by Cronan, Matt
The sun beat down on them from its perch, high and the cloudless sky, as they weaved through the corroded boxcars. Cole led them through the maze as if he had done this a hundred times before. They reached the end of a line of cars and he made a left and then at the next intersection a right. Never a misstep or a moment of hesitation.
"Shit!" Sam yelled. A giant opossum had hissed at her as they passed an open boxcar. It hunkered in a bed of rotten hay and its pitch-black eyes darted from Sam to Jordan as it bared a vicious set of teeth.
"Sorry," Cole said. "Forgot about her. She won't hurt ya as long as ya keep your distance."
Sam pressed herself against the adjacent boxcar as they passed. The animal stuck its head out of the door and watched them until they made another quick turn.
"Any more surprises heading our way?" Jordan asked.
"None of the four-legged sort," Cole said.
"That's a real comfort," Jordan said.
The word struck a chord with Sam. Comfort. When would they ever be comfortable again? They would be on the run for the rest of their lives. If they escaped to the outside world, they would live in fear of the infected. Her breath caught in her chest. What had she done? She had ruined their lives.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to Jordan. "I'm sorry for speaking out—"
Jordan shushed her and reached out his hand. She took it and their fingers intertwined. His hands were rough, but they comforted her. Sam's were the same although not to the same degree. Not even close. Maintenance was hard labor. He squeezed her hand, and she returned it with a gentle smile. Maybe she had signed their death warrants but maybe an end to all this wouldn't be too bad. They had no plans to repopulate the Earth, what was their purpose?
"I love you," Jordan said.
"Remember the flowers," Sam said back.
"Yes, remember the flowers."
Sam didn't remember any flowers, and neither did Jordan. "Remember the flowers" was nothing more than a code phrase they had created when they first started…whatever it was they did. Sam didn't know what to call it. Date? No, they'd never been anywhere. They weren't going steady or going out or whatever else it people called it before the infection. Soul mates? Yes. Their souls belonged to each other, in this life and the next.
"We're here," Cole said as they reached a steel door at the end of the lot. It had been built in the side of a large concrete wall that stood 15 feet high and stretched 50 yards to the right. To the left was a large gate made up of rebar that crisscrossed from top to bottom. The gate covered a giant tunnel that once led in and out of the city. When Ministry erected the city walls around New Hope, they blew up the interior of the tunnel to keep the infected from coming in. And to keep the citizens from going out.
Cole fished the ring of keys from his pocket. He inserted one into the lock on the steel door and pushed it open. Beyond the door was a lightless corridor, and without hesitation, the old man disappeared into it. Sam looked at Jordan, who offered her a nervous smile. She returned it and they followed Cole into the darkness.
"Keep straight," Cole's voice echoed around them. "Keep your hands out in front of ya and keep straight. You bump into a wall and ya done got yerself twisted up. Just holler and I'll come back and straighten ya out."
"Where are we going?" Jordan asked. His voice boomed through the hallway. He followed with a much quieter, "Sorry."
"Fifty yards," Cole said. "We're halfway now."
"But where?" Sam asked.
Cole didn't answer.
As creepy as the darkness was, it provided a refreshing break from the heat. She wiped the sweat from her brow and winced as the sleeve of the coverall rubbed over the forgotten wound on her forehead. The pain returned in a slow, agonizing throb that spread out through her head like a wildfire.
The sound of gears and cogs turning filled the air, and the headache was forgotten. Sam froze in place and she reached blindly to her side. She found Jordan's hand and squeezed as tight as she could. He squeezed back, and they stood there in the darkness. Sam held her breath as the noise grew louder and louder around them.
The gear sound stopped and there was a loud click followed by four short bangs. A stream of light cut through the dark tomb and Sam shielded her eyes as they adjusted to the bright fluorescents ahead of them. Cole stood a few feet ahead of them in a doorway that mirrored the one they had entered.
"Sorry," he said. "Should have warned ya." He chuckled and proceeded through the doorway. Sam and Jordan followed with no further questions. There didn't seem to be a point. Either they would die here, under the ground, or later in the town plaza. The question had become 'when' not 'if.'
Sam's eyes took a moment to adjust as they stepped into the illuminated room. The thin layer of carpet underneath their feet was pale green and covered in spots of mold. The far wall was glass from floor to ceiling and a long wooden table sat in the middle with a dozen leather chairs surrounding it. Sam jumped at the sight of two people sitting at the end of it. One was a man whom she had never seen before. He wore a Ministry-issued black coat with blue trim. The other person at the table was a female soldier. The same female soldier from the plaza.
"What the hell is this, Cole?" Jordan asked. His voice shook with anger. He had betrayed them. Cole joined the two at the end of the table a wide grin covering his traitorous face.
"Sit down," Robertson said. Her voice was just as cold as it had been in the plaza.
"Make me," Jordan said.
Robertson stood but the man in the black coat touched her arm. The soldier hesitated and then sat back down.
