The Dead Room

by Stephanie Erickson

  “It’s hard to say. Where did you find it?”

  “Ashley was actually the one who found it. She tripped over it when we were walking on the mainland.”

  Mattli nodded, sparing Mason the horror of retelling Ashley’s death. “A relic,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “And how perfect for the descendent to find it. Almost like he left it for her.”

  Mason hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Honestly, that’s why I came back.” Mason spoke the words quietly, as if confessing a sin… or maybe a lie. “I wanted to try to use my tools to get into the box.”

  Mattli laughed as he set the box on the coffee table and sat back, staring at it in wonder. “I don’t think you would’ve found your tools terribly effective.” He was silent for a moment. “It could be anything really,” he finally said. “It could be everything. The answers we’ve waited centuries for could be locked inside that box.” He reached for the box, but Mason’s voice, sharp in the late hour, stopped him.

  “It could also be more nanobots.”

  Mattli pulled his hand back reluctantly, not sure what he’d hoped to accomplish anyway. The complicated locking mechanism ensured the only place the box could be opened was inside the dead room.

  “There’s only one way to find out. We must go back to the dead room.”

  They walked through the darkness in silence, both wondering if Mason held the key to their world in his hands.

  When they pulled the shrubs away from the door, Mason said, “You don’t normally spend this much time in the dead room, right? Because I’m starting to feel like this is all I’ll be doing as an elder—traipsing in and out of this God-forsaken room.”

  Mattli let out a bitter laugh. “No, we don’t normally spend this much time in the dead room.”

  Once inside, they didn’t really know how to proceed.

  Mason sighed. “I’ll go in with the box. If everything is all right, I’ll knock on the door. Hopefully, you’ll be able to hear it through that thick metal.” He knew the offer might lead to his demise, but what choice did he have?

  “What about the box of nanobots? We can’t leave it inside with you. And what if the signal to open the box harms you? No one alive has ever been inside the dead room when it’s operational.”

  “Hence, its name.” He paused, thinking the process through. “If you keep the original box in the outer chamber, will the machine still open it? Is the signal that opens the box that strong?”

  Mattli shook his head. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

  “Oh, Ashby. So what do we do?”

  “Honestly, it would be safer to stow the original box at Elder Alkoff’s home. He has a good safe there.” Mason frowned at the idea of walking all the way back. The events of the day weighed heavily on him.

  “How do you feel about stashing the nanobots in the bushes outside the room?” Mason asked. “Think it’s far enough from the signal?”

  “If it’s not, we risk killing everyone and everything on this island.”

  “We’re risking that already, if there are a million more nanobots inside this box.”

  Mattli was tired too, so he gave in. “It will probably be fine. Frankly, it would probably be fine in the outer chamber here. The inner one is lined with that metal.”

  “What are you saying? Do you want to keep the box out here with you while you press the open sesame button?” Mason asked, one eyebrow raised in Mattli’s direction.

  “No. You’re right. Go ahead and stash it outside. Just make sure to hide it well. We can’t afford to have the box fall into the wrong hands. In fact, it’s never been outside of this room unattended before.”

  Mattli felt a twinge of guilt. He’d been on the job for less than twelve hours, and he was already being careless with their most precious possession.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll just be up there unattended for a few minutes.” Mason tried to reassure Mattli, but his words offered little in the way of reassurance. He watched Mason absently as he deposited his mystery box on the floor of the inner chamber and retrieved the box of nanobots.

  “I’ll just be a second,” Mason said. He must have detected Mattli’s uncertainty, because he followed up with, “It’ll be fine, Mattli. Trust me.”

  “Oh, sure, trust a convicted killer and see what happens,” Mattli said, not sure what had gotten into him. He never spoke so crassly. “Elder Hawkins, I apologize. I’m not sure what got into me. Of course I trust you.”

  Mason laughed. “You should loosen up more often, Elder Mattli,” he said, placing emphasis on the word Elder. “You might come to enjoy it.”

  Mason disappeared aboveground for only a few moments. He returned a bit breathless, wiping the dirt from his hands on the front of his pants. “Are you ready?”

  “I suppose so, yes.” Mattli responded, somewhat less than confident in their choices of late. He wondered how Alkoff would’ve handled this situation. Honestly, he probably would’ve kept the nanobots in the inner chamber with him and damned the consequences. At least there was a failsafe button. He was about to speak up when he saw that Mason was already in the dead room, sitting Indian style in front of his box.

  “You know, if something happens to me, you can have Lehman for your second. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be anyway.” Mason winked at him, but a heavy lump of dread formed in the pit of Mattli’s stomach as he watched Mason sitting in the middle of the dead room.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  Mattli shrugged and walked over to the big, metal door, closing it and locking Mason inside.

