End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  Arthur looked up from his microphone and signaled Paul and Julie over. "Why don't you come closer to the mic and say hi to everyone?" he asked.

  Paul and Julie were hesitant to move anywhere near the man. He took notice and laughed. "Relax. This isn't going live. Couldn't broadcast live if I wanted to. I've been making tapes for posterity. Last man standing. End of the world. Been running the recorder off the back-up generator. Here at the Arthur Williams Show, we often tackle subjects of a deep and serious nature. We're ostensibly opposed to the past system, the current system, and the future system. And as you two know, after fleeing from the fucking cops, it's a jungle out there. That's right, loyal listeners, it's a fucking jungle everywhere."

  With his voice droning on, Arthur pressed the pause button on the recording machine. He looked at Paul and Julie with disappointment. "You two need to lighten up already. I'm trying to do a radio show here."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Miller, we're not in the mood."

  "Not in the mood. Ha!" Arthur responded. "I want to know what the hell is going on out there. My listeners want to know what's going on out there. Not ten minutes ago, I watched the biggest bullshit newscast of my life. Some fake, nameless anchor up there reading his lines like a trained monkey. They're up to something, and it ain't good."

  "What are you suggesting?" Paul asked, moving closer to Arthur.

  "I'm suggesting that things ain't what they seem. They never are. What do you think I talk about here Monday through Friday six to nine P.M. Central Time?"

  "I have to admit that I don't know exactly what's going on, but my daughter and I came from Pennsylvania. We were fleeing a nuclear attack. Things have changed out there. It's--it's different. Lack of power and fuel has put everything on high alert. I haven't had a moment to think about my friends and family. My father. Anyone."

  Arthur saw his opportunity and pressed the record button.

  "So Paul, if you don't mind, what the hell brought you to our police state of Colorado? Don't tell me that it was the only place you had left to go? If that's the case, we're all fucked."

  Paul took a deep breath. "I'm looking for my wife."

  "Your wife?" Arthur asked, leaning into the microphone.

  "Yes. She was at the convention center on Day One--the day of the Wall Street Bombing."

  "Ah, of course. We mustn't forget about what started it all. I remember it like it was yesterday. Then--well, we know what happened next."

  "What do you know?" Paul asked. "Is everything they're saying on television true?"

  Arthur ignored Paul's question and continued. "So tell us about your wife. Have you found her yet? What's the deal with that? Sounds like we have a real human drama here."

  Arthur raised his arms up in the air like a promoter. "One man against the world. His daughter in tow. Will he find his wife as the world crumbles around him, or will they perish with everyone else? Tune in at eleven." Arthur burst out into laughter following his mock announcer voice.

  "I'm glad you find this amusing," Paul said.

  Arthur wiped his eyes. "No, no, no. Don't misunderstand me, Paul. I'm completely sympathetic to your predicament. You say your wife is in the convention center?"

  "She was," Paul corrected. "But she's not there anymore. My daughter and I are looking for the Law Offices of Bryant and Bryant because we have reason to believe she may be there."

  Arthur looked stunned. He narrowed his eyes at Paul in suspicion. "The Law Offices of?"

  "Bryant and Bryant. I believe his first name is Jeff. Jeff Bryant," Paul said.

  Arthur had no quick response. He scratched his head then spoke into the hanging microphone. "Exactly how did you come to this conclusion?"

  "Because of this card," Paul said, pulling the business card from his pocket.

  Arthur took the card and examined it. After a careful look, he slowly placed it on the table. "Bryant and Bryant don't exist anymore. I don't know what this is, but it's not a business card. You're talking about Senator Jeff Bryant, Colorado's own esteemed philandering corruptocrat. I'm not surprised that your wife may be with him. But if she is, then I would seriously fear for her safety."

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" Paul asked with anger, moving inches closer to Arthur.

  "Paul, stop!" Julie pleaded.

  Arthur took notice of Paul's agitated state. He moved his feet off the table in response.

