Apocalypse (The Wasteland Chronicles, #1)

by Kyle West

  I reached for my sketchbook in my pack. Drawing is one of my ways to blow off steam, and I have a knack for it. As I sat in my chair, I just let the pencil move, not really paying attention to what it created. Ten minutes later, without realizing it, I had finished a sketch of the woman I had seen, as I had remembered her. Her face was slightly shaded – I remember an olive complexion, black, silky hair, and pretty, almond eyes. I was amazed by the amount of detail I remembered, but much of it was probably my imagination. She had been pretty far away.

  It was the face of a woman who may have killed someone. It was a person I might have had killed. Now, I was drawing her.

  I ripped the sketch out, tearing it to pieces. I felt my heart race for no good reason – like someone was going to see the sketch and know exactly what happened. I looked up to see that everyone was leaving the commons, heading for the Caf.

  I wondered what was happening in the medical bay – the stabbed man, my father, and even what Chief Security Officer Chan was doing.

  But he wouldn’t know about her.

  I got up, and headed for the Caf.

  Chapter 3

  I ate alone at mess. My thoughts were heavy, and I just couldn't get into any sort of conversation.

  People walked by, their faces questioning. Word had gotten around that something had happened out there. I ate my potatoes and vegetables in silence, never looking up.

  “Sitting by yourself. As usual.”

  A pretty, black-haired girl plopped on the metal bench next to me.

  “Khloe. What are you up to?”

  “Just hanging out, I guess. Eating some food, as I’m wont to do. You?"

  “Much the same.”

  I took another bite. I could feel her staring at me.

  “So..." she asked. “How was it?”

  I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Alex Keener. I know you came across a dead body.”

  “Right to the point, huh?"

  “I'm a busy girl. So what happened?”

  “Well, he wasn't quite dead, actually. He’s in the medical bay with my dad. Three stab wounds.” I ate another mouthful of food, and swallowed. “It was pretty bad.”

  “Yeah, I know that much. Who is he? Where did he come from?”

  “I don’t know. If anyone does, it's Sanchez or Chan, or...” I paused. “What’s with all these questions, anyway?”

  She smiled. “You know me. I’m curious.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. "If you've been asking around, you probably know more than me.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. Right. Well, if you're not saying anything, you must be hiding something.”

  I couldn't help widening my eyes a little.

  “Hit the nail on the head, huh?”

  “Yeah, maybe a little.”

  “Well, what happened? Spill the beans.”

  “Nothing happened. We went out, found the body, and called for help. Now we're here. Eating beans.”

  I looked at her and smiled, but she was still not convinced.

  “Funny," she said. "I'm not letting you off that easy. Alex, how long have we known each other?”

  “Oh no, not this...”

  “Yeah, a long time. Our whole lives. And who would you say your best friend is?”

  “I don't have to answer that...”

  “I want to hear it, anyway.”

  “You, of course.”

  “Okay," she said. "Something's bugging you, and I’m going to pry it out of you if it’s the last thing I do. You saw something weird. And you're going to tell me. I thought we were friends.”

  I didn’t answer for a while. It wasn't that I didn't trust her. I knew she would keep a secret. But what I had seen weighed on me, and it would not be fair to lay it on her. What if she got in trouble, too?

  “Still not talking, huh? Whatever happened, you can't pin it up inside. You need someone to talk with. I’m here.”

  “You're persistent, aren't you?”

  She shrugged. "I know you, Alex. You’re too quiet. It's okay to let your feelings out. Really, it would be good for you.”

  I was about to protest the "feelings" bit, but decided it wasn't worth it. “Maybe later on. Somewhere more quiet than here.”

  “Fine. The chapel, at twenty hundred?”

  I smirked. “Are you sure this is just swapping secrets?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  “Geez, only kidding.”

  “Finally, I get some time with you. Now that you're reconnoitering and everything, I guess you're too cool for me."

  “Khloe, you know that's...”

  “Hey,” Khloe said, touching my arm. “It’ll be fine, whatever it is. Just trust me.”

  I looked at her for a second, trying not to focus on how good her hand felt on my arm. I stopped trying to figure her out years ago. There were feelings there, at least on my part. For some reason, nothing had ever materialized. She always seemed to be with some other loser.

  Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. All the same, I always found myself being just the friend. Honestly, that that was part of the reason for our distance, lately. It hurt to be around her.

  “Alright. I’ll meet you there.”

  Khloe smiled. "Good.” She jumped up, and half turned from me. “Twenty hundred, the chapel. That's almost two hours away, so be ready.”

  Khloe went back to her table, and I went back to my food. I didn't know if I had made the right choice. But I knew Khloe – if she knew something was bothering me, she wouldn't let up until I told her.

  Who knew? Maybe telling her would get it off my chest.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 4

  After dinner, I went to the medical bay, entering the double doors. There were four operating tables, one set up in each quadrant of the room, all empty. The mystery man wasn’t here, so I knew he was in the back room, which was used for the extreme cases.

