Today We Die (The Killing Sands Book 1)

by Daniel Wilde

  April 14, 2093—Hidden Bunker near Boston

  “Aaggghhh, what is that? I think I’m going to be sick!” Dr. Steven Porter yelled to nobody in particular, gagging as he rushed out of his sleeping quarters.

  Dr. Porter’s quarters were located in the same hall as several others on his research team. His pleading question, just after 6:00 in the morning, was left unanswered for several moments until the curious, sleepy faces of the people on his shift began to peek from the doors of the sleeping quarters nearby.

  “What do you mean, Steve?” Shift asked urgently. “Are you sick?” The desperation in Shift’s voice was palpable. Several people who had peeked out from their doors in response to the commotion, closed those same doors until only a sliver remained.

  “No, I’m not sick,” Dr. Porter replied, “but I might be sick. The smell is awful!”

  “Are you sure you’re healthy?” This time it was Anta, clearly worried, like everyone else, that Dr. Porter might be ill.

  “I’m fine,” Dr. Porter said, exasperated. “I’m not sick, I swear. Can’t you smell it? It’s coming from my room.”

  As his friends realized that he was fine, but merely smelling something foul, they opened their doors and tentatively entered the hallway. Shift, being closest to the action, smelled it first. “Oh, dude, what did you do in there? Is there a dead animal in there or is it just your feet?”

  Dr. Porter smiled a little, as several other people began to snicker. “No dude, it’s neither. It smells like your business from last night is leaking its odor into my room. Don’t you flush?”

  Now the snickers became laughter. People were gathering closer to Dr. Porter’s door. The smell was definitely something closer to feces.

  “Anta, go check out the men’s room,” Shift said, with a twinkle in his eye, thinking Anta would never do it.

  “Okay.” Then she did. In less than four seconds, she rushed back out gagging. “Shift! Learn to flush the crapper dude!”

  “Right. I’ll try to remember.” Shift enjoyed Anta’s reaction as much as everyone else did.

  The next several minutes were spent trying to figure out the source of the smell. They took turns running into the bathroom looking for the source. Nobody lasted more than 15 seconds before running back out, choking back vomit or eyes stinging with tears. Every time another person ran out, laughter would break out again. After a few minutes of this, others from different work shifts began to gather in response to the commotion. Finally, Mr. Carón Blanchard, the bunker’s ventilation specialist and electrical engineer arrived, to the loud applause and eager faces of 13 of his associates.

  “Carón! Dude, you’ve gotta check this out. Worst. Smell. Ever.” Laughter erupted again. Shift had a way of making people laugh. People loved him. His sense of humor and the way he said things just made people comfortable. But not even Shift’s words made Carón comfortable about entering the men’s room.

  Finally, with a lot of persuasion from those in the hall, and a gentle shove from Shift on the back, he plugged his nose and went in. Four seconds later, he was back, face pale, with tears in his eyes. “Let me get a mask.” More laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but people were in a good mood.

  Carón soon returned carrying a face mask and some aerosol air freshener. With a serious look of determination, he bravely faced the stench emanating from the men’s restroom. In the hallway, people speculated about whether Mr. Blanchard would ever return, and if so, whether he would be disfigured or 10 pounds lighter from vomiting. People were having a good time until Anta finally spoke up. “He’s been in there 10 minutes already. Someone should go check on him.”

  As Shift, who had been volunteered by everyone, was about to go in, Carón returned. Shift let out his breath with obvious relief.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, and Shift,” Carón announced, “what we have here is a case of the ventilation system gone bad. I can fix it though.”

  Someone in the back shouted, “You’re the man Carón!”

  “Thank you, thank you. The problem is that it will take some time. The ventilation system allows our smells, from the kitchen and the restrooms, along with the carbon dioxide we expel when we breathe, to leave the bunker and escape at the surface. The odors and gases are treated just before they’re let out above so that the smells don’t draw attention to our location. But deep down here, the smells are just as we made them.”

  “Do you have to go outside?” Anta asked seriously.

