“You told them to send tourist clothing?”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t want them to send formal wear. Shorts. Tee shirts. Underwear. That type of stuff.”
“Thanks” Bret stood. “I’m going to go into the bathroom, in case you are thinking of going in.”
Darius chuckled. “No, I’ll let you have your privacy. I’ll wait.…” he smiled at the knock on the door. “Bet that’s our clothes now. I’m bringing them in. I hope they’re all right.”
“Anything, right now, is going to be great.”
Darius took stock in what she said and even agreed. Anything was better than their dirty clothes, or the oversized white robes they were forced to wear. Besides, it was a high priced hotel; the clothes had to be good.
***
Bret turned from the mirror as Darius walked back into the room. “Oh, do we look gay or what?”
“We look like tourists.”
Bret checked out her reflection again. “Oh my God.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
Darius walked up to stand beside her and check out his reflection as well. “Okay, it’s worse.”
Both of them wore khaki thigh-length shorts, slip-on loafers, and green flowered buttoned-down golf-style shirts.
“We’re Madge and Marv Miller,” Bret said.
“Who?”
“They were this couple in their fifties who constantly went away in their RV when Marv retired early. They dressed alike, and God, they dressed like this. All we need is a camera.”
Knock-knock-knock
Darius smiled. “Close.”
“Huh?” Bret asked confused.
Darius walked to the door.
Blain stood in the door. “Hey, sorry it took so long.”
Darius opened the door wider. “Were you able to get a rental car?”
Blain dangled the key. “Nice outfit.”
Bret emerged from the other room.
“Oh, my God.” Blain laughed. “You two are the cutest thing.”
Bret tilted her head.
“All you need is a camera hanging around your neck,” Blain said.
“Okay, okay,” Darius held up his hand. “No, matching tourist jokes. It’s the only option we had. So tell us.”
“Yes.” Blain nodded. “I went to the real estate agency like you asked because we have to keep your name out of it. She wasn’t really happy that I came by at such an early hour, but when she found out who I was, she pepped up. She took me out to see it.”
“And?” Darius asked.
“It’s really worth seeing it Darius. It is ‘it’.”
“Okay, can she meet us?”
Blain shook his head. “Nope. Family picnic. But . . .” he held up another set of keys. “My celebrity status is worth something.”
“She gave you the keys?” Bret asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Blain answered. “When she saw how interested I was in the property, she was on it. I mean, let’s face it; the price tag is high. And when she found out I was willing to pay up front, she got giddy.”
The corner of Darius’ mouth rose. “Then she hasn’t a clue.”
Blain shook his head. “Nope. It’s not even in the disclosures. It states a barracks style property on 350 acres.”
Darius chuckled.
“Wait. Wait.” Bret walked up. “If this is the property you have been looking for . . .”
“One of four,” Darius corrected. “We believe it is.”
“Okay.” Bret nodded then continued. “If the real estate agent doesn’t know, how do we know for sure this is one of the four urban legend properties?”
Blain smiled. “Like Virginia . . . I saw the floor. I saw the markings.”
Darius cocked his brows a few times. “He saw the markings.”
Sarcastically, Bret nodded. “Markings. Sweet. How do we know someone didn’t mark it for a joke? We don’t. So before we hand out three million, let’s take a ride out there and see if this is truly the property you say it is and see for ourselves if this is one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse complexes.”
Darius shrugged. “I’m up for it.” He swiped the room key from the table. “Let’s go now.”
“Me too.” Blain jingled al the keys and turned “Let’s go. Ready, Bret?”
Bret grabbed her diaper bag. “Ready.”
Blain paused by the door. “Okay, if we go out in public with you two, can you not hold hands?”
Bret nudged him as he laughed and all three walked out.
***
The expression on Bret’s face would be forever etched in Darius’ mind. The gate was weak and flimsy, and they drove up a long dirt driveway. The barrack structure was plain, and as they approached the door a blast of wind hit them smacking them with hot air. It took Bret by surprise. Her eyes rolled slightly, her mouth opened a bit, and she coughed and gagged.
“I ate a bug,” she coughed then spit.
“That was weird,” Blain said. “Felt like God hit us with a blow dryer.”
Bret shook her head. “The world is going to pot, and you think hot air is weird. Try dropping from the sky. Open the door.”
Blain removed the box and then unlocked the door.
The barracks were dusty, but not completely empty. Bunk beds were lined up. A few long wooden tables, like something from the forties, were in the middle.
“Oh, yeah, this is a survival place,” Bret said sarcastically.
“The markings, Blain,” Darius said. “Where are the markings?”
“This way.” Blain led them to the back. “It’s in the back corner of the office.”
They walked across the long rectangular building. At the far end was a short hall. Clearly at the end of the building was a main bathroom. The sun peeked through the windows, lighting the room.
Blain and Darius turned into the office right before the bathroom. Bret did not.
“Bret?” Darius called. “You coming in here.”
“I want to check out the old bathrooms. Go on. Look at the markings.”
