Dusk of Humanity : (Book 1 in the Dusk of Humanity Series)

by M. K. Dawn

  “Evelyn.” Sloan shook the woman’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m not sure what the fuss is all about over a simple weekend retreat.”

  “The VIPs – that’s the name given to those who founded and run the place – described this weekend as a collaboration. All the brightest minds from every field imaginable are present. Each will be asked to provide a review in their area of expertise and suggestions to make The Bunker’s practices better.”

  Sloan sat her messenger bag on the coffee table. “You would think gathering opinions before construction would be more prudent?”

  “This is a government facility we speak of.”

  “True. You wouldn’t happen to be the neurosurgeon Dr. Evelyn Williams?”

  “You’ve heard of me?” Evelyn was genuinely surprised.

  “Your advances have been groundbreaking. I’ve used several as a foundation for

  recent surgeries I myself have performed.”

  Evelyn beamed. “I’m flattered.”

  “You shouldn’t be. You’re an extraordinary surgeon.”

  “Thank you.” Evelyn turned her attention to the electronic panel on the wall. “Have you checked in yet?”

  “I had only just arrived when you emerged from your room.”

  “There isn’t much to it,” Evelyn said. “Scan your wristband and your itinerary for the weekend will load. My assumption is ours will be the same, along with the other doctors and nurses.”

  Sloan checked in. Moments later a green light blinked on her wristband then disappeared. “It seems my schedule has been uploaded.”

  “What’s showing next?”

  Sloan pressed the bottom button, as instructed by Corporal Smith. The small square screen lit up and her upcoming appointment scrolled across. “Dinner at eight.”

  “Same,” Evelyn said. “That gives us a little over an hour. I’m going to freshen up, maybe read awhile. Your bedroom is to the left. I hope you don’t mind me choosing before you arrived. Both are identical.”

  “I’m not particular.” Sloan slung her messenger bag across her shoulder and clutched the handle of her carry-on.

  “Would you like to go to dinner together?” Evelyn asked. “It would be nice to eat with a friendly face.”

  Sloan didn’t mind dining alone; most of the time she preferred the solitude over mindless chit-chat. However, as she would be sharing a suite with this woman for the next few days, it would be impolite to turn down the invitation. “That would be lovely.”

  “Great.” Evelyn smiled. “I will let you get settled in and see you in an hour.” She turned for her room but stopped before she entered. “The refrigerator is stocked with a variety of drinks, fruit, and snack food. We were told to help ourselves. Everything goes into the blue bin except for leftover food which is thrown into the compost bin. Recycling is extremely important here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Evelyn nodded and closed the door behind her.

  There was no plastic in the fridge, only glass pitchers labeled water, juice, and tea. The snacks Evelyn mentioned consisted of a small variety of meats, cheeses, and fruits. All were kept in glass containers as well. It made sense there were no disposables as The Bunker was to be a self-sufficient community.

  Sloan removed a glass from the nearest cabinet, poured herself water, and headed for her room. The bedroom was decorated in the same drab motif—wood and white—as the rest of the suite. The comforter and pillows were white and the bed, dresser, nightstand, and small desk with chair, were stained wood.

  She unpacked her small suitcase into the four-drawer dresser and hung her cocktail dress in the closest on the provided hangers. A shower would be nice, as her skin always had an unclean feel to it after she flew. A run would be better to expel the tension her body built up from today’s events. Unfortunately, she had no time for either, so she settled for a power nap.

  Without her phone, Sloan would have to rely on the alarm clock, which sat on the nightstand, to wake her in twenty minutes. Any longer and she would risk entering REM sleep and end up groggy for the remainder of the evening.

  Sleep came quickly, which wasn’t unusual. She had perfected the power nap over the years out of necessity more than desire. It wasn’t uncommon for a surgeon of her stature to be pulled into back-to-back surgeries either as the lead surgeon or a consultant.