  “No. I shouldn’t have to go outside, thankfully, but if we hadn’t caught this now, we’d all be suffocating within a couple of days, or worse. The ventilation system keeps us alive by expelling particulates without allowing anything, no matter how microscopic, back in. It keeps us safe from Anthrax E, if it’s working right. So, thank you to whoever caught this.”

  Dr. Porter received several pats on the back while he contemplated where he would sleep for the next few days.

  April 15, 2093—Anta

  It’s time for our daily meeting. These are pretty gloomy affairs and nobody likes to sit here anymore. John stood up, looking pale and glum, just like the rest of us.

  “Anthrax E has now spread throughout the world,” he began. “There are few places remaining where it hasn’t been reported. A few of the more desolate and remote locations around the globe appear to have been spared, for now; but that won’t last. We all know it.”

  Indeed, the wind seems to have carried Anthrax E beyond the borders and lines drawn in the sand by our militaries and police forces. Of course, there’s nobody policing those lines anyway. Anthrax E doesn’t respect such arbitrary boundaries. This pandemic respects no thing and no person.

  John continued, with no energy and what seemed to be the last of his breath, “The last worldwide estimate of infection, many days ago, was 2.1 billion, approximately one-fifth of the world’s total population, with an estimated 1.4 billion of those people already dead.”

  Mom and Dad told me yesterday that the disease had spread to Egypt. They haven’t found a safe zone or place to hide. While they aren’t currently sick, they have no idea if they’ve been exposed, nor do they expect to be free from exposure anyway. They traveled out into the desert many days ago, but haven’t found shelter apart from the hovercraft in which they travelled.

  Dr. Shevchuk, in an attempt to bring us back and help us continue on our path, stated, with a little zeal, but not quite enough to make us celebrate, that there is hope. “My friends, we have just had a breakthrough. We’ve passed a critical junction in our experimentation and are now in a position to test one potential vaccine on live animals. Testing on animals was outlawed, worldwide, over 30 years ago, but I don’t think anyone will mind now.”

  “Yurgi,” Shift probed, “that means someone will need to go outside the bunker to gather some animals, right? Or do you have some little creatures hidden under your bed that we don’t know about?” There was a little laughter, briefly.

  “Yes, Shift. Someone will need to go outside. We will need to trap live animals. A dead animal obviously does us less good. Plus, the live animal must not be infected already. Here, outside this bunker, miles and miles away from civilization, we may just be lucky enough to find such animals. Unfortunately, I didn’t think far enough ahead to gather animals weeks ago while the plague was still far away. I just didn’t think . . .”

  Dr. Shevchuk bowed his head.

  “Hey, none of us thought that far ahead,” John said, trying to comfort his mentor.

  “Who do you propose to send?” Dr. Angel Robertson asked, a little too excitedly.

  “I don’t know. We need to decide that, and soon. Any proposals about how we go about that decision? Or, do we have any volunteers?”

  “I’ll go.”

  Threet “Street” Kimball raised his hand above his head, just like we learned in school! What a guy! He didn’t hesitate. I’ve liked the dude for a while now. While he was rich and talented and famous in the real world, he’s been kind and h
elpful and sympathetic here in the bunker. Perhaps without the prospect of American football to define him, he’s been searching for something meaningful by which to earn his right to live.

  “Thank you Mr. Kimball. We’ll need another volunteer,” Yurgi said. “Let’s all think about it for a while.”

  April 16, 2093—Anta

  Just one day after I learned that my parents were still safe, the hope has been taken away from me. Mom and Dad have both become infected. Each will be dead within the week. I’m having trouble . . .

  April 16, 2093—Shift

  “Anta! Are you okay?” I dropped my food tray and ran toward Anta as she staggered and fell toward the wall. I had been watching her from across the small room where we were both taking a needed rest from our labors. I’ve been having a hard time keeping my eyes off of her lately and it’s a little disturbing. She’s my friend and my colleague. But she’s also been my constant companion over the last three and a half months. I’m human, but I feel like a dork.