Darius nodded. Bret went straight, he turned with Blain.
“Over here,” Blain walked to the file cabinet.
From the other room, echoing, they heard Bret. “This is weird.”
“It’s a latrine. They pretty much did away with them,” Darius answered for her, speaking loudly. “It’s a bit of history.”
“No, Darius, the wall is off. Why is this room short?” she asked.
Darius looked at Blain. “What is she talking about?”
Blain whispered. “I haven’t a clue.”
“So strange,” Bret said. “Something is behind this wall.”
Darius shook his head, and nodded to Blain. “Markings.”
“Over here.”
Bret called out. “Like anybody cares what I’m discovering.”
Darius huffed. “You’re discovering a badly designed bathroom.”
“Markings.” Blain pointed.
To the right of the file cabinet on the concrete floor was an engraved and painted picture, no bigger than four inches, of four horses with a mushroom cloud behind them.
“Wow,” Darius crouched down. “This is it. This floor is concrete.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So . . . where’s the entrance?”
Bret’s voice hollowed some. “What the fuck. This is the weirdest shower stall.”
“God!” Darius called out. “It’s old, Bret!” he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hey, she’s amusing herself,” Blain said.
“True.”
“Where the fuck is the shower head?” she questioned out loud. “I know I’m gonna get wet when I turn it on.”
Blain looked at Darius and they both laughed.
“Sorry,” Blain snickered. “From what I heard she didn’t get turned on.”
“Shh.” He held his finger to his mouth. “Maybe if she gets wet now, things m
ight change.”
“Boy this thing is stuck. It’s hard,” she said.
They laughed again.
“She’s making progress,” Darius joked.
“Hopefully,” Blain tilted his head. “We may be the only civilization for a while. Virginia is married. Bret’s cute . . .”
“If you guys hear me scream, it’ll be because I get hit with something slimy!” Bret yelled.
“We’re ready!” Darius replied then shook his head at Blain. “Holy shit. I cannot believe you’re worrying about getting laid in the future.”
“You’re not.”
“No.” He paused. “Besides, I have dibs on Bret.”
“What! You can’t call dibs on someone. You don’t even like her.”
“Yeah, I do. Not that way, yet, I don’t think. But. It makes sense," Darius said.
“No. Chuck or Bruce make more sense.”
“What! No way.”
“Let’s ask.”
“No, you can’t . . .”
“Bret!” Blain called. “Can we pull you away from the hard, turning-on task of getting wet?” he snickered.
“What?” Bret came into the office, confused. “What are you talking about?’
“Whatever you’re working on there that might make you wet and slimy,” Blain said.
“Oh, the shower,” Bret replied.
“Yeah, anyhow, hypothetical question for you,” Blain said. “End of the world. We for some reason get no other people but us. For a long time. You want to have sex. Which man, out of our group, do you pick?”
“Why are you asking this?” Bret questioned.
Darius nudged him. “See, I told you. She doesn’t answer questions about things she doesn’t know about.”
“I’ll have you know I have four children,” Bret said.
“Ok, so that’s four times you have sex that we can prove. Some people do that in a week,” Darius commented.
Bret gasped. “That’s wrong. And just so you know, if I wanted to have sex . . . it wouldn’t be with you, Blain.” she said.
“Why not?” Blain asked.
“Too young.” She faced a smug Darius. “Nor you, it would be too selfish.” She exhaled. “I know exactly who I’d pick.”
They waited.
“Colin,” Bret stated.
“Colin!” Darius snapped. “Oh my God. Why?”
“Well, he’s older, mature. Experienced. Probably very unselfish and partner-oriented. And he’d make me laugh.”
Darius snickered. “He’d make you laugh all right. I’m not sure he even has a penis anymore.”
Bret gasped. “Oh my God, are you rude. I cannot believe you are insulting Colin’s penis. Wait until I tell him.” She turned and walked out.
Darius laughed. “Let’s find the switch to open the passageway.”
“Are we sure there’s a passageway?” Blain asked.
“Well, this obviously isn’t it.”
“Guys!” Bret called out.
“Ignore her,” Darius instructed. “Look behind the file cabinet.”
“OK, check behind that shelf.”
Darius agreed.
“Guys!”
“Jesus Christ, Bret!” Darius yelled. “What!”
“I think you should come here.”
After a huff, and a wave of his hand to Blain, Darius walked out. He went into the latrine. “Where are you?”
No answer.
“Bret?” Darius called out.
“Where is she?” Blain asked.
“I don’t know.” Darius looked left to right. “Bret!”
There was the slightest of squeaks, and the entire tile wall, which looked as if it were a shower area, lowered to the floor.
Bret stood there, hand against the ten by ten foot doorway. “Do you remember the show Let’s Make a Deal? Does this remind you of it?” she asked.
“Holy shit.” Darius rushed forward. “How did you find this?”