"It's alright, Jordan," the man in the black coat said. He sat at the head of the table and offered a slight grin. He was Cole's age but was much thinner and not as tall. The little hair he had left was gray and cut short and his voice was soft when he spoke. "We're not here to hurt you."
"What are you here for?" Sam asked.
"To talk to you," the man answered. "To talk to both of you."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Because the two of you deserve an explanation and I would like to be given the opportunity to provide it."
"An explanation?" Jordan asked. "For what?"
"For everything," the man said. He smiled and beckoned for them to sit.
No one moved.
"I won't bite," the man said.
"And your lap dog?" Jordan asked and motioned toward Robertson.
"Boy, if you don't sit your ass—" Robertson snapped.
"That's enough, Jeanette," the man in black interrupted. His voice remained calm but firm. Robertson fell silent and a half-cocked smirk edged her lips. "Sgt. Jeanette Robertson is on our side," the man said. "She is here to assist in what comes after…" he hesitated, "…assuming you are receptive to what I have to say."
"To your explanation," Sam said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," the man said.
Sam took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Jordan hesitated for a moment as he stared down Cole. Their betrayer never stopped grinning, and after a few awkward moments, Jordan joined her at the table.
"My name is Holden Deckard, and I work—" the man said and stopped himself. A faint smile crossed his lips and then continued, "Correction, I worked for the Ministry as a biogenetic engineer."
Holden picked up a glass of water in front of him. He lifted it to his lips and took a large drink. Sam's mouth felt like sandpaper and she longed for the liquid as it disappeared into Holden's mouth.
After a few gulps, he sat the glass down and his cheeks flushed. "How rude of me. Cole, please bring our guests some water. And please get Miss Albright a rag to clean her wound. I believe there's a first-aid kit outside of the mechanical room."
Cole nodded and exited a room through the door opposite of them. There was a long moment of silence as they waited. Holden continued to smile and Robertson continued to glare at them.
"So how about you give us this explanation?" Jordan said after a full minute had passed.
Holden
took another sip of water and cleared his throat. "You have been lied to," he said and placed the glass back on the table. "We want to tell you the truth."
Sam's pulse quickened, and she swallowed hard, "What truth?"
Jeanette Robertson shifted in her seat, but her face remained stony. Sam wondered if she had ever smiled in her entire life and wondered what it would look like if she did.
"The official statement released by the United States government was that they had developed the RIZ-4 virus in secret as a response to the increasing threat of nuclear war. They thought of it as an endgame, only to be used under extreme circumstances."
Sam and Jordan both nodded. The same story revolved around the quarantine center after the outbreak. Then the government shipped them to New Hope where the stories continued. When the statements stopped being released and communication from the government ceased, the gates guarding the city had been closed.
Cole reentered the room carrying two glasses filled with water. He set them in front of Jordan and Sam. "I'm gonna go check the yard," he said and placed one of his giant hands on Sam's shoulder. He squeezed it. "I put the rag in the room in the back, along with the rest of the first-aid kit." Holden nodded in approval and Cole disappeared into the dark hallway.
Sam picked up the glass of water and took a sip. It was the greatest thing she had ever tasted. She took a big gulp and then another. Her body longed for her to finish it all, but she forced herself to return the glass to the table.
"There's plenty more," Holden said.
Sam hesitated for a moment and then drained the rest of her water. Jordan's glass remained untouched.
"Drink it," Sam said.
"I'm not thirsty," Jordan said.
"Please."
Jordan shot her a look of contempt but drained the contents of the glass.
"Would you like more?" Holden asked.
"No," Jordan said.
"It's not a problem. We have plenty—"
"Just get on with the damn story," Jordan interrupted.
"Please calm down," Sam said. "They're here to help us."
"You don't know that," Jordan said.
"And you don't know that they’re not."
"Actually," Holden interrupted, "we're not here to help you. Truth be told, we need your help."
"Then let's hear what you have to say," Sam said. Underneath the table, she took Jordan's hand in hers and squeezed. She didn't want to fight with him. She needed him now more than ever. But she also needed to hear what Holden Deckard had referred to as 'the truth.'
"According to the official statement," Holden continued, "a North Korean insurgent stole the virus and detonated it in the main terminal of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Within the first week, more than half of the population had been exposed to the virus. By week two, the media reported a 99% kill rate. And by the 19th day, the only ones left outside the quarantine centers were the abominations the virus created."
Holden stared into each of their eyes, perhaps waiting for a response. When one didn't come, he continued. "What if I told you the virus wasn't stolen?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Her words were raspy and her palms were sweaty. She wiped her hands on her coveralls.
"The RIZ-4 virus never fell into the hands of the North Koreans or anyone else," Holden said. "Our own people detonated the bomb."
"But why?"
"Population control." Holden leaned forward. "There was no third world war. We were facing a global crisis. Global warming, peak oil, deforestation, pollution, fracking…the world was on life support. We had exhausted all of our resources. A secret organization made up of the extremely wealthy decided the only way to save the planet would be to kill off its number one predator."
"Humans," Sam said.
"Yes," Holden agreed.
"That's a load of crap," Jordan said. "The government would never sign off on something of that magnitude. They would never kill their own people."