  "If, for some reason, you think your wife is with Senator Bryant, then the only place you're going to find them is at the Denver Airport," Arthur said.

  It was just more confusion. Paul wanted answers. "No more riddles, Williams. Just tell me where I can find Senator Bryant."

  "I just did. At the Denver Airport. Listen, everyone knows that there's a secret underground bunker at the airport. It's a place for the elites. The Masterminds. I don't know, maybe he convinced your wife to go with him."

  Arthur flinched and raised an arm in defense. "I'm not suggesting anything. Maybe she was desperate for help. Ol' Bryant can be quite the charmer."

  "Or maybe she was kidnapped," Paul added.

  "What do you mean?"

  Paul backed away from Arthur and knelt to retrieve some of the newspapers off the ground.

  "I mean that her hotel room door in the Marriott was busted open. Her stuff was there, but she was gone."

  Arthur thought to himself.

  "I don't know what to tell you, Paul. Senator Bryant is a snake. I've long reported about his involvement in secret organizations. All this shit you see. All this death and destruction. They engineered it, and they engineered it by design."

  "Why the hell would anyone do such a thing?" Paul asked. "We're talking about the deaths of millions of people here."

  "Absolute power," Arthur answered. "To make an omelet, you have to crack a few eggs."

  "You're a sick man," Paul said in an accusatory tone.

  He rolled a few newspapers together and stood up, ready to go.

  "My daughter and I are leaving. This airport theory of yours, is there really a chance that there's an underground bunker there?"

  "Seen it with my own two eyes, Paul. A palpable fortress for the elites."

  "How did you see it?"

  "Pictures. Plain as day. A source sent them to me."

  Paul was disappointed. He needed tangible verification, not the word of a radio talk show host.

  "You go to that airport, you might catch your wife before Bryant puts her on a private jet. After that, you may never see her again."

  Paul took a step back. He wanted to charge Arthur and punch him. But it was only words. Arthur had done nothing but made claims. Claims Paul couldn't verify. Claims that could be the only chance they had to find Samantha.

  "Julie, let's go, we're leaving," Paul said. He then looked to Arthur. "How do we get out of here?"

  Arthur stared back, smiling. "Allow me to escort you," he said in the tone of a butler with his arm outstretched. He leaned into his mike once again for some closing words. "We'll be right back," he said. Then he hit the pause button.

  Chapter Seven

  The Bunker Life

  Samantha sat on her single mattress at the bottom bunk sipping a cup of coffee from a batch she had recently brewed. It was no hotel bed; that much was certain, as everything was smaller within their cramped conditions. She was unsure of the time or day. Over two weeks underground in a secured bunker had altered her perception of hours, days, and weeks. The only information she had to go on was what Senator Bryant told her. One of the first things she discovered was that there was no way out. The doors were sealed and only manageable through security key cards. There were close to thirty other people in the bunker with her. They were a unique bunch, very accustomed to an opulent lifestyle, and the sacrifices they had made from their previous lives of luxury were evoked constantly on a daily basis. However, there was no shortage of creature comforts around them, even underground. They had fine dining, personal chefs, a game room, a pool and hot tub, a tanning salon
, and a private movie theater. They were important people, so they made clearly known, while Samantha was an outsider.

  "Where have you taken me?" she asked Senator Bryant after waking up in his strange underground fortress.

  "You're safe here, Samantha. You have nothing to worry about. This place has been designed for the sole purpose of protection against a nuclear attack. Several of my friends and colleagues have joined us. Pretty soon you'll get to know everybody," he reassured.

  "But I don't even know you," Samantha replied.

  Bryant laughed. "There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other."

  "Senator Bryant--"

  "Please, call me Jeff."

  "I have to find my family. My husband and daughter could be in great danger."

  Bryant raised his hand up. "All in due time, Samantha. First, you need to rest. You had quite the episode back there. You're lucky we found you when we did. As soon as communications come back through, I'll help you get in touch with your family."

