He planted a big kiss on her forehead and said, “Do you know where we are? Can you believe it? This is Mesa Verde, one of the most important and prolific archeological sites in North America, maybe in the world. There are thousands of digs and sites here...Maggie, I just can't believe my luck.”
Even in her weariness and fear, she couldn't begrudge the man his enthusiasm. With her usual affectionate sarcasm she looked up at him and said, “Well, my sweet man, I'm sure that I'll soon know all the boring details of our cave,” she swept her hand towards the rock walls of the large garden level they were being shown. “I mean, the s—t has hit the fan in a monumental way and lucky, lucky us. We have been saved, been delivered to America's version of Bum-f—k-Egypt.”
In his usual manner he ignored her snips and began to question their guide about how things could grow in the bunker. His dad had taught him that people who cursed a lot, lacked an adequate vocabulary and proved their diminished intelligence. He just never picked up the habit of using a lot of profanity. Of course, damn-it, some situations required extra emphasis. His precious Maggie, who he knew for certain had no lack of intelligence, possessed a quite colorful and prolific vocabulary. She would tell you in a very clear way, where you could go, how to get off and what part of her anatomy you could kiss. He guessed that it was just true love, because to this day it amused him and was a part of her irresistible charm.
The Christmas before the catastrophe, which turned out to be the last time he saw his father, he took Maggie home to meet his lone parent. After the dinner, ordered complete from the local cafeteria, he and Maggie washed dishes at the kitchen sink. A platter slipped from her soapy hands and broke to smithereens on the tile floor. She pushed her soft hair behind her ear, left a fluff of suds on her face and cursed, “Oh s—t-O-damn! I suppose that was a cherished family heirloom.”
Will squatted down and started to pick up the pieces. He stole a look into the living room, expected to see his aged father scowling from his well worn chair. To his surprise, the old man just grinned at him, pushed his glasses down on his nose and continued to read his newspaper. Over these last few years his wife had cleaned up her language a bit. She often worked with the children of the deep bunker, had to control what fell from her mouth. The population that had originally been about 250 had grown to close to 300, even now two of the women of the city were expecting babies. However, in anger or stress or excitement, she hadn't lost her talent for stringing together a strand of epithets as colorful as a Zulu necklace.
The years passed in Far View City. Maggie content to work in the garden, seemed to enjoy the physical work. Though she and Will had no children, she loved to tutor the children in reading and vocabulary. Ironic, thought Will. As was often the case, she was right about his view of their situation, he was basically in his idea of heaven. Mesa Verde, with over 4,000 archeological sites, provided him with more interesting work than he could accomplish in a lifetime. When the wind wasn't howling across the plateaus and canyons or the harsh winter blanketing them, he explored and dug. And he had Maggie.
The city was somewhat of a claustrophobic environment, but they had everything they needed to survive. About five hundred miles to the Southeast, near Roswell, New Mexico was another government bunker haven. Far View maintained contact with the Walker Bunker, Sanctuary 10. There were occasional runners between the two havens and the exchange of some goods. Will had a frequent letter communication via the couriers with a professor there. The two had originally met in Washington. The man was not an archeologist but very interested in anthropology and they maintained a distant friendship.
So far, both sanctuaries survived well. Only the runner's tales told the rather cloistered survivors of both havens about the outside world. Recently, the professor sent him a letter about some travelers who had been at Walker Bunker for a couple of weeks.
My old friend,
I wanted to tell you of an interesting thing that happened here over the past month or so. A family, a man with his wife and two children accidentally stumbled upon the sanctuary. They were here for about two weeks. I and many of the other residents had an opportunity to talk to the man, Jeff, extensively. He and his son had traveled the country for about five years, since the death of the boy's mother. They had encountered the woman Emily and rescued her from a dangerous situation. She became his wife and later at a failed and degraded encampment in central Texas, the three saved the young girl. I find it quite fascinating how the catastrophe that so drastically altered our world has made survivors seek each other out and form alliances, some good and some bad.
Jeff had lots of information about what he had witnessed on his travels. He told us that there were some uncommon cities and communities that had begun to rebuild and were successful at restoration of even some services and law. He said that there also still existed many enclaves of the bad and some truly evil and soul less groups of survivors, preying on any weak or vulnerable that crossed their paths.
I found the information that Jeff shared to be very intriguing. The true progress of the country in a restoration sense is very slow. It is obvious that any preparation or plans by our own government for recovery after a disaster have dismally failed and the resources were eventually used by the few, not the general population. Only the ingenuity and courage of the people has saved those that managed to survive. It is possible that those brave survivors are the best chance for a new country to rise up from this destruction. We don't get many true reports of things in the “outside” world. It seems that the government officials that were originally responsible for the restoration have long ago given up. Like all of us, they have decided to merely take advantage of the resources available and survive in privileged numbers, in select comfortable prisons.