"But they did," Holden said. "The official kill order came from the President herself. You'd be surprised what money can buy. The men and women involved offered not just riches but protection from the virus."
Sam's throat grew even drier and her head spun as she tried to process the words.
"What do you mean herself?" Jordan asked. "There was never a female president."
Holden grinned but there was no humor or friendliness in the smile. "This is the point where I will ask you to take a leap of faith with me. Close your eyes and think back to the day the quarantine team took you away from your homes."
Sam closed her eyes and did as he instructed. Her mind wandered to the burning buildings, and she pictured standing in the field on the edge of town. The overgrown grass itching at her legs. David's crumpled body lying at her feet. His skin gray and already decomposing. The number seared into his skin.
"Soak in every detail," Holden said, "no matter how much it hurts."
Tears streamed down Sam's face but she didn't wipe them away. Instead, she concentrated on the memories. They appeared even clearer. Men in yellow biohazard jumpsuits walked toward her. They scanned her retinas and put her on a bus. The field igniting in flames. David still there, helpless. Sam opened her eyes.
"You can both remember that night, correct?" Holden asked.
"Yes," they said in unison.
"Now close your eyes again," Holden instructed.
"Is there a point to all this?" Jordan asked.
"Yes," Holden answered.
"Well, what is it?"
"Close your eyes and you will see."
Sam did as he asked and closed her eyes again.
"Clear your mind," Holden said, "and try to remember a day before the virus. Any day. Birthday. Christmas. First day of school."
Sam searched her memories but nothing remained except blurred and distorted images. She shifted in her chair and concentrated harder.
"I played with this boy in a field by the city," Sam said. "His name was David. We used to play games in the field." Her heart ached at the sound of his name. The image of his body flashed through her mind and she opened her eyes. "He died during the infection."
"But you can remember him before the infection? You can see yourself playing tag with him?" Holden steadied his voice. "Think as hard as you can, Sam."
Sam closed her eyes again. She pictured David in the field, but the only memory that came to her mind was the one of his lifeless body curled into the fetal position. She thought harder, confident the memories would flood back into her mind. But nothing came. Sam shook her head and opened her eyes. "I can't see them but I know we played them."
Holden nodded as if he understood and looked to Jordan whose eyes were still clamped shut. "And you, Jordan? Do you remember anything before the event?"
"I helped my father work on his car," Jordan said. His voice shook when he spoke and Sam squeezed his hand under the table. He didn't squeeze back. "Every weekend," he continued, "he would take me to the garage and we would work on the motor."
"And you can see this, you and your father?"
"No."
Jordan opened his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Sam's heart broke at the sight of it. She had never seen Jordan cry before. He was always so strong, so tough. He was her rock. His face had grayed and his palm was sweaty.
"You know these things to be facts, though?" Holden asked. "Playing tag in the field? Working on the car with your father? In your mind, you hold these as truths?"
"They are truths," Jordan said.
"Tell me what your father looked like, Jordan," Holden said.
Jordan didn't answer.
"Sam, who did you live with before the infection?"
"My mother," Sam answered.
"Describe her."
Sam squeezed her eyes shut, but again, there was nothing but a blank slate. A deep panic swelled in her chest as she grasped for any mental image of her mother she could find.
"What color hair did she h
ave?"
Nothing.
"What color were her eyes?"
Again, nothing.
"What color was the car, Jordan?" Holden asked.
"I don't know."
"How tall was he?"
"I don't know."
"What did he—?"
"I told you, I don't know!" Jordan screamed. The outburst caused Sam to jump in her chair. The questions had shaken him. He buried his head in his hands and Sam ran the fingers of her free hand through his thick brown-black hair.
"It's okay," she whispered.
"No," Jordan said. "No it's not."
"As I told you before, I am a biogenetic engineer and before I came to New Hope I worked in a city called Concordia."
The name of the city echoed in Sam's brain and her stomach knotted. She thought back to the words in her file, 'Results recorded in main file in Concordia.'
"It's a city a hundred times larger than this one," Holden said, "located in the middle of the country."
"Bullshit," Jordan blurted out. "Everyone is dead, infected or lives in this city. There were no other survivors. No other cities, or towns, or villages. New Hope is the last beacon of light left in this hellhole."
"And how do you know this?"
"That's what they told us," Jordan said.
"The Ministry has told you a lot of things haven't they?"
Neither Sam nor Jordan responded to this. The Ministry had told them everything for the last ten years: what to eat, what to wear, what to do and especially what to think. The knot in her stomach grew tighter.
"Concordia gave you the memories of the fires and the men shipping you the quarantine centers. All the vague memories that you know as fact are all lies. They implanted a biochip into your brains. It controls your thoughts. Suppresses the old ones."
Sam's head swam. She closed her eyes again, as tight as she could, and tried to envision her mother or her father. Anything besides for David's cold, dead corpse lying in the field. She concentrated on remembering the city before it was burning, but there were no memories to back up the facts she knew.
"That's impossible," Sam whispered.