  With a pat on her bed, Bryant stood up and left Samantha alone in the sleeping quarters. His voice trailed off into the other room as he met with other guests. Samantha removed the washcloth from her head and sat up. Several other bunk beds lined the room against cold concrete walls. The arrangement looked similar to a summer camp or military bunker. She couldn't decide which one.

  In addition to Senator Bryant, the other occupants consisted of top government officials, business magnates, and wealthy politicians among the group. Though they gave the impression they didn't seem much concerned with what was going on above ground, as potentially horrifying as it was. Samantha had been placed in the same sleeping quarters as the "help" – personal chefs, trainers, and assistants to the prominent members of Senator Bryant's entourage. How she personally factored into everything, she didn't know. Her days had consisted of monotonous routines of eating, exercising, and sleeping. She felt tired each day, before and after meals or exercise, and would often sleep the hours away. This further disoriented her sense of time and place.

  Senator Bryant's crew threw lavish parties nightly that she ignored for the most part. They met daily behind closed doors, conducting meetings Samantha was forbidden to attend. They took little notice of her, often mistaking her for the help. When asked, Senator Bryant would remind them that Samantha was his "friend" and leave it at that.

  "Well, at least put her to work, Jeff," an elderly socialite woman remarked during one of their dinner parties. "She should do something here besides eat our food. Pretty soon she'll be into the caviar."

  The other guests at the long candlelit dining table chuckled in boorish laughter. At the head of the table, Senator Bryant slammed his fist on the table.

  "Now, Edna, that is entirely inappropriate. She is our guest. I will not have her talked about in such a manner."

  "Seems to me that you have a slight thing for this woman, Jeffery," a grinning man in a fashioned tuxedo claimed while taking a sip of champagne.

  "Nonsense, Warren. She's a personal friend. Now I won't hear her spoken of again in any disrespectful terms."

  Though he defended her during private dinner parties and denied any real attraction, Senator Bryant was strangely enamored with Samantha. She was the incarnation of lost love he had suffered so many years before. He believed her husband and child already dead and felt it only a matter of time before she came around to seeing things his way. Of course these were infantile thoughts. The kinds of thoughts he had early in the morning when he awoke in his own private quarters. How long before Samantha became weary of sleeping in the same room as the "help"? How long before she would wander into his quarters looking for some comfort during such troubling times? Though plausible, he would eliminate such thoughts from his head after waking up in order to focus on the large issues at hand, though she was never far from his mind.

  The country was doomed, that much Bryant knew. No word from Washington and nothing from his upper contacts had started to worry him. He had played his role, done what he had to do to ensure that events would fold out as they had. Now he awaited further instructions. Awaiting the signal to reemerge from their lair beneath the Denver airport and ensure total control over the new America. The secret society that he was privileged to be a part of had seen things this far, but there was one final piece to ensure their plan that had not gone into effect. The high-society types among him were privy to certain details of the plan. Not a single person knew the entire objective or more than the other. As they plotted and waited, they did so in an extravagant style of fine living. After their secret meetings, there was exquisite dining, games, and dancing. For Samantha, it was hard to witness and believe.

  She found their indifference appalling. They seemed to care less about the millions of people reportedly vanquished by nuclear blasts and more about what was on the menu any given night. It made her sick to witness, and the growing desire to leave grew heavy. One evening, she overheard talks between a group of elegantly dressed middle-aged men smoking cigars. They theorized on the prospects of a new civilization, a perfect society. This naturally led to the discussion on obtaining more women to fulfill these desires. As she walked past them--dressed-down, worn and tired--their eyes followed with a slimy combination of arrogance and lust. Who were these people? What the hell was she doing here? She felt like a prisoner. There was no connection to the outside world. No television. Certainly no cell phone reception or other means of contact. To be trapped in this endless nightmare, she thought, was worse than facing whatever it was that awaited them outside.

  She confronted Senator Bryant during their celebratory evening dance. He was talking to a few associates when she stormed out of her quarters, stepped right into his circle, and spoke directly into his face.

  "I want to leave here tonight," she demanded.

