany a stream or river, he is hesitant about continuing in his current direction. He doesn’t know what lies on the other side but, looking once again to the highway and the vehicles rolling along there, Gabe sees that he really doesn’t have much of a choice. Turning the steering wheel slightly, he makes for a break in the screen of trees.

  Through the windscreen, the tree trunks, with their leafy branches, quickly grow in size. He hits a larger undulation which causes a crack that spreads across the entire windshield. The gap between the trees is wide enough to allow several vehicles to pass through. The 4wd crashes through bushes growing in the gap, snapping thin branches which scrape along the underside. Gabe suddenly feels weightless as the vehicle becomes airborne.

  The term ‘airborne’ implies some graceful maneuver through the air. What happens is anything but. Coming off a steep five-foot embankment, the vehicle sails for a very short distance before the front end noses over. Gabe is thrown forward into a deploying airbag as the front end hits a sand bar next to a wide, but shallow river.

  The front wheels hit along with the bumper, digging deep into the sand. The forward momentum is instantly brought to halt and the rear end continues upward. The windshield breaks along the crack with shards of glass thrown forward. Almost tipping all the way over, the rear of the vehicle pauses in the air momentarily. The momentum spent, it crashes back to the sand, slamming down to the sand bar with a jarring crunch.

  Gabe is thrown back in his seat as the truck thuds down with the spent airbag hanging in his lap. Momentarily confused, he sees the river just past a thin strip of sand. He wonders why the motion of the truck has stopped. Stepping on the accelerator doesn’t bring the anticipated reaction which confuses him even more. A thin wisp of steam escapes from under a warped hood. Suddenly aware of his situation, clarity returning in a heartbeat, he reaches for the door handle. Throwing it open to the sound of screeching metal, he scrambles outside, almost losing his balance as he hops to
the sand. Stumbling, he starts toward the river.

  “That’ll be far enough, my friend,” a voice calls from behind.

  Turning, Gabe sees several armed men standing along the embankment above with their trucks parked behind.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice. You can walk to us or we can come get you. I don’t think you’ll like it much if we have to chase your ass down,” one of the men continues.

  Gabe admits defeat. His shoulders slump as he turns and walks through the sand to the embankment. He has no idea why the men want him and would go through the trouble of chasing him down. The reason can’t be a good one though as it certainly isn’t a rescue mission. His mind races with possibilities as he trudges through the alternating hard and soft surface.

  Perhaps if I told them who I am a part of and lure them north?

  Maybe his credentials will be enough for them to let him go. He can tell them he’s heading to a sanctuary and they will be welcomed if they delivered him. So many thoughts and ideas crowd into his mind. He could threaten, cajole, plead, offer. He decides to watch their body language and see which option might have the best effect.

  If none of them work, he’ll have to figure out an escape plan; make like he’s going along with everything and bide his time. When the timing is right, he’ll make a break for it. Gabe momentarily ponders making a run for it anyway, but realizes that he would be dead before his feet even got wet. He clambers up the steep slope, coming to stand before the men. Surrounded, he begins to tell them who he is.

  “Sorry, bud,” is all he hears before feeling a tremendous hit to the back of his head.

  Gabe is barely able to grasp that he’s falling forward before the world goes dark.

  * * * * * *

  He isn’t sure if the pounding in his head or his coming semi-conscious is the first thing he notices. Regardless, he is aware of both. The inside of his head feels like an ice pick stabbing him with each heartbeat. As awareness grows, Gabe feels a hard, bumpy surface under him. Some of the ridges are sharper than the others and press into his side. Shifting slightly to get more comfortable, he opens his eyes to semi-darkness.