Today We Die (The Killing Sands Book 1)

by Daniel Wilde

  Deep, undisturbed snow covered nearly everything, but little sparkles reflecting off the smooth surface of the snow told me that there was a moon out somewhere. I saw very little animal life, but one young deer looked at us from under the trees just off the side of the road. The dark green pine trees still had their needles, with a scattering around the base of each tree; but other trees, the names of which I’m uncertain, were mostly bare, their fallen leaves hidden under the beautiful twinkling snow.

  I understand that autumn here is spectacular, but that season has long since passed. I wish it’d been lighter outside as we drove through the forest. I’d love to see this place in the daylight, especially the snow, which I’ve only experienced a handful of times during my travels. Even though the sights were beautiful, albeit dark and mostly in shades of gray at this time of night, I had a strange feeling of helplessness as we traveled through the forest—a feeling as though I could get lost and never get out. I think getting lost here wouldn’t be so bad but for the cold and the possible starvation. Okay, those two things are pretty bad.

  After a while, with our speed slowed due to the twisting and turning of the roads on which we were then traveling, we continued northwest for another few minutes to the southern shore of a large lake. Even with the moon out and few clouds in the sky, because of the dense forest between us and the water, I could just barely make out the silver ripples of the water made by the breeze as it swept across the lake from the North.

  I couldn’t see the edges of the lake, but I imagined it was frozen and I daydreamed of skating on the lake, in the moon-lit night, holding Shift’s hand. Thankfully, my limited view of the lake disappeared for a moment as we rounded a corner and I was able to stop that train of thought. Despite the limited view, which came and went for the next several minutes, the lake was beautiful, like everything else I’d seen in Massachusetts so far.

  Soon, we were off the “beaten path” on what appeared to be a seldom-used, but paved, back-country road. This narrow road had been cleared of snow. The snow banks on either side of the road were nearly five feet high and would have completely blocked our view of the lake had we not been hovering close to a foot off the surface of the road. Many years ago, I’d read an article about some young children in Bosnia who had dug a massive snow cave in a snow bank like these and had died when it collapsed on them. That memory still didn’t detract from the beauty of it all. Perhaps it should have. Maybe I’m sick in the head.

  About 15 minutes later, we stopped in a small clearing near the side of the road and exited the Fluxor. The air smelled wonderful and clean. But the cold and humidity, to which I’m wholly unaccustomed, pressed in on me and drove into my skin like thousands of needles, causing me to begin shivering within minutes despite the winter clothing that John had given me.

  John told us that we’d need to carry our belongings, but that the trail was short and the snow wasn’t deep. Still, the trek was difficult, even with John and Shift carrying some of my gear.

  Not long after leaving the Fluxor, walking on a narrow trail with deep snow banks piled high on both sides, which gave the sensation of being in a cave—a cold cave— we approached a small, two-story cabin that appeared to be well-maintained—at least on the outside. Suddenly, I heard more than felt a thump on my lower back and turned around to see Shift and John, each with arms raised in a defensive position. I reached around to my back and felt the wet, cold remains of a snowball. Rushing at Shift, I tackled him to the ground and rubbed snow in his face while he laughed and tried—pretty lamely—to push me off of him.

  After a few seconds, I realized, and I think Shift did too, the awkwardness of the situation. We work together; thousands of lives have just been lost that we couldn’t prevent despite our efforts; and we were rolling around in the snow like children. The freedom and joy of the moment, so different from the last two and a half weeks of our lives, was over as quickly as it had begun.

  Our new silence allowed the soft sounds of John’s laughter to carry across the snow drifts to where we lay. Looking at John, I could see the mistake I had made. Shift didn’t throw that snowball.

  Keeping his back toward John, Shift motioned for me to stay quiet, surreptitiously packed his own snowball, and with a quick turn heaved the snowball at John catching him on his left cheek. In his surprise, John fell back into a snow bank and lay there, stunned. We both laughed at his shocked silence as Shift walked over to help John to his feet. Shift turned toward me, with a look that said he was a hero and I was the rescued princess. As I gazed at these two good friends I felt a warmth deep inside that took away the night chill.

  Quickly putting ourselves back together and picking up our gear, we continued toward the cabin. It had a massive wrap-around porch devoid of any patio furniture—obviously—its winter after all. The windows were all shuttered and no outside lights broke the night’s darkness. John remotely unlocked the front door—I heard the quiet click of at least three locks—and we entered a faintly-lit room modestly furnished as if it were just a hunting cabin.

  I knew, of course, that this was no ordinary cabin since John had explained to us that we would be going to a “top-secret underground military installation”. After the front door was closed and locked behind us, John—again remotely—caused the nearby staircase to rise from its bottom on hinges that couldn’t be seen from our position, but which likely connected the various pieces of this hidden passageway on the underside of the staircase. Underneath the stairs, which ordinarily gave access to the second floor, was a second staircase, metal, which descended into the ground beneath the cabin.

  John led us down four flights of stairs to an isolation or decontamination chamber of some kind. We stepped into the chamber and the doors closed behind us with a hiss. The air inside was sucked away and was replaced by fresher air, tainted with a light lemon scent.