  A sharp rap at the door pulled her from her nap. “Dr. Egan? Is everything all right? Your alarm has been sounding for at least ten minutes.”

  Sloan struggled to blink away the fog that clouded her consciousness. The vibrant red numbers of the clock told her all she needed to know: she’d slept through the alarm and considering how much time had passed, must have entered REM sleep. “I’m fine, Evelyn. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  Her head pounded. It was foolish to think a power nap would suffice after her overnight shift. How had she forgotten she hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours?

  With her feet planted on the ground, Sloan scooted off the bed and flipped on the light. It was a peculiar sensation, being in a room without a window. Her mind could comprehend the time based on the clock but without the visual confirmation, it somehow felt off.

  She slipped on her running shoes, not in the least bit concerned about a dress code. Her t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes would have to do, as they were all she brought aside from her cocktail attire.

  Evelyn waited in the living area, a glass of wine in hand. She looked up from her book and smiled. “You okay?”

  “I worked the overnight shift before I was ordered to board a plane to Fort Hood. The little sleep I obtained on the flight was not enough.”

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Evelyn rose from her seat. “It’s an excellent year. Complements of The Bunker.”

  Sloan joined her in the small kitchen. “What kind of government retreat provides wine? Good wine at that?”

  Evelyn giggled and poured Sloan a glass. “I know. It’s almost as if they’re trying to butter us up for something awful.”

  Sloan understood Evelyn’s comment was pure witticism but still, an inkling in the pit of her stomach cautioned she might not be too far off.

  ***

  They finished their wine in haste; neither aware of The Bunker’s policy on tardiness. A decent meal and good night’s sleep would do wonders for Sloan’s dwindling mood. She dragged herself out of the kitchen chair and trudged to the door. The day’s events had seemingly caught up with her and the wine hadn’t helped.

  Evelyn led them down the hall towards the elevator. “Six of the fifteen floors are designated living quarters. Five are residential; one is for military personnel.”

  “Fifteen levels is impressive. Was the depth disclosed?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “The question was asked but the information was deemed classified.”

  “I guarantee that won’t be the last of the information deemed classified.”

  Each scanned their wristbands on the panel to the right of the elevator. Evelyn was the first to stepped inside the steel box. “It was the first of many questions answered in such a way. By the end of orientation, the majority of us had more questions than answers.”

  The elevator door closed behind Sloan. “Egan, Sloan; Williams, Evelyn—report to level twelve; dining hall,” the mechanical voice commanded.

  Sloan studied the map. Each hall had an elevator. On the adjacent side, each floor had one access point to the emergency stairwell—a steep, spiral staircase that began at The Bunker’s main entrance and descended to the bottom floor.

  The doors opened to a small horizontal hallway with the same rusty brown rocky walls as that of the living quarters. Across from them were a set of double doors that led to a massive hall.

  “This room must take up half the floor if not more,” Evelyn said as they stepped inside.

  The hall reminded Sloan of a larger version of her high school lunchroom with the mobile bench tables scattered about and the cafeteria-style buffet on th
e far-right wall. To the left was a different story. In place of the wall was an enormous, floor to ceiling freshwater fish tank. Sloan’s father had been an avid fisherman and tried more than once to teach his daughters the art of angling, so she recognized some of the fish by name—catfish, trout, bass, salmon, and drum. All were edible and had graced their dinner table more times than she could remember.

  “How big is that tank? How many fish are in there? A thousand? Hundreds of thousands?” Evelyn asked the soldier to their right. It seemed it too had caught her eye.

  “That’s classified, ma’am. Scan your wristband on the wall and enter the line,” a soldier directed.

  There weren’t many people waiting; most had already obtained their plates and taken a seat at one of the large circular tables.

  “Why would a fish tank be classified?”

  Sloan shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Good news is, looks like being late doesn’t mean you’re denied food around here,” Evelyn said as she scanned her wristband. “You never know when it comes to a military-run facility.”