  “Anta! Somebody help me please!”

  Dr. Thia Treggor, a radiation oncologist from Utah, had run over toward Anta just after I did. Together, we lifted Anta and took her down the hall, only about 40 paces, to her room and laid her on the bed. Thia left to get some water and Dr. Marilyn Swenson while I tried to talk to my friend.

  “Anta, can you hear me?” Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. I know I must have sounded desperate. I was. What’s wrong? Crap, what’s going on? I thought, desperation clouding my mind.

  Thia arrived with a glass of water, and splashed some onto Anta’s face. It worked, just like in the movies! Marilyn walked in right after.

  “Shift! Oh, you’re here. Thanks.”

  Well, she’s awake, but that was pretty lame after what she just put me through.

  “Anta, what happened?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I guess I just fainted.”

  “Do you feel okay?” Marilyn asked.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Anta laid her head back on the pillow as I propped it up behind her. “Mom and Dad are sick. They just . . .” Anta’s voice trailed off as she began to cry. Tears began falling from her eyes and dropping onto her tank top. I wanted to wipe them away, but thought that might be too personal. I understand the pain.

  Thia and Marilyn excused themselves from the room, Thia closing the door behind her. Sitting beside Anta’s bed, I placed my hand on her left arm and stayed still. She cried. After a few moments, she placed her right hand on top of mine. We sat that way for a long time.

  Finally, after her tears were spent, Anta apologized. “Shift, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I asked, surprised.

  “For crying like that. I knew they would die. They knew they would die. We’ve known it for weeks. I thought I was ready. They haven’t even passed and I can’t control myself. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Anta, after what you’ve done for me, I’d be a real arse if I couldn’t be here for you. You’re my closest friend Anta. I’ll sit by you until you tell me to leave, which I hope you won’t do for a long time.”

  “Then thank you Shift. That means more to me than you can imagine.”

  Anta’s eyes were puffy and red, but the tears had stopped. We talked for a while then, about her parents, and how they were coping. We talked about Hasani too.

  “Hasani’s still fine, but I don’t think he’ll ever leave. He’ll die on the moon, with the rest of them, with little to do, nothing to see, nobody to love, and loneliness as his best friend. But at least he won’t suffer physically from disease like the rest of us will.”

  Anta’s grief is profound which is a little disconcerting given that her parents are still alive. I guess she knows their days are numbered. They’ll be dead within a few days, and she knows what that means as well as anybody. Anta knows what her parents’ last days will be like. Perhaps that’s the cause of her tremendous grief. It doesn’t matter to me why she’s sad. I’ll sit by her, like she did for me, until I’ve worn out my welcome.

  There’s news of import to our current situation. Street Kimball and Lucky Rabene are headed outside today to find and trap animals. Apparently, Street was an avid hunter in his former life—of quarterbacks and animals. Lucky has pretty good skill with weapons as well, or so he told us. Hopefully they can trap animals and not kill them. Street’s a big dude, and Lucky doesn’t appear too gentle.

  Their task is to proceed through a series of very specific directions to the locations of animals recently seen through the surveillance system, and which will also lead them away from any potential human contact. Additionally, they’ll be fitted with chem suits very similar to the ones Anta and I wore in El-Alamein. Once they return, they and the animals will be separately isolated for many days, with numerous tests undertaken during that time, before they’ll be able to fully rejoin us. They both say they’re ready for all of that. Good for them!

  Assuming they’ve accomplished their task, we expect Street and Lucky to come back by nightfall. In order to gather the required animal specimens, Lucky Rabine is currently teaching Street how to utilize a long-range stun-gun apparatus that will demobilize the prey, but not kill it. Nice. Leave it to the CIA.

  April 18, 2093—Anta

  Mom and Dad are still alive, but very near death. We said “goodbye” last night for the last time, while they were still coherent enough to talk. Ahhh, it’s killing me.

