by D. Henbane
In the case of old man Vickers, he was lost long before this approach had been taken, and his only outlet was his notepads. Alex looked down at the large collection of note pads, placing the one he was reading on top of the pile. There was a part of him that wanted to continue reading, to get a better understanding of Vickers, but another part told him to leave it be.
“I'm sorry. That was meant to be private.” Alex said out loud.
Alex looked down towards the hallway, there were three more rooms in the underground bunker, and he could see the outline of the doors in the light. He took out several more L8's, activated them, and tossed them into the rooms.
One by one, they activated, illuminating the underground structure perfectly, and he walked to the first room on the right. Upon entering it, Alex was slightly taken aback, and quite envious. The room was filled with weapons, most were antiques, and a few were ancient.
Alex walked towards the opposite wall, retrieving one in particular from the wall, a Gladius sword. It was surprisingly intact, so much so, he was at first convinced it was a good replica. Upon closer inspection he realized that it was an authentic weapon of the ancients.
Alex marveled at the mostly rotten blade, its scabbard was barely held together by scraps, and the hilt was cracked in many places. As he held the weapon in his hand he couldn't help but wonder which Roman soldier had possessed it. Had it been in the possession of a great historical leader? Perhaps it was wielded by a great gladiator. How many lives had this blade cut down during its useful life?
The sword itself should have been stored in a museum, yet here it was in the collection of a strange hermit in Missouri. How much did this cost you? Alex wondered to himself, as if Vickers was in the room to answer back. The feeling of admiration faded quickly, as he realized he was rummaging through the personal effects of a person that he in no small way contributed to his death.
Old man Vickers death might not have come that night; there was no way of knowing how much gas the old man had left in the tank, but to Alex it didn't matter. He was just as much part of his death as father time. He also shared a new bond with the old man. He was a soldier too. He had fought, seen things that he tried to forget, and knew all too well the pain of difficult choices.
He felt a special connection with Vickers. No longer was he some creepy old man on the edge of town. It wasn't until he got a taste of the so called real world that only a soldier could experience that he realized just how wrong he and his peers had been. He wasn't crazy. He was injured. If his mental scars could somehow manifest into physical ones, people would not have shunned him, they would have took pity on him.
Alex placed the sword back on the wall, taking time to hang it neatly, as much as he would have loved to keep it for himself, this was a museum. Not one that will ever be toured, or have a line of spectators lining up to see it in all its glory. This museum was private, and only the initiated may enter.
Alex left the room, turning around in the hallway, for one last look at it. It was an impressive collection, and reminded him of his own. The one he had left behind, the same one that he and Amos had carefully assembled. He had made the choice to leave it behind, and the blood that it stood for. He was retired, and in doing so, the weapons were retired as well.
Had he known that his island retreat would be so short lived, he would have hoarded a few prized pieces for use at a later date. Alex thought about this for a moment, and let out a small chuckle. He looked over at the L8 shining on the floor. Old habits die hard.
As much as Alex had wished to leave his old life behind, it still followed him, residing somewhere in his subconscious. The same skills that had kept him alive during all of those years of fighting were still alive and well in his own psyche. The preparation for the inevitable had permeated every pore of his body for so long, that he didn't even pay attention when it happened.
He had made a decision somewhere along the way. A decision to keep certain things, whatever thoughts he had used to justify keeping them escaped him, but his instincts had guided those decisions and once again it was correct.
Alex walked into the next room. An old Ham radio sat on a worn out desk. It was covered in a layer of dust; next to it was several index cards, with call signs hand written on them. Some had extra notes assigned to each card, and others were nothing more than call letters. A single lamp hung above the desk, its green painted housing looked like a Christmas ornament from years past.
Alex turned around and walked towards the final room in the hall. Unlike the previous two rooms, this one had a door, and it was shut. Alex reached down to turn the knob, only to find it locked. This rooms door was centered at the end of the hallway, as the others were adjacent openings in the floor plan.
Alex took a step back, readied himself, and thrust his foot at the door jam. The door shuttered for a second, until the wood frame gave way, and the door opened slowly. Alex retrieved on of the L8's and tossed it into the opening.
The light scattered out into the room, illuminating many shelves, each shelf was loaded with cardboard boxes. He recognized the lettering outside of each box. MRE's. Glass mason jars filled the gaps between each box, and there were several 55 gallon drums as well. These no doubt contained preserved grain food, such as rice, corn, or wheat.
This room was much larger than the previous ones. It had been prepared for many years, and under meticulous conditions to preserve it. It was no wonder how Vickers had considered it important enough to lock away. He might have been crazy, but he was no fool.
All of the food stored here, could safely be eaten at a moment's notice, and Vickers had done his homework. He had prepared this place for someone. Maybe even himself, or the family that never was, it was difficult to know exactly.
