Matty sat down before Bill told him to and looked around. Still no windows. It made no sense for a private clinic to be completely windowless, surely, they'd want to let light in, for the patients if nothing else? He didn't know how he knew that, but he was suspicious all the same.
Out of nowhere, as he gazed at Bill's back as the man stood at the desk, a memory slowly bubbled to the surface of Matty's mind. He froze, concentrating hard as the images swam into focus. He walked on a city street somewhere, cars zoomed past. The noise of traffic and people was loud. He was with friends, three men, two women, of various ages and nationalities. They'd just come out of a doctor's office, he remembered now. They'd had to get physicals to certify they were fit to deep sea dive. He concentrated even harder, trying to see the faces of his companions, to recognize them, but nothing came to him. All he knew was that they were his friends and he cared for them.
"The doctor will see you now," Bill said, interrupting Matty's thoughts.
Matty blinked and nodded. For a brief, irrational moment, he wanted to punch Bill for interrupting the memory he had just uncovered. Matty mentally shook himself, got to his feet, absently noting that behind the desk now sat a young woman with brown hair sorting the paperwork industriously. She did not look at him or Bill, and Matty frowned as he followed Bill down another corridor to another door.
This door was open and Bill gestured for him to go in. "I'll be waiting to take you to physio afterwards," Bill said.
"Great, thanks," Matty said. The words were automatic, he just wanted to sit, process and think, however it seemed that wasn't going to be allowed him just yet. Best to go with the flow, see where it took him. He'd make his plans as he learned more about this place.
He entered the room and heard the door click closed behind him. He looked around, no longer surprised that there were no windows. Comfortable antique furniture stood in the room, including a leather armchair, sofa, an ornately carved table with a pad, pen, a jug of iced water and two cups on it.
"Have a seat," a voice said. Matty turned to face the man who owned the voice. He was older than everyone that Matty had met so far, dark hair graying at the temples, lines well worn into his face, his eyes still bright but also tired. He was English, his accent well defined, and he wore a plain brown suit with tie.
"Okay." Matty sat on the sofa.
"I'm Dr. Andrews," the man said. "I'm the psychiatrist here. I'm going to assess how you're dealing with things. How do you feel?"
"Confused, mostly. I can't remember much of anything. I seem to have lost my memory."
Dr. Andrews nodded. "That's a common side effect of coming out of long-term cryo. You were in for—" he consulted his notes "—ninety-nine years. Not the longest we've had to be sure, but certainly up there. You should start getting your memories back in seven to ten days. In the meantime, they'll trickle in slowly, in pieces, like a broken jigsaw that doesn't make much sense. It will eventually, so don't let it bother you."
Matty let out a loud sigh and felt himself relaxing. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until he heard the doctor's words. "Thanks, doc."
"No problem. It's something our cryo patients worry about a lot when they first wake up."
"I can understand why." Matty hesitated a beat then plowed into it. "Where are we? Don't say in the clinic of Dr. Johnson and Partners in Chinatown in New York City, I know that. Where are we? What floor of what building?"
Dr. Andrews' eyebrows shot up. "Now that's an interesting question to start with. Most people want to know about their family."
"Considering how long it's been, I think it's fairly safe to say that any family I had are dead," Matty said. "People don't live forever. Plus the nurse who brought me food last night said that there were no records of any relatives of mine, so…"
"No, they don't live forever, that's true." Dr. Andrews made no comment about Matty's statement regarding the nurse.
"And one of the nurses told me I'd missed some event. What's that about?"
"Did she indeed?"
"I need some answers, doc. I just… I need to know."
Dr. Andrews sighed. "Well, I guess you'll know soon enough anyway. You're underground, Mr. MacDougal. You're seventy-five feet beneath New York City."
Matty gaped at him. "Huh?"
"The whole city is underground. As a matter of fact, all of civilization lives underground now, all over the world. I'm sorry, forgive me. This is too much, too fast."
"No, no, I can take it. So, what you're saying is that everything on the surface of the planet is abandoned? Left to be overtaken by nature?"
"More or less," Dr. Andrew said smoothly.
"Why?"
"It's safer for humanity to live underground. Above ground is toxic, the earth, water, and air were poisoned during the Event."
Matty caught the emphasis on the word 'event' and he quirked an eyebrow. "What Event?"
"No one can really agree on what date it started, it was said to be around 2016 or 2017. Some people in power became too fond of that power and issued threats that they carried out." Dr. Andrew gestured with his left hand, a vague sort of a wave that Matty could not interpret. "A weapon was unleashed, a terrible weapon that destroyed the air, the water, the soil. Most people died instantly. Those who knew it was coming gathered together their families, friends, anyone they could, and ran down to the underground parts of their cities. Most cities have underground areas, either for subways or basements or ancient passageways and catacombs. Those underground areas have become our homes." He leaned back in his seat, resting his hands on his stomach. "Over time, we developed them, enhanced them, worked with the technology we had left to us to continue society without having to go above ground. We have robots who tend to the solar panels that provide energy, we have water works tapped from underground aquifers. Food is grown in special areas that are adjacent to spaces for livestock. It's all quite amazing, really. Humanity is remarkably adaptable to change when it has to be."