The family disappeared from the bunker, a few days ago. It was announced that they decided to move on. I know for a fact that they were searched for and believe that the truth is they ESCAPED. May god watch over them. My regards, Doc
Will folded the letter from his friend, found the space where more of Doc's letters lived in the eclectic clutter and tucked it away. Today, cocooned by the blizzard, he thought of the letter. The piece of pottery and microscope pushed aside, black framed reading glasses ferreted out and placed on his nose, he pulled the letter down and read it again. Not that lengthy of a correspondence, yet Doc had hit on a glaring truth. They lived in a cozy prison.
It wasn't as if he never thought of the world outside of the sanctuary with it's hundreds of surrounding acres that had been a National Park. Months earlier, when the sun warmed the rocks and baked the scrubby ground he took a break from his excavations. His long legs bent, elbows on his knees, he sat on a large flat rock and looked out at the vastness stretching in all directions. A rolled cloth encircled his head with a piece hanging down to shield his neck from the hot sun. The clear sky formed a huge azure canopy and the remains of a town long ago deserted dotted the hazy far distance. What's it like out there now? What kind of societies are forming? What kind of folks are surviving?
For the first twenty years or so of his life the world was his to explore. He went where he pleased, always he searched for something new, relished the mysterious promise of the unknown. And to this day his curious wanderer's heart longed to plunge out across the countryside and see what was in the new world. But, he would go no where without Maggie and he would never purposefully put her in harm's way.
A long and colorful snake slid along at the base of the rock, not poisonous. With precision he sent a small stone at it's head and watched it slither away. It wasn't as if he couldn't protect her. Any person who traveled, as he once had, into remote and foreign locales would be a fool not to know how to use a weapon. He was a very good shot and quite familiar with guns. His favorite, the 9MM semi automatic pistol was at his waist now. It was lightweight, didn't get in his way as he worked or walked.
He could have shot the snake, but why? Also, in a one on one confrontation he was a strong and formidable p
hysical opponent. More than one self defense class in more than one country had made him confident in his skills. Doing a stint in the US military was something that he seriously considered. In the end, he worked with a world relief agency for about four years, immediately after he got his college degrees.
Still, unless some unforeseen event forced a change or unless he got concrete information that there was a new America growing out there, he would stay put in his ancient Pueblo ruins. Stay, with Maggie. The muted scraping sounds awakened him from his day dreams. He dropped his head and stole a look behind him. A few feet back a small figure squatted in the shade of a large straw hat and meticulously brushed away the soil around a fossilized stone. His thought was quiet but out loud, “Of course, there's Airi.”
CHAPTER TWO
A Spring Fever
Maggie had to make a decision, return to the restroom and throw up or go to her seat. The train picked up speed again, blasted along with only flashes of light darting across the windows. She spread her feet for support and made her way back down the aisle. Will stood up, he took her elbow and eased her down in the seat. “My god, what's wrong? Are you okay?”
She let her breath out in a long sigh, bit her lip and refused to cry. “It's Ann,” she looked up at him then, “You remember Ann from the office down the hall? She was frantic, wanted to stop and look for her family. She evidently knew we were coming into her home town.
“I heard her arguing with the soldier. Then I heard a scream. Did the guard hit her?” he said.
“She jumped, Will...oh-my-god, she jumped!” the words a forced whisper.
“What? Jumped where. You mean she jumped from the moving train?” His voice had an incredulous tone, his eyes captured hers.
Maggie nodded yes, not trusting her voice this time.
His jaw flexed and his mouth set in a firm line, “Oh, good lord. The poor girl.”
This would be only the beginning of the grief and heartache the transported survivors would face. As was promised, about a week after the train delivered the couple and their fellow Washington refugees to Far View, another train arrived. Many of the families were re-united, but more than a few were not. Although it was promised another train would soon follow, it never did. Only the family members that were located in the first few days after the catastrophe ever made it to the sanctuary.
Some of the employee's families hadn't lived in Washington and there was no way to find out the fate of anyone on the outside of the government bunker. After about a month, approximately fifteen of the residents declared they would leave and search for their families. There was no real effort to stop them. The group headed out from the bunker on foot, with guns and supplies.
Ten days passed. On a hot afternoon a volley of shots rang out, distant but audible in the depths of the bunker haven. Two ATV four wheelers and two old motorcycles rumbled at the camouflaged entrance, eight armed and menacing riders on board with two of the refugees from Far City. A man and his wife were pushed out with their hands tied behind them and the ropes encircling their necks. Very little clothing remained on the woman, she was dirty and bloody, near catatonic. The husband, badly beaten and in barely better condition knelt beside her in front of the loud ruckus. Not much of a mystery how the slimes found the sanctuary.
“HEY!” a coarse voice shouted out from the man standing behind the two captives. “We got some of your friends here. We'd like to do a little tradin'.”
The rocks seemed to open and two men stepped forward, rifles across their shoulders. They recognized the two former citizens. “What about the rest of our people?”
“We don't know nothin' about your people,” growled the man, he grabbed the matted hair of the woman, jerked her head up. “This is what we got to trade. If you ain't interested...” he put a pistol to the woman's head.