  The air was cold, and stank of medicine. It chilled me as I walked across the bay, my boots sticking to the gray linoleum floor. I never really liked this place. It felt soulless and bare, and was colder than the rest of the Bunker.

  The door to my dad’s office in the back left corner was open, which meant he was in. I went inside, and found him alone at his desk. He squinted with bespectacled eyes at his computer screen, his lab coat wrinkled and dirty.

  He gave a small, tired smile.

  “Alex...”

  “You missed dinner.”

  “Oh.” My father frowned. It was as if he had forgotten that this thing called “dinner” existed. “That’s funny. I’m not even hungry.”

  “It’s alright. How is he? And who is he?”

  “Not good. He’s not dead, but he is dying. And as far as who he is...we don’t know. Not yet, anyway. Comm lines with Bunker 114 are still down, as they have been for the past few days.”

  This was not a warning sign in and of itself. Communication with Bunker 114 has always been spotty, especially recently.

  “Did you stay up all night again?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer that question. “I’m getting close, Alex. Very close. And this man might just have the key I’m looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The xenovirus.” My dad looked up at me. The tiredness was gone, and the energy had returned to his eyes. “I might be able to finally figure out how the damn thing works, Black Files or not.”

  This wasn’t the first time for my dad to mention the Black Files. The Black Files are years of collective research on the xenovirus, archived in Bunker One, in Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. Though many scientists worked on the project, it is the brainchild of Dr. Cornelius Ashton. It documents the xenovirus from its first discovery in the 2030’s, its various strains, and the flora it affects. The xenovirus first appeared at the Ragnarok impact site thirty years ago, suggesting it came from the meteor itself. From the crater came a strange, yet probably harmless, growth known as “xe
nofungus” – an organic swath of pink, purple, and orange that covers the ground and seems to thrive in any environment. Certain strains of the xenovirus also affect Earth plants. These plants, once infected, become twisted and live in symbiosis with the xenofungus. Areas taken over by the xenofungus and twisted plants are known as “Blights.” No Blights exist as far west as California, though they are common in the middle of the United States, which is closer to Ragnarok Crater.

  My father is researching the xenovirus, hoping to discover how it works. My dad, in particular, is looking for a way to eradicate it within plant species – to cure it, if you will. My father believes the Black Files, if ever uncovered, might be the key to aiding his research.

  There is only one problem: Bunker One disappeared overnight twelve years and is presumed offline – which means the Black Files are also inaccessible. To this day, no one knows what happened. The main theory is that the xenovirus infected the farms of Bunker One, causing all the food to become inedible. If this happened, then everyone there would have starved. But it begs the question: why didn’t Bunker One seek help from nearby Bunkers? And why wouldn’t they have told anyone? Whatever happened, there were no survivors. To this day, every expedition sent there has never returned. Our Bunker never sent anyone there, but other Bunkers have. Those Bunkers are gone now, too.

  In any case, the Black Files are in Bunker One, locked away in what is probably an underground tomb.

  My father thought the xenovirus was a byproduct of natural evolution. He said that mass extinction events, similar to the Ragnarok Extinction, stimulated a huge growth in biodiversity over the long run. He believed the xenovirus was the beginning of that growth – that it was life’s way of surviving given conditions of the meteor fallout, constant cold, and lack of water, as it seems perfectly adapted to Earth’s current climate.

  The xenovirus isn’t a virus, really, but the name has stuck. It is an agent that attaches itself to DNA, copies it, and transposes it onto other life forms. The xenovirus mixes and matches genes of different plant species until it creates something completely new. It does this at random, as if trying to guess what might work. It’s hard to imagine how such a complicated life form arose so quickly, but my dad believes it is possible. The xenovirus is so one of a kind that my dad thinks it should be classified in its own kingdom.

  I think the xenovirus is creepy. Watching the lab samples of xenofungus makes my skin crawl. There is something sinister about how fast it grows and swallows plants, sometimes overnight. It creates this pinkish goo that does not really have a name. My dad and I just call it “slime,” at least until we can think of something more creative.

  “I ran tests on this man’s blood” my father said. “It’s full of microbes infected with the xenovirus. These microbes, in turn, are making him sick.”

  “I thought the xenovirus wasn’t supposed to affect people.”

  “The xenovirus isn’t infecting him directly. It’s infecting the microbes in his bloodstream, and these infected microbes are doing a number on him. One thing is clear; it is killing him. The injuries I could have fixed. But against this infection, I have nothing. He is hanging on by a thread. If nothing else, I hope having him here will give me some answers.”

  “Is he contagious?”

  “As long as you did not touch any infected areas, you should have nothing to fear. All the same, he is quarantined.”

  All of a sudden, I felt sick with dread. Had I touched any infected areas? There might have been a point, as we were picking him up, when one of the wounds brushed my clothes. Other than that, I had just held the guy’s lower leg.

  “I don’t think I got anything on me.”

  “Good.” My dad stared at the top of his desk, his eyes hazy.