Right now it was a gift. Something that Alex and Eve needed badly. Food, first aid supplies, a plethora of medications, and tools. I will only take what is needed. Alex thought to himself as he started to load up the bags he found nearby.
Alex packed three bags, being careful to utilize every square inch of the containers. The bags themselves contained many pockets, much like the modern bug out bags sold at stores, but these were much older and no doubt military issue.
Had Vickers been born a generation later, and made his intentions known, he might not have been labeled as crazy. He would have simply been called a prepper. In his time, these self-preserving tactics were met with disbelief, and seemed eccentric.
Even in Alex's generation a seemingly assured destruction was an accepted fact, fueled by paranoid doomsday prophecies and an endless fascination with the end of the world. As often as he dealt with the crazy doomsday folk, he just shrugged them off as harmlessly ignorant. Alex had learned his skills from his father, the military, and a handful of experts.
His preparations were not made for a biblical judgment day, but for a very real possibility that his family might one day need to be self-sufficient. He knew it was only a matter of time before things went south, and the only people he would be able to rely on were family.
Governments were simply too unstable to survive for any lengthy period of time. He knew that, his father knew it as well, and so did history. Alex had always imagined that the so called “end” would occur due to the loss of cheap fossil fuels, but the recent events had altered his perspective. The end result was the same, regardless of the catalyst, and he was ready.
It was now just a matter of time, waiting until the dust settled and things resumed just as they always had. The landscape may have changed, the population might be heavily reduced, but inevitably some people will survive and the cycle of life would begin again. Governments would rise, fall, and be rebuilt again. This time falsely believing that it was going to be different. Just like last time. History has a nasty way of repeating itself, Alex knew that, his father did as well, and that is what made them different. Or did it?
Chapter Twenty Nine
Last Dance
Eve was getting very worried; the hours had
passed so slowly, that she often thought her watch was broken. It wasn't until she looked out the large glass windows of the entry way that she noticed the sun setting, and confirmed her fears that Alex had still not returned.
Time wasn't standing still, it was passing right on time, and her anxiety was making every moment feel like years in passing. It was already very dark in the gym, thanks to the absence of windows, and she had done some exploring as an attempt to pass the time. Every time she returned to the concession stand, she was greeted by the light of day, and now it too was fading.
The thought of being so very alone, in a pitch black abyss was causing her to shake like a frightened child. She pressed her hands up against the glass, looking out at the fading sun, as if she was begging it to stay in the sky just a little longer; letting the sun's rays keep her warm, the light comforting her from being alone, and to keep the monsters away.
With the sun now gone, Eve was not comfortable sitting in the lobby with a bright flashlight, which could easily be seen through the two windows. She decided it would be best to stay in the middle of the gym, but had changed her mind and went in the door under the bleachers.
This room was a storage area, tucked neatly below the seats, and had no secondary entrance. It ran the full length of the gym, its ceiling was a generous 10 feet in height, and provided plenty of storage space. She had only been in the room a handful of times during school, one in particular to pick out an old football jersey to wear during homecoming week.
To her surprise, the room was still mostly filled with old sports equipment, and many cardboard boxes. She closed the door behind her, making sure to lock it, and continued on inside. She saw the old glass trophy case, still holding memorabilia from the past.
State football championships, wrestling medals, signed game balls from the various sports the school participated in. There was one trophy that stood out from the rest. Its brilliant red pillars held up three different tiers, the center one was the largest, and on top of it was a fake gold symbol of an opened book with a feather quill to the side.
The trophy itself was nearly five feet tall, displayed in the center of the case, dwarfing the others around it. The words etched on the base of the plaque read:
1st Place
State Academic Decathlon 1996
Steelville High School
“Knowledge is power”
Eve thought back to the day they placed the trophy in the case. It was won by her class mates, as the adults often reminded them, her graduating class was special, special on many different levels. They were by far the largest to ever attend the school, the most talented in sports, and as this trophy displayed the most intelligent.
Her graduating class was filled with talent; every aspect of study was represented by an exemplary student, unique in their own right, and respected for their skills. They dominated across the board, sports, art, cheer, drama; they had it on lock down for four glorious years.
The awards were given out, trophies brought home, and records set. She had been born into a very unique group of peers, and their accomplishments showed it. It ultimately culminated with one final unique achievement; they were the graduating class of 2000.
The end of one era, the birth of another. At the time, it didn't seem anything to be concerned over, it was just another day in her life. It wasn't until she looked back at the events during her lifetime, that she realized just how unique they really were.
Eve wandered over to the southern corner of the storage room, she had only been in this part of the room just once, it was the area reserved for football gear. She remembered her friends hovering over a box filled with old football jerseys, her schools small size rarely awarded new equipment, and this day was no different. They were there to pick a jersey to be worn during their homecoming skit.
The girls were dressing themselves up like football players, but due to budgets the only jerseys they had access too were the junior high hand me downs. The nice jerseys had already been claimed by the varsity boys. They were in a transition period, fueled by her class mates unexpected success, had captured the attention of people with money.