  Just when I think I’ve cried my last tear, they start up again. I feel so helpless, because I am. I don’t look forward to telling Hasani, but I need to get the message to him, perhaps through Dr. Shevchuk on the IIA boards.

  Anyway, Shift has been sending me cute little messages on my MEHD from around the compound. He’s getting people to say something nice to me, or about me, and then sending them. I didn’t think he was a romantic. Of course, he’s probably not being romantic intentionally. He just lost his family too. We work together. He’s not thinking about me that way. Is he? No. I doubt it. But it’s romantic anyway and it’s very nice.

  April 20, 2093—Staff Meeting—Hidden Bunker near Boston

  “. . . hey, I knew I could do it!”

  “Yeah Mike, you told us. You’re the man!” Shift’s mood was surprisingly light, just like nearly everybody else in the room. Dr. Shevchuk’s testing on the animals brought back by Street and Lucky was going well. Dr. Shevchuk had already announced some of the results of his testing, earlier in the meeting. The affect was nearly instantaneous. There were smiles on mouths that hadn’t turned upward in many, many days. Eyes that were drooping with sorrow and grief finally had a sparkle. It was suddenly a new world inside the bunker.

  “Man, I knew I could get through. This is going to change everything! Well, not everything, but at least we can see it now.” Mike had been trying for weeks to access security camera uplinks from USCAN in the hope that we would be able to see what was really happening around the world. USCAN encryption codes, and the way to break through them, had been elusive—until now.

  “So Mike, tell us how this works.” Dr. Porter was a great archeologist and fine friend, but he was far from knowledgeable in the ways of electronics. He was one of those guys in school who didn’t take his head out of the books—the paper kind, not the digital kind. What he lacked in the way of real-world knowledge though, he certainly made up for in the realm of very old, crumbling civilizations, which wasn’t all that useful right now.

  “Well, the Uniform Security Camera and Navigation system, or “USCAN”, was originally built, and primarily maintained by the United States Department of Homeland Security starting in the late 2020s or something like that. After that, similar systems were developed and used all over the world. The original purpose, or so we’ve all been told, was to help police forces and the Department maintain both security and traffic flow in major cities.”

  “I have a feeling you don’t believe that was the real purpose of USCAN,” Sh
ift remarked, with a smile.

  “No. I don’t.” Mike returned the smile. “Prior to USCAN’s inception, throughout the 1990s, lots of cities around the U.S. had a similar, but much more rudimentary system which was used, at first, to reduce traffic violations by monitoring and photographing traffic patterns at intersections. Nearly everybody finally came around to the idea that those cameras were probably unconstitutional. Then that system wasn’t used anymore, or so we’ve been told.

  “Anyway, as most of you probably know, since it was such a big deal in all of our history classes as kids, like a whole chapter or something, on September 11, 2001, some crazy terrorists hijacked four planes and flew them, one plane each, into the Pentagon in Washington D.C., each tower of the World Trade Center in New York City, and the fourth, into a field. Not long after that, like within weeks, the Department of Homeland Security was created as an agency of the United States federal government.”

  “What do you mean, ‘they flew it into a field’? Why would a terrorist fly his plane into a field?” Shylene Aristorma asked.

  “Well, apparently, when the terrorists tried to take over the plane, several of the passengers attacked the terrorists in the cockpit and forced the plane down. They think it was meant for Washington, D.C.; perhaps the capital or the White House. Some of the other passengers called loved ones on cell phones and sent video footage of the incident before they crashed. Everyone on board died.”

  “Amazing!”

  “Yup. Anyway, between 2001 and 2027, governments, particularly in the U.S. and Europe, increased the watch on global terrorist organizations dramatically and tried to reduce the flow of information out of the country and into the hands of terrorists. At first, Americans didn’t have a problem with that because they were all feeling pretty vulnerable. So, most people didn’t really object to the increased intrusion into their personal lives; but over time, those intrusions became a menace. By 2027, however, Americans, and really, people all over the world, had grown so accustomed to the intrusion on their privacy that USCAN was initiated virtually undetected.”