Matty sat back, shocked. "The weapon was a bomb?"
"Of a sort, yes."
"What do you mean, of a sort?"
"The ancient records we have aren't too clear. The computers from those days keep their secrets and no one's alive now who can get into them. We don't really know the details of things. What we do know is what we've learned from experience." He sighed and looked down at the desktop for a moment before looking up at Matty and continuing. "We can't go in the sunlight, as there's no Ozone Layer, so the sun means death. If we went up at night time, the air is full of poison, so that too means death. We can't grow crops in the soil any higher than where we are because it's toxic and would fill the food with more poison."
"Bloody hell."
"Quite. Are you all right?"
"I think so." Matty turned this information over in his mind, appalled and stunned in equal measure. "Who started the whole thing, the Event?"
"That's another mystery locked up in the ancient computers." Dr. Andrews shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question. My job," he leaned forward, "is to counsel and help those who come out of cryo, like you, and answer the questions that I can. I'm here to help you adjust between what you remember the world being like and what it is now."
"Okay, but why was I in cryo? Why didn't I die? How does the clinic do its thing, if no one can work computers?" Matty was confused.
"Someone saw fit to have you put into cryo after your leg was operated on. Obviously, you were very important to someone with a great deal of money and influence, Mr. MacDougall. As for the computers in the clinic, those were developed over time by our staff here, just as the robots we use for outside maintenance were."
"Huh. Okay. Well, I hope I can remember who it was who put me in cryo so I can send a prayer of thanks to them," Matty said. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Sorry. I'm a bit… overwhelmed. I mean, I get you're the shrink, sorry, psychiatrist, and you've got the double job of being the guy who breaks the news to people like me, whic
h must be a ton of fun for you, but yeah. This is all really full-on."
Dr. Andrews smiled. It was a sad smile, Matty thought, and he wondered about this man who seemed tired and unhappy by turns. "I understand your confusion and the feelings you have. Please know that I'm always here, though, if you need to talk or anything like that. My office is available around the clock. I'll have my secretary give you my card, it has a map on the back so you can find your way back here, it has my call sign on it so you can contact me."
"Call sign? Like walkie-talkies?"
"Quite," Dr. Andrews said.
"Wow. Okay. Well. Thanks, doc." Matty didn't really know what to say. They sat in silence as he considered again what he'd been told. A thought occurred to him. "Oh hey, is there a library here?"
"A library?"
"Yeah, you know, with books, things like that. Like you said, I'm still remembering things and it's coming to me in dribs and drabs—bits and pieces—I know I like to read. I was wondering if there was a library so maybe I could read a novel or something?"
"Oh, the book center. Yes, of course. A library you say? I should know that, shouldn't I." It wasn't a question. "Yes, there is indeed one of those. I'll ask Bill to take you there after your physiotherapy session. I'm sure you'll be able to find something to read with no trouble."
"Thanks, doc," Matty said. He got to his feet and held out his right hand for the other man to shake. "It's been a pleasure. Thanks for answering my questions, I appreciate that. Maybe we can talk again."
"My office is always open," Dr. Andrews said, repeating his earlier phrase. "This way, please, I'll have Selina give you my card."
"Thanks."
CHAPTER TWO
Matty collapsed on his back on the bed in the room he was starting to think of as his own—even though it had only been a few days—feeling every inch of himself ache. The physio, who he thought of as Mr. Pain, was obviously very fond of his work. While he was a very good physio, Matty always felt as if he'd been put through a physical wringer after each long session with the man.
At that moment, he wished for nothing more exotic than a hot bath. Unfortunately, there were no baths in this underground New York City, as it was considered a waste of power and water. Matty could understand that, but oh, what he wouldn't give to be able to soak and relax. He stretched out on his bed and let his limbs go limp as he stared at the undecorated ceiling.
Physiotherapy was intense. Matty was fine with that. Mr. Pain—not his real name, yet he had found it hilarious and insisted that Matty use it from that point on—had also got him in the gym, the workouts were designed to build up muscle and core strength as well as get him back into shape. The modules he'd been given during waking up in the cryo tube were only a start, Mr. Pain had said, now it was his job to give Matty the tools to continue the task of getting physically fit.
Matty stared at the featureless ceiling and mulled over the last few days. It seemed that whenever he had a moment to himself, that was all he did. He puzzled and wondered, became angry and frustrated at himself by turns. His memories refused to return and he was beginning to doubt Dr. Andrews assessment. If he had nothing to remember, who was he? Would he be able to find information through some kind of database? There had to be something like that, surely.
He remembered that Bill was coming to collect him to take him to the library. There had been no spare time to do that since Matty had first seen Dr. Andrews, and he'd made a point of telling Bill that today he wanted to go there. Bill had been noncommittal, giving him his breakfast—as if he were a child—and had taken him to his physio appointment.