Money has a tendency to follow success, and this time was no different. The varsity football team was decked out in new uniforms, each team member was sporting the new jerseys, and there was plenty of the old ones to go around.
As her friends dug out a suitable jersey to wear, she searched for a specific number 57, but that sleazy bitch Beth already had it, and wasn't letting go of it. Beth could have 57 on the old jerseys, because the real 57 on the varsity team gave his game jersey for her to wear.
Eve had Alex's jersey, emblazoned with the team mascot, in all of its new glory. It belonged to her alone. Alex had given it to her. Suck it Beth! After the home coming game was the night Alex and Eve made their relationship official. It wasn't Eve's first time, it was however Alex's, and she had lied to him that night to prevent any embarrassment.
Eve rummaged through the box, and in very little time she came across Alex's old Jersey. A well worn black game jersey, the number 57 was outlined in orange, with an embroidered white Husky on each shoulder.
Eve snatched up the old jersey, put it on, and was amazed that it still fit. “It looks good on you.” Alex's voice startled her, and she let out a scream. She was quick to cover her mouth once she realized who was speaking.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Eve said as she smacked him playfully on the shoulder.
“Stealth is one of my many skills.” Alex replied.
Eve smiled gently as she embraced him in a hug. “I was getting worried.” Alex shot her an incredulous look, as if he was almost offended by the comment. He might not have been boyfriend of the year material in high school, but without a doubt, he was capable of handling his own in the battle field.
“Did you find any bodies?” Eve asked.
“No. What I did find proves I was right.” Alex replied. He motioned towards the door, and took Eve's hand as he walked out. In the center of the gym floor were several bags, each one filled to capacity, and a single liquid based candle in the center.
The flame of the candle was not overly bright, it wasn't designed to be that way, and was reserved for longevity. Unlike a standard solid based candle, this one was meant to last as long as possible, utilizing its liquid base allowed it to burn for much longer.
It had taken Alex quite a bit longer than he had anticipated to return to Eve, but there were several stops he needed to make. Not having Eve with him actually sped the process up, and he was able to slip in and get what he wanted without risking her life.
The supplies he needed would have never been kept by Vickers. They were things that were not essential for survival, but for sentimental reasons worth their weight in gold. A CD player, some D batteries, a hand picked selection of CD's, a bouquet of flowers, and a white rose corsage.
Of all the items that he went after the white rose was the hardest part. Plenty of businesses had flowers, but most had died or wilted. The flowers had been left out on display, without electricity, and not being looked after soon died. He was about to give up until he entered Kimi's flower shop.
He remembered ordering flowers from the petite Asian woman. Her shop always seemed empty, but somehow she always had the flowers you wanted and even some you didn't. She had an innate ability to create the best floral arrangements, regardless of the occasion, but often was interrupted by a phone call.
That phone call she received, she explained was from Japan, and she always needed to take it. If you were patient enough, you would get the best of the best. There was a reason Kimi's was still in business. The woman knew her flowers, and she wouldn't stand for a sub par product. It was almost like joining a cult. If you hadn't have gone through Kim, you didn't care less about your date. If your date found out that you hadn't ordered your flowers through her, best of luck getting to second base.
Alex soon learned why Kim's shop seemed so barren. The woman was so busy that th
e arrangements rarely sat around long enough to be displayed. Lucky for him she kept plenty back in the coolers behind her desk. The thick insulated walls had shielded for quite a while, but most of them had wilted as well.
He rummaged through the flowers, picking out the best looking ones, and arranging them into a bouquet. He picked out a vase from the work station, attached a ribbon around the neck, and filled it with some water he found in the break room.
“What's all this?” Eve asked, her face flush with embarrassment. Alex didn't say a word, but placed the corsage on her wrist. “For me? You shouldn't have.” Alex smiled, motioned for her to sit down, and placed a disc in the player. In just a few fleeting moments the rhythm of an old pop song filled the empty gym floor.
“Real Mccoy?” Eve said. Her voice sounded with a hint of surprise. It had been ages since she had heard this song. She tried to remember the last time she heard it on the radio, but the only recollection of it was the night of their prom. It was in this same gym, that they had danced together happily, until Alex told her that he had enlisted.
Eve had overreacted, she knew that now as an adult, but none the less the pain of that evening returned. She wished she had not said those things to him, maybe even listened a little more, but the past was just that. Done. She fought back the urge to verbally assault him for bringing up painful memories of the past, but reminded herself that she would have long been dead if he hadn't intervened.
Eve might not ever understand how Alex justified things in his mind, but at least she owed him a chance to finish what he had started. Alex had gone out of his way on many occasions to protect her, left his family behind, and the secure fortress he had helped build. He had done all of that, not because she asked him too, but because he must have wanted too.