  Bryant's smile dropped to a surprised frown. He grew serious in the company of the others.

  "Samantha, this is hardly the time or place for this discussion. Why don't we talk about this later?"

  An intense scowl grew on her face in response to his flippant evasiveness. "You people stand around smoking and drinking like you don't have a care in the world. People are dying out there! I can't stand another minute down here. I want out, now!"

  Senator Bryant's associates looked down embarrassingly after Samantha's outburst. They scurried away awkwardly after patting Bryant's shoulder. "We'll talk later, my man," they said, leaving him in Samantha's heated glare. Senator Bryant gulped his champagne then placed the empty glass on a nearby tray.

  "We're only celebrating to take our minds off of the bad things. What happens out there, we have no control of. You cannot keep a large number of people contained in a confined area for very long if spirits are low. Morale is central to our survival. Why do you think I plan these lavish parties? These people that you speak so lowly of are some of the country's top influential business leaders and public servants. Many of them have done great things in their lives, and they will continue to do great things when all of this is over."

  "And where do you fit into all of this?" Samantha interrupted.

  "Me?" Senator Bryant asked with his hand over his heart. "I simply wish to look out for their wellbeing. It's better for all of us in the end."

  Samantha thought to herself for a minute. "How much are they paying you?"

  Bryant let out a sharp laugh. "I can assure you, it's not like that. They're colleagues and friends. I like to take care of my friends. I mean, we're friends, aren't we?"

  Samantha rolled her eyes in response then tried to tone her anger down. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate your help, initially. But this place--I don't even know where we are and what we're doing here. Enough is enough. I have to find out where my family is, end of story. I can't stand to be away from them like this."

  "I told you, we're in Denver at a secure underground facility."

  "I would like to leave now, please," she said sternly.

  Senator Bryant looked
around in frustration. Everyone appeared to be having a good time. There was music, food, drinks, and dancing. He didn't understand why Samantha couldn't give it a chance. She insisted on dwelling on the past when a new magnificent future soon awaited them. For Senator Bryant, she was the one he wanted to accompany him to a new world. After twelve failed marriages, she was the one he had been waiting for his whole life. He couldn't explain it to himself, but somehow he knew. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and then looked into his deep blue eyes full of yearning.

  "Chemistry, Samantha. I felt it the moment we shook hands. You have to admit that you feel something."

  With one hand on her shoulder, he gripped her other hand, interlocking his fingers over hers. Perhaps he had a little too much champagne, but it was his most forward behavior yet. Samantha was stunned by his abrasiveness, too frozen to pull away. He leaned in closer, as if wanting a kiss.

  "Soon enough, nothing will be left of the old world, and all we'll have is each other. Will you embrace it, or will you walk away?" he asked as his lips got closer to hers.

  Samantha placed her hand over his then pushed it away from her shoulder. Bryant's eyes startled open. She pulled her other hand out from his and took a step back with fierce resistance.

  "I'm walking away, Senator Bryant," she said. "I'm going to walk as far away from this place as I can."

  She left the large dance hall, leaving Bryant standing alone with his thoughts. He nervously grabbed another glass of champagne on the tray near him and gulped it down. Moments later, one of his tuxedo-wearing guests stumbled over in jest. "Looks like that went well, good Senator," he balked.

  Bryant stared at the man, then to Samantha's fleeing figure. "All in due time, Sebastian, all in due time."

  Samantha went to her room, grabbed what little things she had left, and stuffed them in a small bag. She had looked for a way out before but always ran into a dead end. With everyone in the dance hall, Samantha entered the meeting room and found it empty aside from a wide oval table with a thick glass surface encircled by twenty-seven chairs. In the center of the table was a conference phone. Samantha ran to the phone and pulled the receiver from its base as soon as she laid eyes on it. Miraculously, she heard a dial tone. She immediately, almost instinctively, dialed 9--1--1, but nothing went through. No matter what number she dialed, she received a busy tone in response. She smashed the phone down against the table in frustration.