“I turned on the shower to see if it worked,” she said. “But it wasn’t a shower stall. Check this out.” She turned, grabbed the flashlight from her belt and turned it on. “Emergency lighting. Needs batteries.” She shined the light to the ceiling. “But check out this ramp. I didn’t go down, but it goes down far.”
Blain yelled down it. “Hello!”
His voice echoed back.
Darius took the flashlight. The doorway was actually an entranceway to a tunnel; they stood at the top of what seemed to be a long concrete ramp that ran downward. “Let’s go,” Darius led the way. ‘I’m betting the other end of this is big enough for trucks to pass through,” he commented as he walked.
How far did they journey? A quarter mile, a half mile? They didn’t know, but each step they took drew them deeper underground until the tunnel leveled out.
“Look at this,” Darius allowed the beam to reflect off the left and right sides of the wall. “Boxes of food.”
“If it’s been here that long,” Bret said. “I’m not so sure I’ll wanna eat it.”
Darius laughed. “Me either. Oh, wow.” He stopped. “Look ahead.”
“Is this for real?” Bret asked.
“Did we really find it?” Blain questioned.
“I believe,” Darius illuminated the huge round, vault style door. “This is it.”
***
Harry Hart worked for the government. He was also a journalist and novelist. Not many people had heard of him, but Darius had. Harry Hart wrote under the pen name Pat Frank. Pat Frank was synonymous with atomic war stories and survival. His book, Alas Babylon, was always a favorite of Darius, and that book prompted him to locate the out of print, and hard to find over-priced book, How to Survive the H Bomb, by Pat.
Darius remembered when Colin found that book in his room. He chuckled at the outdated tale, but even though some things in the book were outdated, the overall feel and message were not.
In fact, it held true to the situation they faced and could be used as a guidebook. How to Survive the H-Bomb was what prompted Darius to look for the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse complexes.
In the nonfiction book, Pat Frank discusses a privately-funded bomb shelter built in Florida, and designed to house a hundred families.
The bomb shelter was described as self-sufficient, with dorms, a cafeteria, its own water supply, diesel generators, reserve tanks, and so forth.
Catacombs constructed for the survivors of the future.
Darius read about them when he read the book at the age of fifteen and thought no more about it.
Until it snowed one day.
It snowed so hard that the cable was out and Darius decided to clean out the basement to pass time.
It was there he found the book and read it again.
During that reading he read the passages about the Sylvan Shores bomb shelter. But unlike when he was fifteen, the internet provided him the means to research it.
The next day when the cable and internet were back up, he began his research.
He was never able to locate any information about Sylvan Shores, but he found other information. Across the United States there were many government installations built underground, bigger than Sylvan Shores. They were built for thousands, not hundreds. Complete with streets, hospitals, and television rooms.
Two were nearby. In Virginia, there was Mt Weather. It was a well-known bunker for top members of the federal government. The other was at a fancy hotel in West Virginia, a secret installation revealed to the public in the 1990’s.
In order for Darius to take a tour of the bunker, he had to book a room.
He did.
It was during his stay and tour that he became more fascinated with the concept of underground cities and shelters. Darius vowed that once he retired he was going to build one.
He spoke to a man who claimed his father worked on the bunker. It was that man who told him about the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse complexes.
His father was called into work on two of them.
>
Four underground stations, complexes, like the ones the government built. Almost as big, and privately funded.
The four shelters were connected by ownership. Built in the 1970s, those who funded the complexes made a pact to be the new civilization should the world turn to ashes.
Each complex, hidden beneath some sort of diversionary building, bore a symbol on the floor.
Like the one Darius found.
The four were located in the south and southwest. California. New Mexico and two in Texas.
All were built to be self sufficient. Thirty-eight thousand square feet of room. A place to start seedlings. Even a ventilation system designed to be man-run should power fail.
Darius researched these complexes and found no concrete evidence of their existence, only rumors.
Until he stood in one.
It was magnificent.
The hallways were wide and sturdy, big enough to start a transit with golf cart type mobiles. The hospital had a twelve-bed ward. Operating room, and examining room. There was an area for dentistry.
The kitchen was a common area. There were eight latrines and showers, 16 dorm rooms with divider walls. Four recreation rooms and a theater.
It was three levels, at least a hundred feet underground.
The top two floors of the complex were ready for use, the bottom floor, storage or expandability.
The boiler room alone was huge.
Darius chuckled at the bicycles in there, eight of them, that would be peddled to produce energy.
The tour, which was led by the ‘You are here’ layout plaques on the wall, took two hours.
There wasn’t a space they missed, or a room they didn’t photograph.
They sat on boxes of chicken noodle soup, taking a break before going topside again.
“Shame,” Darius said. “I don’t think we can use all this food.”
Blain added. “I don’t think we should throw it away. It is canned goods. Can’t we test it to see if it went bad?”
“We could,” Darius said. “At least have it in reserve.”
Bret stood. “I can’t believe this place. It’s huge. It’s a building underground. I like the artificial light room, like they have on a sub.”
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