by Joe Nobody
“We’re safe now. My name is Norval Pickett, and I’m the head ranger here at the park. I want to thank you again for saving my life back there. Let’s rest for just a minute and let you catch your breath,” the host said, gesturing toward a low group of rocks suitable for a rest stop.
Still off his game from the blood loss and adrenaline surge, Jack displayed uncharacteristically bad manners, ignoring the man’s thanks. Still breathing hard and not sure who he had joined ranks with, the commander demanded, “Who were those guys you were fighting? What’s this all about anyway?”
“We can talk about that a bit later,” came the gentle, but guarded, response. “Right now, let’s get someone to take a look at that shoulder.”
They continued their journey at a more manageable pace, and Ranger Pickett then asked the obvious question. “And who might you be?”
Jack provided his host his most basic information, including name and rank, and a brief history of his cross-country adventure.
“So … California really did fall into the sea?” the ranger asked.
“No, at least not the southern end. I did hear from reliable sources that the northern coast suffered far, far worse.”
Norval switched gears to continue narrating the tour. “The men you see around you were all staff here at the park. Their families bunked in once the pumice threat became imminent,” Pickett explained, sweeping his beefy arm in a wide arch. “When Yellowstone blew, I closed the gates and had all my people move into the caverns. We’ve been holed up inside ever since.”
They continued further into the underground chambers, Jack’s head on a pivot as he tried to absorb the changes in air temperature and light. He had hiked through caves before with Miley and the girls, but nothing like Norval was now leading him through.
While the rocks and crystalline formations were breathtaking, what really drew the commander’s eye were the electric lights installed here and there along the otherwise ever-darkening path.
“You have electrical power?” Jack asked, amazed to see evidence of technology.
“The park has its own primary power plant,” Norval bragged. “In order to keep the noise from disturbing the environment, the original designers installed the generators and diesel fuel tanks inside of one of the less-spectacular caves, well away from the public areas.”
“There’s more than one cave?” Jack asked.
“Oh, my, yes,” Norval responded. “There are over 110 known caves and grottos with new ones being discovered all the time.”
“Where do you get fuel for the diesels? How do you keep them from clogging up like every other internal combustion engine on the planet?”
Norval waved off the questions, “I’m not sure how they keep running. When the government contracted for the generators to be installed, there were a lot of environmental concerns. As far as fuel goes … well … there are lots of sources of diesel around. Let’s just say that we’ve mounted a few scouting expeditions into the neighboring towns.”
The ranger’s words and tone sent additional chills down Jack’s spine, his reaction having little to do with the cool air or his waterlogged duds. Scouting expeditions? Jack thought. More like looting excursions, I’d wager. Armed to the teeth no doubt. Maybe the guys shooting at me in the spring were pissed about this guy making off with their goodies. That would explain a lot.
While scavenging for diesel fuel wasn’t the worst thing the commander could imagine, Pickett’s words served to not only put Jack on higher alert but they instantly tainted the commander’s impression of the man beside him. So much for the honorable Dudley-Do-Right wearing the ranger uniform.
I’m sure a lot of survivors have done worse, he quickly reconciled. Stealing fuel is petty theft in the grand scheme of the post-apocalyptic world. Hell, more like a parking ticket.
Still, as they stepped deeper into the bowels of the cave, Jack couldn’t help but develop a sense of foreboding. What was it the guy about to kill his host had said? “I’m going to slice you up like a Christmas turkey,” and, “You and them other rangers aren’t going to deny us anymore.”
What exactly does “deny” mean, Jack wondered. It was an odd choice of words.
For a moment, Jack considered turning around and heading out. He still had his rifle and knew where the sentries were stationed. That would be the safe, smart thing to do, right? The realization that he had no water, a bleeding arm, and wasn’t exactly sure of his location halted that line of thought. And in truth, he had no real evidence that Ranger Pickett was on the wrong side of the morality scale.
Before Jack could plow any deeper into his analysis, a woman appeared beside them, her kind eyes and leather bag full of bandages making her purpose clear.
“This is Carmen,” Norval announced. “She is our resident medical expert and my second in command.”
Jack nodded to the woman, noting her shiny, black hair and fresh scent. Probably in her early 30’s with shoulder-length tresses and chestnut brown eyes, she was one of the most attractive women the commander had ever seen. Jack also noted her understated, but seductive swagger, her hips casually swinging atop a pair of legs so impeccably shaped they looked like a sculptor had chiseled them from the finest stone.
Norval and his people evidently had access to enough water that attending to personal hygiene was not an issue, Jack concluded. Considering that virtually every decision he had made to survive had been driven by water conservation, Jack’s realization was even more astonishing than Carmen’s striking appearance. Still, he couldn’t help the testosterone charged, mental image of Ms. Legs drawing him a bath.
As the scissors sliced away the damaged cloth, Jack snapped back to reality. Without a word, Carmen began cutting away Jack’s sleeve just above his wound. “I was a nurse back in Mexico City,” she reported with a thick accent. “You are lucky. Your wound isn’t life-threatening as long as it doesn’t get infected.”