  Within moments, the door to the interior of the hidden basement opened. We stepped into an open, bright foyer furnished with soft, padded chairs and lamps, like a cozy living room. Almost immediately, two men rounded the corner and we were heartily welcomed by Dr. Shevchuk and another doctor. Even though we’d never met, I instantly felt a connection with Dr. Shevchuk. He was a grandfatherly figure, perhaps 70 or 75 years old, with short, dark, but graying hair and a prominent bald spot in the middle on top. His voice was soft and kind, and he hugged me as if we’d known each other all of our lives.

  Even though I thought his first concern would be to get a hold of Shift’s samples, he seemed genuinely concerned that we were fed and rested. He reached out and gently grasped my elbow and led us out of the foyer and into an adjoining mess hall where steaming spaghetti, crispy garlic bread, cooked vegetables and some kind of juice were waiting for us. I loved him instantly!

  After proper introductions to some of the others here in the bunker, we ate a hearty home-cooked meal for the first time in weeks. And we told our story of escape. While everyone seemed genuinely interested, Dr. Shevchuk was enthralled with the story, asking dozens of questions along the way.

  After our meal, we moved to a recreation room to discuss the doctors’ progress so far. This large room had a card table and a small movie screen against one wall. Although obviously not from our generation, it could surely provide adequate viewing of 2D films, if there are any around. There were couches and tables, magazines from decades ago, and even a record player with a stack of old 45 vinyl records standing on a shelf nearby. We sat, happily, in this bunker among the relics of generations past. I secretly hoped the research equipment these guys were using was a little more modern.

  Shift and I were told a little about our location, but there’s a lot of secrecy surrounding this area and we’ll probably never know the whole truth. That’s okay. We were told that this particular facility was built during the “Cold War” of the late 20th century when there was a “substantial threat of nuclear war with the former Soviet Union”. The lab was built as both a safety bunker and an underground laboratory.
>
  After some time, I was stifling a yawn, not too successfully it seems, when Dr. Shevchuk apologized and promised a full tour of the facility in the morning after we’d had some rest. We retired to two adjoining rooms at the end of a long, well-lit hallway. Our luggage had already been placed for us.

  My room looked identical to Shift’s, complete with white walls, short, dark brown carpet, a low ceiling with a ceiling fan, a chair and small wooden desk, a single bed with crisp sheets pulled tight, military style, a simple lamp on a small table next to the bed, and a chest of drawers with a mirror on top. Clearly, nobody was looking to impress when they furnished these rooms. And probably no female had a hand in it either. I’ll live. Thankfully, there are separate male and female bathrooms and shower facilities just down the hall.

  As I closed the door behind me, ready to sleep off the weariness of our travels, I began to get a now-familiar feeling of discomfort. Was I really safe now? Was this bunker going to protect me in the way the chem suit had? I was truly alone for the first time in many days. After a few agonizing minutes alone in my room, I walked over to Shift’s room and quietly knocked on his door. Even though I was painfully tired, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  “Come in,” Shift called.

  “Hey,” I said as I walked in. “I can’t sleep; can we talk?”

  “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

  “The Cold War,” I replied.

  “Really?” Shift asked, surprise obvious in his voice. “Why?”

  “Actually, what I really want to know is why this bunker exists and whether we’re actually safe here. From what I’ve seen, and the life I’ve lived to this point, it seems secure, and so unnecessary.” I thought this line of questioning might lead to some comfort. Or, it might be so boring that it put me to sleep. Either way, I figured I’d get the rest my body sorely needed.

  “Well, then you haven’t lived long enough,” Shift said, smiling. “There was a period of time in our world—during the Cold War—when bunkers like this were thought to be the most promising method for ensuring the survival of the human race.”

  “In what way?”

  “Sit down, this could take a while.”

  I did, then said, “I’m ready.”

  “Alright, here we go,” Shift began. “The Cold War was a very long, drawn-out period of political and military tension between the United States and NATO on one side and the Soviet Union, now ‘Russia’ and some adjoining countries, and its allies in the Warsaw Pact on the other side. The Cold War . . .”

  Shift’s explanation, occasionally interrupted by my questions, went on and on. It was actually fascinating. But ultimately, not much of it was relevant to our situation. I was primarily concerned with our safety here. Finally, we got to something that related to our current situation.

  “. . . so, the Cold War eventually expanded throughout the world as the superpowers provided financial and military help to poorer countries, particularly countries in South and Central AM. The expansion of the conflict into Central and South AM sparked a few small crises there as well, like the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 when the U.S.S.R. supplied Cuba with a huge nuclear arsenal pointed directly at the U.S.”

  “So that’s why bunkers like this were built then—to provide some protection against missiles coming from Cuba?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Shift replied. “Nuclear missiles, and the subsequent fallout from the explosions.”

  “So, what’s up with Cuba?” I asked. “They’re still communist. Why is that?”