No change in the expression of the man from inside the haven, he said “What is it that you want?”
The captor flashed a vicious grin through a filthy beard, “I'm thinkin' we need to go inside and do a bit of shoppin'.”
“No.”
“No-o?” the man pulled the woman's face back and put the gun in her mouth.
“No. No one goes inside. You kill them and you get nothing and you all die. You tell me what you want in trade and I'll see if we can provide it.” The negotiator stood firm, his hand on his rifle.
A snort of disbelief puffed out from the man and he dropped the woman's head. She collapsed to the hard ground and the dry dust whiffed around her. “We want some guns, some food...lots of food and some booze,” he spit out. All of this exchange had been shouted over the roar of the cycle engines which still rumbled.
The second man from the haven backed up and the rocks cracked open again, he spoke through the slit, “You heard, go and be back in ten minutes.”
The partner said to the kidnappers, “Kill those motors. We'll have your stuff here in ten minutes.”
With a gesture of his dirty hand the man ordered the engines stopped and remained standing astraddle the curled up woman.
In exactly ten minutes the rocks cracked apart once more. A large gray plastic tote was pushed forward, one of the negotiators grabbed on and pulled it forward. A smaller tote was pushed out and then a man pulled a third tote from the entrance. The containers were dragged out a small distance from the captives. All seven of the aggressors had guns leveled at the men that now numbered three, from Far View. The leader stepped away from the woman and stood at the containers, demanded, “You pop these open, let's see what we've got.” He was the first to die, shot at close range.
The two lids of the large totes burst open and in seconds all eight of the visitors lay dead. The two jack in the box soldiers and three secret service men had neutralized the situation in a flurry of gunfire. The freed woman was scooped up by one of the secret service men, the husband assisted by another. The small party traveled hastily through the rock walled passageways, pale lights sparsely illuminated their way. No conversation was exchanged as they moved upward on metal clad stairs. The couple was delivered to a small clinic, the one doctor on site and a nurse were summoned. The bodies were buried and the bikes hidden away. Once again, the city disappeared into the mountain.
Both of the captives survived, although the woman would never really be her self again. The man related the story of how the refugees had stumbled into a turf war between their kidnappers and another larger gang. Four of the refugee group were killed, he and his wife were captured. Nine had escaped, their fate never to be known.
In just a matter of days following this confrontation an announcement was made by those that more or less governed the hidden city. Over speakers that were in every area of the underground camp, a message blared, “You are all aware of the recent unfortunate incident that resulted from the migration of several of our citizens. From this day forward, until farther stability can be proven to exist in the outside environment, no one will be allowed to leave Far View City. Due to the possibility of compromising the bunker's security and to insure the preservation of our limited resources, the sanctuary is in lock down. Thank you for your co-operation.”
That night as Will lay beside Maggie, he rose on his elbow in the dark and said, “There's something unnerving about being ordered where to go or stay. I don't like it.”
“Well, I guess. It reminds me a bit of being a kid and the teachers saying single file, don't talk, don't touch, walk slow...I never did so well with following instructions.” She gave a small laugh. “But Hon, that poor man and woman. Have you seen her? It's obviously very unstable and dangerous out there.”
His lips kissed the soft fingers that found them, “I know, I know. Can you imagine the reality of what's happened? Not many Americans were prepared for the long term results of a disaster. Food running out, no communications, no transportation, no utilities or services. What if you get sick, get an infection? It will bring out the worst in even decent people, make them do desperate things. And the bad...well, it will give
the bad, a lawless and uncontrolled rein. We're lucky Maggie, I know that.” They eventually slept.
Will, because of his profession and due to the fact that it was well known that he would never go anywhere without Maggie was allowed to work outside the bunker. So it was only on occasion that he thought of the outside world, the rest of his country. Like the day that he and Airi worked at the ruin site on the mesa top. His wandering reverie broken, he remembered when he first met his young apprentice.
Hama, a man of Japanese heritage, had worked in the Washington office with him. He was nearly twenty years Will's senior He and his wife and little grand daughter lived in a tiny apartment near the Whitehouse. He was courteous, kind and very intelligent and Will liked him a lot. A week after the supposed EMP event, he sat at the table in the Far View cafeteria with him and a large number of the other new inhabitants of the safe haven. They awaited the arrival of the second train, the family train. There was a tense quietness over the new residents that watched hopefully for their loved ones to arrive. Hama was reserved and controlled but Will could detect the slight tremble of his hand and the deep worry in his dark eyes.
It was such a huge relief when Hama's wife and the small girl walked into the room, the girl dashed for her grandfather and hugged him with enthusiasm. Will had previously met the grandmother and Hama said, “Airi, this is my good friend Will. Say hello.”
The head of the petite Japanese girl with the expected coal black straight hair, bobbed to just below her ears, slightly bowed. When she looked up at Will her eyes were a startling and unexpected blue. Airi's father had been American. He was killed in the wars of the East and her mother had become ill three years later and died. Her grandparents had brought her to America to be with them.
The Days After (Far View) Page 2