A convulsive shiver chose that moment to rack Jack’s frame. Feeling his skin tremble, Carmen hesitated her triage and shot him an apologetic look, thinking she had caused him pain. When she began again, her touch was extremely gentle.
All the while, Jack couldn’t help but notice that the way her thick lashes perfectly framed her eyes made them appear even more provocatively feminine.
Little Ms. Florence Nightingale then ran her fingers across the top buttons on his shirt and announced, “You’re soaked! And filthy! Talk about a breeding ground for all types of infection in that open wound. Quick, get out of those wet things. The temperature inside the cave is always very cool. You’ll eventually get accustomed to it – but not if you are wearing damp clothes. I’ll grab you a blanket, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”
Despite a healthy dose of modesty, Jack didn’t hesitate to undress in front of the two strangers. Carmen, true to her word, returned with a heavy, green wool cover that reminded the commander of the scratchy, government-issued bedding he’d first received at the Academy.
Whether it was to take advantage of his being distracted, or an honest attempt to divert Jack’s attention from the pain and discomfort, Norval took the opportunity to fire a series of questions at the commander.
Wincing as his wound was cleaned, Jack answered honestly, but was cautious and stingy with the details. The last thing the people at the Cliff House needed was a bunch of vagabonds raiding their beef supply. Pinemont could provide enough eggs to sustain its own population, but not enough to supply large groups like Cisco had observed in this subterranean community. And there was no doubt in the commander’s mind that Archie’s veggie garden wouldn’t last a week with Picketts’ mouths to feed.
Still, the commander knew he couldn’t appear completely uncooperative. That tactic might generate suspicion or mistrust, and he was in no position to insult his hosts.
So, Cisco did his best to provide just the right amount of information to establish rapport without compromising the other fledgling societies. Yes, he’d encountered survivors. No,
there was zero government authority as far as Jack knew. There were no living plants or animals that he’d seen.
Jack found it odd that Norval’s interrogation seemed more focused on law enforcement and surviving government structure that any sources of food or pockets of survivors. The head ranger pressed his guest hard when Jack mentioned the absence of military communications and command structure that Utah had encountered. Twice he asked if Jack had spotted any sign of state or local police. Pickett seemed almost relieved that the United States of America no longer existed, at least west of the Rocky Mountains.
As Carmen finished wrapping his arm, she produced two white capsules. “Here, take these for the pain. They will make you drowsy, so don’t operate any heavy machinery,” she teased.
“What are they?” Jack inquired.
His question prompted an unspoken exchange between Norval and Carmen. Finally, after an uncomfortable pause, she responded, “They are some pain meds I brought with me from Mexico.”
Jack frowned, the offer of ultra-valuable medications as shocking as the fact that these people bathed regularly. “Thanks, but no thanks,” the commander replied, pushing back her hand. “You should save those for more serious wounds and for your own people. I’ll be fine. I would appreciate some water, though.”
Carmen shrugged and returned the pills to her bag. “Suit yourself.”
A man appeared just then, the look on the fellow’s face making it obvious that he needed Norval’s immediate and undivided attention. As Ranger Pickett took his leave, he motioned for Carmen to take care of their guest.
“Come on,” she cooed. “I’ll show you where you can get something to drink after we find you some clothes that fit. We have the purest water in the world, and you can drink until your heart is content. After that, I’ll take you to a cot where you can get some rest. Later, Norval will complete your tour of our underground palace,” she promised.
Chapter 25
After a short walk that involved several turns, twists, and cutbacks, Jack followed Ms. Legs into a larger than normal chamber of the interior. Once inside, the commander found himself staring down at what could only be described as several small ponds of water. Each was slightly larger than a resort’s hot tub and appeared to be relatively shallow, at most only a few feet deep.
Smooth, rock walls lined each reservoir and provided enough separation to allow a series of paths and walkways between the individual repositories. A couple of large watering troughs, like the kind used to hydrate livestock, lined the rear wall of the cavern. “The two tubs in the back are for bathing,” Carmen explained. “Our fearless leader is uptight about polluting the water, but you can drink from any of these other ponds,” she continued with a sweep of her hand.
Jack moved quickly to the nearest pool’s side, taking a knee and reaching into the crystal-clear liquid. Scooping a handful, he found the water was somewhat tepid and was accompanied by a slight mineral odor. Cautiously swallowing a mouthful, he then turned and beamed at Carmen. “I’d give it 5 stars … Absolutely unbelievable,” he burbled before plunging both hands back for a refill.
It was even more satisfying than the spring outside, refreshing, clean, and delivering an overwhelming sensation of pureness. After emptying several hand-cups into his mouth, Jack wiped his lips with a sleeve and paused to breathe. Glancing around the spacious cavern, he couldn’t help but admire the liquid asset that Norval and his group controlled. You could keep an entire army hydrated with this water supply, thought Jack.
As he continued to drink, another unsettling thought popped into Jack’s mind. I wonder what their source of food is? So far, no one in here appears to have missed many meals. Maybe Ranger Pickett has found a way to grow something down here?