  “Well, first of all, until a few decades ago, communism wasn’t unusual. Many countries of the world once practiced communism. But Cuba, specifically, has been governed by one form of communism or another since the early 1900s, long before the Cuban Missile Crisis. Although Cuba opened its borders to tourism in the early years of this century to see if it could benefit from an influx of capital, that was a short-lived experiment because they nationalized all of the foreign investment and went back to their old ways.

  “Because Cuba alone continues to practice communism, it is the only country still suffering from widespread poverty and a myriad of other problems despite significant modernization funded by foreign capital. Cuba continues to decline invitations to democratize and unite with the IWO, for reasons that are beyond my knowledge.”

  “It’s because they’re crazy,” John said from the doorway.

  I hadn’t heard the door open.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Shift said. “At the very least, their leaders continue to make poor choices and the people are the ones suffering.”

  “Crazy,” John repeated.

  “Come in dude,” Shift said. “Eavesdropping, huh?”

  “It’s what I do,” John replied smiling as he jumped onto the bed and sprawled out. “It’s a good thing y’all have your clothes on.”

  Ignoring that comment, Shift continued: “Anyway, following the Cuban Missile Crisis, in the early 1970s, the two sides of the Cold War began talks meant to create a more stable and predictable international system. But in 1983, tension arose again when the U.S.S.R., or some faction of the government, shot down a Korean plane. So, the United States increased diplomatic, military, and economic pressure on the Soviet Union at a time when the Soviets were already suffering from economic stagnation.

  “In the mid-1980s, a new Soviet leader—Mikhail Gorbachev—introduced reforms that eventually led to mostly-peaceful revolutions in several then-communist countries. Even the Communist Party of the Soviet Union lost control and was banned following a coup attempt in 1991. That led to the formal dissolution of the U.S.S.R. in December 1991 and the collapse of many other Communist regimes.

  “President Ronald Reagan, then president of the United States, was influential in that process,” Shift added.

  “That’s the movie star Ronald Reagan?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Ronald Reagan was a popular president, at least partially because of his motion picture background. Anyway, President Reagan is famous for telling the Soviet leader, publicly, ‘Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!’ He was referring to the Berlin Wall which was demolished by the citizens of East and West Germany following the collapse of the USSR. After that, the United States remained as the world’s only superpower. Of course, communism was still alive and well in a few countries, including China and Cuba.”

  “So, when and why did communism finally end for everybody except Cuba?” I asked.

  “Well, by the 2060s, the world’s political and geo-political climate was generally stable and peaceful; a condition which had never before existed in the recorded history of the Earth, unless one considers the Biblical representation of the Garden of Eden historically accurate.”

  “Ooooh, tell her about the Middle East and terrorism,” John interjected with a smile.

  “What about terrorism in the Middle East?” I questioned as Shift turned his attention to John and glared.

  “Different subject, different solution,” Shift summarized as he refocused on me and continued.

  “In 2048, the International World Order (“IWO”) was created as a successor to the failed United Nations. The IWO was initially governed by freely-elected representatives from each participating nation. Those representatives served limited terms, with fixed minimal pay, and worked to ‘create harmony between and among the nations of the world’, according to its charter.

  “Nowadays, while highly powerful, even having some limited control over the militaries of the participating nations, the IWO hasn’t been granted control over industry, local government, or numerous other country-specific operations. But, even though the IWO isn’t sovereign, its real power is in its acceptance by governments globally as a dominant force for peace and harmony, notwithstanding a few minor, mostly-trivial exceptions where participating nations have attempted to assert greater control over the process than legally entitled.

  “Here’s the interesting part, which finally answers your question about Cuba and communism,�
� Shift said. “A country’s acceptance into the IWO was gained only after its designation, by the IWO, as a free democracy. By 2051, if I recall correctly, about seventy-five percent of the world’s countries had been designated as ‘free democracies’, with the remainder—apart from Cuba—continuing with some form of socialism or other form of government, like in the Middle East. By 2055, only Cuba remained communist.”

  “What’s so great about it?” I asked. “It seems like, if everybody wanted to get away from communism, it couldn’t have been that great, right?”

  “Communism’s core tenets seemed appealing to many people for a long time. But those tenets were never really successfully put into practice. Communism’s ultimate goal, throughout time, seemed to be the perfection of a classless, moneyless, and stateless social order structured upon common ownership of production, as well as a social, political and economic ideology aimed at the establishment of social order,” Shift said.

  “That never really worked out though—anywhere, did it?” John asked, rubbing his eyes in an apparent attempt to stay awake.

  “No, not really,” Shift replied. “In reality, Cuba, just like many other communistic society throughout history, maintained a familial dictatorship throughout the majority of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. As a result, Cuba, while not necessarily poor, still falls way behind international standards in medicine, education and wealth. And, as of today, Cuba still hasn’t applied for, nor been granted the international designation of ‘free democracy’.”

  “Like I said—they’re crazy,” John laughed.

  “Yeah, they pretty much do what they want, even when the IWO threatens them with sanctions and even though the Cuban citizens, for the most part, want to join the IWO,” Shift replied.