  “Get some sleep,” I said. “You won’t figure anything out if you’re tired.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know. But I have to run some more tests. I’m the only one with the expertise to solve this. Who knows? If I hurry, maybe the patient’s life might be saved.”

  “I just wonder who he is,” I said, “and what he had to tell us. It must have been important.”

  “If Chan has found out anything from Bunker 114, he hasn’t let me know.”

  “He couldn’t have been out there for no reason...”

  My father smiled. “You are curious, Alex. Maybe too much for your own good.”

  “Now, what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means keep your nose out of trouble.”

  The problem was, I had already run into trouble. I thought of the woman. For all I knew, she was halfway to L.A., with plans to tell everyone where we were. Okay, that was a worst case scenario. However, what I knew weighed on me terribly.

  I had to tell someone. If I couldn’t tell my dad, who could I tell?

  “This guy wasn’t alone, Dad. There was a woman, not far away hiding behind a rock. I was the only one who saw her. She might have tried to kill him. She might have been with him at the time, I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone. I just...froze. She ducked away, and is probably far from 108 by now.”

  My father frowned. Instead of being angry, he looked contemplative – like he had received a new piece of the puzzle.

  “Hmm. Maybe she did do it. Well, whatever happened, we have no control over it now. She is gone, and even if you had told, she would be dead. Neither would have been of use to me.”

  “You won’t tell, right?”

  My father smiled. “Alex, of course not. I’m your father. I’m on your side, no matter what. You did the right thing.”

  Even with his approval, I wasn’t sure. I sighed. “I hope so.”

  At that moment, Chief Security Officer Chan entered the medical bay. He was the absolute last person I wanted to see. He was short, of Chinese descent, and had cropped, gray hair. His face was placid, betraying no emotion. I knew he often practiced meditation, as well as martial arts. He inspired as much fear as he did respect. Every part of his body was hard lines and angles, without a trace of fat.

  He wasted no time in addressing me.

  “I need to speak with your father alone, Alex,” he said.

  “Yes, Officer Chan.”

  I glanced at my father. He nodded, urging me to follow Chan’s direction.

  I walked out of the bay and into the corridor, feeling Chan’s gaze douse me like ice water. Of course, Chan would be interested in the man’s progress. He would not miss this for anything. As Chief Security Officer of Bunker 108, it was his job not to miss things.

  The man had clearly been heading here. But why? What message did he carry from 114, and why was Chan so interested in it?

  In the Old World, Chan was an intelligence officer. When he entered Bunker 108, he was in his early thirties. Now in his sixties, he was one of the few old ones left. As the higher-ups died or were relocated, Chan slowly took firmer hold on the operations here. He has been in charge almost my whole life, so I don’t remember a time where he wasn’t. Though strict – maybe even draconian – there was no question: Chan has kept us safe all these years, and he is the main reason why we are one of four Bunkers left, when one hundred and forty four started out.

  I walked down the corridor. The hallway was empty right now; most people would be in the commons, the archive, or home in their apartments. I walked past the Caf, where the kitchen staff was wiping down tables.

  As I rounded the corner, I could see at the end of the hall two wooden, double doors with stained glass windows. I headed there, trying to suppress my worry for my father.

  I knew he probably wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, either.

  Chapter 5

  I walked into the chapel. It was dark; the only lighting was from the hallway, and the air was thick and musty. Ten rows of pews lined the red-carpeted center aisle, which led to a low stage and the communion rail. Being in this small sanctuary with the old familiar smell of wood and books made me think of younger days.

  Khloe was already sitting in one of the back r
ight pews. She was tapping her foot and leafing through a hymnal.

  She looked up as I approached.

  “There you are,” she said. “I was beginning to worry you’d stand me up.”

  “You? Never.”

  “Sit down.”

  I took my place beside her. She put the hymnal up.

  “It’s so dark in here,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “No one really comes here anymore.”

  This place was once a center for the Bunker. Then Father Nielson died. Every Sunday, he preached. Almost everyone would gather to hear his words. My dad was one of the few who didn’t. He never put much stock in religion, and I guess he rubbed off on me a bit, all the more so as I’ve grown older.

  Those had been different times. Then, Father Nielsen got cancer. Even my dad couldn’t save him from that.

  With Father Nielson’s death came the death of the church, slowly. Some tried to take his place, but no one spoke with his conviction.

  Father Nielson had been dead two years, and it showed. Dust coated the hymnals in the pews. Cobwebs stretched from ceiling to floor in the dark corners, hanging from the hanging Christ on his cross. I tried not to notice how defeated He looked.

  I was the one to break the silence.

  “I saw someone, out there.”

  Khloe stared at me blankly. “You mean someone other than the guy you found?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. A woman was watching from behind a rock. She ducked away fast, but I’m sure I saw her. I was the only one to notice. I even drew a picture of her.”

  “Can I see it?”

  I shook my head. “I tore it up.”

  Khloe sighed. “So, that’s what’s been bothering you?”

  “You say it like it’s not a big deal.”

  “No, it is.”