The commander remembered visiting La Cave Des Roches during a deployment. On shore leave, Jack and a group of shipmates had explored a series of grottos in France. Translated roughly into “caves that grow mushrooms,” those caverns had been used to produce food. The group had toured what was essentially a 75-mile network of underground caverns where tons of vegetables were harvested each season. The humid air, combined with a year-round, constant temperature, resulted in the perfect environment for growing delicious fungi. It was an amazing underground agri-business.
The conditions here were nearly the same as the caves in France. Had Norval created a subterranean farm of some sort?
Taking a break from his rehydration, Jack decided to lightly ply Carmen for information. “This is quite the little underground paradise you guys have here,” the commander stated warmly. “Quite an abundance of water, I see. But do you grow anything in the caves to help feed your people?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we do,” she responded, her eyebrows rising with surprise at his question. “As soon as you’re finished drinking, I will show you.”
Jack pushed himself away from the water buffet, forcing himself to quit slurping the life-giving liquid. Partly because he knew consuming too much too quickly might make him sick, but mostly out of embarrassment over his aqua-gluttony.
Again, with Carmen leading the way, Jack was guided further into the depths of the tunnel system. After several minutes of walking, they entered an exceptionally well-lit cavern that was also especially roomy.
Jack estimated the high canopy spanned a good 75 feet wide with ceilings soaring 100 feet above the stone floor. Someone had strung electric lights alongside the path, the bright bulbs illuminating walls that were nearly solid green with some sort of algae or moss.
“We have gotten rather good at cultivation,” Carmen beamed. “According to Norval, this species isn’t native this far into the dark sections of the caves. When the Parks Department installed the first electric lights several years ago, this gunk started growing deeper and deeper into the formations. The rangers even struggled to keep the spread under control for years, all in the name of preserving the natural ecosystem of the caverns. Now, everyone is glad it is here.”
Jack stepped over and gently touched a patch of the green carpet. “What does it taste like?”
“Kelp,” she giggled. “Bitter kelp. One of the rangers’ wives was a biology major, and she claims it is rich in some nutrients, but I still struggle to get used to the taste. We also are trying to farm snails for protein, but Norval says getting enough of them to feed everybody is going to take several months.”
“Amazing,” Jack replied, scanning the green walls. “I’ve met a lot of people who would give anything to have a renewable food source of any kind, palatable or not.”
His statement seemed to change Carmen’s previously welcoming demeanor. “We should be getting back,” she announced in a chilled tone, almost as if his words had reminded her of some pending unpleasantness. “I’m sure Norval has a thousand questions for you. You’re the first stranger he’s allowed inside the caverns since the eruption.”
Keith and his ragtag army withdrew from the encounter at Rattlesnake Springs, their faces dark masks of anger and frustration.
Their goal had been to engage Norval’s men at the back entrance to the caverns, fight their way inside and finally end this conflict. Instead, the Myers construction team had suffered three killed and another man seriously wounded. More causalities. More death. More pain.
The former construction manager paused for a moment, his eyes scanning his force as they plodded along the desert trail.
The core members of his fledgling business, Hamilton, Joe, and the others, had been together for many years. They were no strangers to stress, hard times, or combat.
As Keith watched his column pass, he made eye contact with Hamilton, or Ham. The two simply exchanged knowing nods. “Still breathing,” was the non-verbal communication.
Myers’s mind reverted back to the first time he’d seen his friend broadcast that basic but critical message. The year had been 1989, the location Panama City, Panama.
Keith had been a young lieutenant, full of vigor and convinced the 504th Parachute Infantry R
egiment of the 82nd Airborne Division was the most bad ass group of fighting men ever produced by the US military.
They had parachuted into the Central American nation, using the most dangerous of all deployment methods – a nighttime combat jump.
Throughout the night and well into the next day, Keith and his men had exchanged heavy fire with the Panamanian Defense Forces in an operation named “Just Cause.”
It had been a short but intense affair, a quick and overwhelming victory that received little airplay back in the States. Still, the brotherhood of combat had been formed between Keith and his men. Years later, when he saw an opportunity to start his own construction company, the first people he called were his old buddies from five-oh-four.
His men called him “the strategist,” but after today’s botched operation, Keith wasn’t feeling very strategic. At 6’5” and topping out at 230 pounds, Myers had never had to rely on his size to maintain a leadership role. He, like so many young officers in the military, used his brainpower and logic to gain the respect of his men. It was a bond that often persisted for a lifetime, and Myers Construction, Inc was a prime example of that perpetual tie.
In Keith’s case, however, intellect didn’t translate into a lack of fighting skills or capability. Trained in all facets of combat by the military schools at Fort Bragg, he could hold his own in virtually any physical confrontation. Even more legendary was his temper, as the beefy LT was known to get mad or mean at the drop of a hat. Word quickly spread that incompetence among the ranks wouldn’t be tolerated.
Ham was the team’s small arms expert, qualified with just about anything that had a barrel and could spit lead. Almost as tall as Keith but sporting a slighter build, he had always been the unit’s second in command. The duo seemed to be on the same page all the time. In fact, they were even known to finish sentences for each other.