That was another thing Matty puzzled over. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He should probably get changed before Bill arrived. His mind went back to the question as he stripped off and pulled on clean clothes. Why had Dr. Andrews given him a map, which showed where everything was located, if Matty wasn't meant to use it? So far, Bill had escorted him everywhere; he was half-convinced that Bill would escort him to the bloody toilet if it was necessary. The restriction was growing more evident and Matty was chafing against it.
A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. Matty grunted before calling out, "Come in."
Bill entered, and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable. Matty waited.
"I checked out if you could go to the library. Doc Johnson says yes, so I'll take you there now, though what all you hope to get from visiting that place is beyond me."
"Don't read much, huh?" Matty teased.
"Don't see the point." Bill opened the door. "Come on."
Matty followed him down the many corridors that all looked the same, memorizing which turn Bill took and how many doors were passed before taking an intersecting one. He still hadn't seen anyone except for the few medical professionals that were working with him. Maybe they were all the humans left on the planet. Matty wrinkled his nose as he considered that. It would be a terrible shame to be the only person around who wasn't a medico, let alone the only person around who couldn't remember a damn thing. Still, he remembered that he'd been addressed as if he wasn't the only person to come out of cryo, so there must be someone else around the place.
"Here," Bill said, pushing open a pair of double doors. "This is it. How long you gonna be?"
"As long as I need to? I don't know."
Bill sighed. "Fine. I'll sit and wait for you. Go do whatever it is you need to do."
"Borrow a book to read is what I need to do," Matty said, and he marched into the room, passing Bill and not bothering to look behind him.
The space opened up into a cavernous chamber. Matty let out a soft sigh of pleasure at the sight. Here there were no cream, bland walls, only rows upon rows of bookcases, and tables inlaid with dark green or dark red leather. There were soft-looking gray wool chairs, a large counter made out of white and gold marble. Matty wondered if this was part of the original New York City Library as he made his way to the cabinets that looked like ancient card catalogues.
It had been a very long time—exactly one hundred and thirty-five years, if he counted how long he'd been alive—since Matty had to find a book using the card catalogues. Everything was on computers when he'd been… wherever it was he'd been before waking up here. There were no signs of computers of any kind, not even behind the marble counter. He noticed that when he stopped to peer over it and saw only empty shelves and book carts. Obviously, no one bothered to come in here anymore, so there we no books that needed to be reshelved. That was a little sad, Matty thought. Books were the doorways to other worlds of fictional wonder, or the windows into the past. It was the windows into the past that he was looking for.
Borrowing a novel was a cover for what he'd planned to search for. The library, he hoped, would contain enough books about the history of the last hundred years for him to get up to speed with what happened during those years he'd been in cryo. The succinct summary he'd been given hadn't really dealt with the meat of the history, and Matty wanted to know. Plus, he wanted to know more about this Event, the word that was given such emphasis when spoken of in even the vaguest of terms.
Oh, he'd borrow a book, of course he would. He was bored in his room anyway; a novel would be a good way to detract from that boredom. First, he had to find out what had happened.
A low growling noise filled the air, a sound that echoed ominously through the library, and Matty almost jumped out of his skin in fright. Heart pounding, he turned, looking all around him until his gaze fell on Bill. He was fast asleep in a lounge chair and was snoring. That was the sound that had startled Matty and he almost burst out laughing. He didn't want to wake his chaperone, though, so he stifled it as best he could and hurried over to the card catalogue.
To the rhythmic, loud accompaniment of Bill's snores, Matty found the call number for the history section, memorized it and made his way deeper into the library. As soon as he was among the stacks, the sound of Bill's snoring all but vanished. It was easier
for Matty to believe, really and truly believe, that he was the only person alive in the whole building.
The shelves were dusty, thick with cobwebs yet the air was dry. That was something at least—while dust and spiders were a nuisance, any moisture would damage the books, if rare ones were here, they'd be most vulnerable to mold and water damage. Matty bit his lower lip as he reached the section that was full of the history of the world and began to look for the specific call number he wanted.
The shelves were full of books, topics moving from pre-history up to the end of the Twentieth Century and…
Matty stopped, staring at the empty spaces in the stacks in surprise. There was nothing there. Where he had expected to find books covering the last hundred years, only dust covered the shelves. In some places, faint markings, indicated that yes, at one time, there had been books here, however those books were now long gone.
He sagged back against the opposite shelf, feeling all the energy drain from him like water from a bucket. Defeated and depressed, Matty gazed at the empty shelf for a long time, his mind as empty of thoughts as the shelf was of books.
"What's the point?" Matty muttered to himself. "I guess I'm stuck waiting for my own stupid brain to wake up and give me my memories back."
Maybe he could talk to Dr. Andrews. Maybe he could ask Bill, as indifferent as Bill appeared to be about anything that wasn't about the clinic specifically. Matty had a feeling though that all his inquiries were going to be met with silence or misdirection.
The Outsiders Page 2