  Sloan followed suit. “Good to know, as I’ve never been great at following a detailed schedule. I find life has too many variables.”

  “Agreed.” Evelyn glanced around. “Do you happen to see the plates? I would assume they would be at the end of the buffet.”

  A scan me sign at the start of the buffet caught Sloan’s attention. She swiped her wrist and a plate emerged from behind a glass window she hadn’t realized was there. As the plate filtered down a small conveyor belt, robotic spoons and spatulas measured, cut, and severed a portion of each food—salad topped with an olive oil dressing, mixed berries, chicken breast, wild rice, a slice of wheat bread, and a small chunk of what looked to be dark chocolate. Sloan removed her plate from the serving drawer and watched in awe as Evelyn’s plate was assembled.

  Once Evelyn received her food, she directed them to a partly filled table. “Those are the additional surgeons who were invited this weekend.”

  Most Sloan recognized; all were young and prodigies in their fields, which she found odd. No one would argue the brilliance of these doctors, but if the government was in search of an in-depth perspective on their technology, wouldn’t more experienced surgeons have greater knowledge to offer?

  She scanned the remainder of the room. Not only were all the surgeons young, but so was everyone else. “Do you find it strange there is not one person over thirty-five in this room?”

  Evelyn set her plate on the table and glanced around. “I hadn’t actually noticed during orientation, but now that you mention it…”

  “I have a theory,” the brown-headed surgeon to her left—one she didn’t know—said. His cheeks dimpled when he smiled exaggerating his already boyish looks.

  “Sloan, this is Dr. Travis Morrison, plastic surgeon extraordinaire,” Evelyn said between bites.

  “Nice to meet you, Travis.” Sloan didn’t bother to offer her hand as she was in the middle of eating. “What theory do you have?”

  The rest of the table moaned in unison.

  “Am I missing something?” Sloan asked.

  “Travis is what you would call a conspiracy theorist,” the full-figured Dr. Vicky Maxwell said.

  Travis tossed a blueberry into his mouth and grinned. “Government conspiracies are my specialty.”

  Sloan’s eyes widened. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

  “The way I see it,” Travis said, “the government brought us all here—”

  Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, a thunderous commotion permeated the room. A large group of soldiers entered led by none other than Major Archer. While the men and women around him appeared relaxed with their lighthearted behavior, Archer’s eyes darted about. For a brief moment they fell upon Sloan. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Evelyn leaned into Sloan. “Who is that?”

  “The man who escorted me here.”

  Vicky tossed her sleek raven hair over her shoulder. “He is all kind of gorgeous. I wonder what it would take for him to escort me home.”

  The surgeons erupted in laughter except for Sloan, who didn’t care much for jokes of a sexual nature. Instead she picked at her food—which was delicious, unlike the cafeteria food she remembered—and sat in silence as the others continued with their inappropriate banter.

  At one point, Sloan’s eyes slipped closed; exhaustion from lack of sleep the night before had finally caught up with her. “I think I’ll retire to my room for the evening.”

  “What!” Travis said. “The meet and greet hasn’t even begun. They’re just now setting up the bar.”

  Sloan rubbed her eyes. “As enticing as that sounds, I’m exhausted. Another time, perhaps.”

  “A rain check, then?” Travis asked. “Sunday night at the cocktail party? Drinks on me?”

  “That sounds lovely.” She rose from her seat. “Good night all.”

  ***

  The clock on the nightstand read seven a.m. but the room was black. One night and already Sloan loathed the windowless room.

  She flipped on the light and grabbed a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and her travel bag. Sloan heard Evelyn come in around midnight, so chances were good the bathroom would be available.

  After a lukewarm shower—a problem she was sure to mention in her review of The Bunker—she reemerged dressed, rested, and ready to get the day over with. Her stomach turned at the thought of the ground-breaking surgery she would miss out on today.

  The dark, rich aroma of coffee filled the air. As a medical professional, Sloan understood too much caffeine was unhealthy, but as a surgeon, it had become a crutch she’d use way too often to keep herself moving.