  Mason didn’t know what to do. He braced himself, not knowing when Mattli would push the button. Like he’d said to Ashley, he didn’t really believe in God, let alone that Ashby would be waiting for him with open arms to welcome him into the afterlife. It seemed like such an archaic idea. Their ancestors had believed in their deity staunchly, and look where it had gotten them. If there was a God, or Ashby, or whatever, Mason didn’t want to be a part of Him, since He seemed to have abandoned his creation.

  Left without God or Ashby, he wasn’t sure how to make peace with his potential death. He’d been running from it for days. Sitting cross-legged in front of the box, he wasn’t sure why he’d put in so much effort. He’d run and run and run, only to face his own mortality inside of a small, black box.

  Mason heard a click and jumped as the lid to the box sprang open.

  25.

  When he heard the click, Mason braced himself. The scream was ready at the back of his throat; it only waited for some small trigger to be released. Horrible pain, a loud noise, the end of his life as he knew it—anything. But it never came.

  Slowly, he opened one eye, and then the other. When he peered down at the box, he found a small, leather-bound book. He tilted his head and reached down tentatively to retrieve it, forgetting for the moment his obligation to let Mattli know he was still alive.

  He reached in and pulled the book out.

  The volume was small and heavy in his hands. He flipped haphazardly through the pages, fanning his face as he went. He found nothing remarkable in the least.

  Mason laid the book in his lap, letting it fall open to the very first page. It was handwritten, almost like some of the journals kept in Alkoff’s library. Dated January 2024. Before the apocalypse.

  Since he’d found it on the mainland, the date wasn’t so outlandish.

  Then his eyes traveled to the opposite page. Something was scrawled in a hurried hand. The ink was uneven and thickly laid in some places, and the angles were sharp. Just the sight of it made Mason feel a little panicky. His heartbeat quickened and his breath came in short bursts as he read the words.

  I am Bennett Ashby. And I am not the savior.

  The Dead World: Part 2 in The Dead Room Trilogy

  is coming September, 2015

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  The following is an
excerpt from Stephanie Erickson’s first book, The Blackout, available now on Amazon.com.

  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.”

  Cindy sighed as they approached the hostess at The Pizza Garden. She was – of course – a student they both had. “Hey Dr. Nicholas. Dr. Bonham. Table for two?”

  “Please, Shelly,” Molly said, thankful to have remembered her name. There were only a few thousand students at the college, but Molly often had a hundred of them per semester, and this was her third year on the faculty.

  Cindy smiled half-heartedly at the girl as she scooted into the cement bench across the table. “Your waiter will be right with y’all,” Shelly said and walked away.

  Cindy jumped right back into their conversation, despite the brief interruption. “It’s hard not to take it personally, ya know? I mean, why take the class if you don’t care at least a little bit about Shakespeare?”

  Molly cleared her throat as a young man approached the table. He didn’t seem familiar to her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in Cindy’s Shakespeare class. He had dark, curly hair bordering on messy and wore a white apron over his t-shirt and jeans. He set a basket of garlic bread on the table and asked what they would like to drink. Both ordered Sprite, which he took down and hurried away.

  Cindy smiled devilishly. “Do you know that kid?”

  “No, do you? I thought he might be in your Shakespeare class.”

  “No, he’s not. Probably some other lazy kid.”

 
“Well, now, that’s not quite fair. He’s working, isn’t he?”

  They bantered back and forth about the waiter’s work ethic until he came back to take their order. They asked for a pepperoni pizza to share, and munched on the garlic bread while they waited.

  “How are the kids? And Tom?” Molly asked between bites, debating about whether her breath would reach toxic levels before this meal was over.

  “Good. Busy-busy, you know. Grace started soccer last weekend, so of course Melody wants to do it too-just because she has to do everything her big sister does, not because she has any genuine interest in soccer. Poor Malcolm is caught in the middle. He wants to do karate, so Tom and I are looking into it. I actually think Melody would be a pretty good dancer if she’d give it a chance, but Grace isn’t into it, so she doesn’t want to do it.”

  “Well, that’s a phase. I mean really, Melody is only five, and Grace is what, eight or nine now?”

  “Nine.”

  “Yeah, so of course Melody thinks she’s super-cool and wants to do everything Grace does. It’s only natural. And Malcolm is the only boy sandwiched between two sisters, so he has to be independent.”

  “I know you’re right, it’s just annoying. It’s not like Melody can play on the same team as Grace or anything. I’m not sure she understands that.”

  Molly nodded. “Well, anything is possible to a five-year-old. Why not let her try it, and see how she likes it? She might hate it, and then you’ll be back to ballet.” She paused to take a drink of Sprite. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. How do you find time for three very different sets of activities with three very different kids, plus have a social life with Tom? I mean really, by the time I get home, walk the dog and read through the backlog of essays I’ve got, plus skim through reading for the next day’s classes, it’s ten o’clock and time for bed!”

  “Well,” she smiled, “I’m amazing and that’s all there is to it.” She paused and raised her eyebrow. “Plus, I haven’t crawled into bed at ten o’clock…ever! What are you, like eighty-five?”