  “I would ask if you’re a coffee drinker,” Evelyn poured her a steaming mug, “but I don’t know of a single surgeon who isn’t. Cream, sugar, or both?”

  “A little milk is all.” Sloan opened the fridge, grabbed the glass jug and a bowl of fruit, and took a seat at the small table.

  Evelyn joined her with their coffee cups. “I believe they are serving breakfast in the dining room.”

  Sloan shook her head and popped another grape into her mouth. “Fruit is my normal breakfast. But you should go.”

  “No, no.” Evelyn lifted her white mug before taking a sip. “This is the only breakfast I need.”

  They sat for a few moments in silence. Sloan didn’t mind the quiet but from the corner of her eye she could see Evelyn growing restless.

  “You mentioned your work yesterday,” Evelyn said, “but not your family. What were their reactions to this top-secret government summons?”

  Sloan shifted in her chair. She’d never been comfortable speaking of her family with anyone, let alone a person she’d just met. It would be easy to lie, but there was something about Evelyn that made it impossible to do so. “There wasn’t really anyone to tell, aside from a few colleagues. My parents both died before I graduated high school, leaving me under the care of my older sister. She and I aren’t close and didn’t speak before I left, though I did leave her a few messages.”

  Evelyn’s expression became blank. “That’s…odd.”

  Odd was not a word she’d ever heard to describe her family’s tragedies. Heartbreaking, tragic and horrific, yes, but never odd.

  “Sorry.” Evelyn stood and poured herself another cup. “I didn’t mean to sound so insensitive. It’s just…” She paused again and took her seat. “It’s just that I’ve never met another person who also lost both of their parents at a young age.”

  That was not the response Sloan expected. She had met others who had lost their parents, but only because her sister forced her to attend monthly group therapy in Billing, Montana after her father passed. People came from across the state, parent-less children in tow, for a weekend of therapy sessions, key-speakers, and individual evaluations by licensed psychologists. Brittney gushed to their extended family about how well these retreats were working for their poor, broke
n Sloan. Truth was, the only thing that helped her get through this difficult period in her life was her love of medicine.

  “I’m sorry, Evelyn. May I ask how it happened?”

  A deep sorrow swelled in her whiskey eyes. “A car accident when I was ten. I was raised mainly by my maternal grandmother, as my grandfather passed from a heart attack a year later. She too has passed—not even a year ago.” Evelyn looked at Sloan, sorrow replaced by a plea.

  “My mother passed from breast cancer when I was twelve, my father from a heart attack when I was sixteen. My older sister moved back from college to take care of me and the farm, but I didn’t stay long—couldn’t stay. I left for college a few months before my seventeenth birthday, against the wishes of my sister.”

  “I’m sorry as well.”

  Again, they sat in silence and this time Evelyn didn’t itch to fill it with idle chatter. But Sloan did. An unsettled sensation overtook her thoughts. Two surgeons, both with no strong family ties to speak of; it could be a coincidence, not that Sloan believed in coincidences. In her line of work they were rare. About as rare as two world-class surgical roommates who were both orphaned as children.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At a quarter till nine, the information panel on the living room wall chimed to remind Sloan and Evelyn of their upcoming engagement. Both were to report to level one—the Recreational Floor—to begin their tour at nine a.m.

  Neither spoke much after disclosing their tragic family history. Sloan had considered mentioning her concern about the coincidence but thought better of it. They were here for a weekend retreat; nothing more.

  While Evelyn dressed, Sloan finished off the berries and a second cup of coffee. She didn’t have much of an appetite left, but knew if she didn’t eat a decent breakfast, her blood sugar would plummet, as would her mood.

  They left for the elevator at eight fifty-five. Sloan blinked to adjust her vision as she stepped into the hall. The lights which ran along the rocky ceiling appeared more intense than they had the evening before, almost as if there was sunlight filtering through a curtain-covered window.