by Isaiah Lee
Jason looked down to the mask in his hands. Lucky. How many people had been unlucky? What was the death toll up to so far? He shuddered to think about it.
◆◆◆
Washington DC was obliterated. The Washington Memorial had been blown apart and lay in crumbles at its base. Pillars lay strewn around the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, the roof having collapsed onto the statue inside.
Debris and carnage filled the streets, or what remained of the streets, around DC. Large chunks of buildings had been blown apart and made travel by car nearly impossible. Tanks, personnel trucks, and other military vehicles littered the ground all around the city.
And the bodies. God only knew how many bodies lay in the streets. Civilian and military casualties alike. Bodies ripped apart and blown into unnatural poses. Blood seemed to paint every street and lawn a sickening, frozen red.
Surfaces that weren’t the reddish brown of drying blood were an eerie, deep, unnatural shade of green. The aliens could bleed, too, and apparently the gooey substance was caustic. It could easily dissolve straight through cars and even asphalt, given enough time.
Splotches of concrete and asphalt sizzled around alien craft crash sites. Human bodies which were exposed to the extraterrestrial ooze liquefied upon direct contact. Identifying most bodies would be a futile effort.
Jason noticed the white fog was nearly dissipated in DC. He mentioned it to the man sitting opposite him and Karen.
“Washington DC was one of the first places to be attacked, along with other major cities such as Los Angeles, Seattle, New York City, and the like. The fog dissipates over time and since it’s been a couple of days since the attack here, it seems most of it is gone.”
Karen nodded. “At least that’s something.”
The soldier shook his head. “It’s something alright. As the fog fades, the total carnage becomes clearer.”
Finally, the helicopter slowed and began to drop altitude. Jason and Karen both peered out the windows, trying to see any indicators of what was going on or where they were. There was a large patch of grass below them.
Suddenly, the ground began to move. The helicopter hovered in place until the door of sorts had opened enough for them to drop inside. Daylight faded into blackness as they descended.
“What… where…” Jason couldn’t seem to gather his thoughts as he stared at the structure around him.
“Welcome to WDC2,” the man stated. “Washington DC Disaster Survival Bunker Two.” WDCDSB2 was simply too lengthy.
Disaster survival bunker. There was infrastructure in place for the survival of the human race, even if it was only a small percentage. The race should be able to carry on in a place like this. The bunker was totally self-sufficient, as was the bunker in Ithaca.
Massive water pipes and electrical lines ran the length of the ceiling, splitting along each hallway and into each room. Waste pipes carried grey water and sewage into a central holding tank deeper underground where it was treated and recycled.
A renewable energy generator powered the facility on solar power, geothermal energy, and a highly experimental form of fusion reactor. Between all of these, the facility could theoretically function autonomously for hundreds of years. There had even been a furnace installed in the lowest levels for use in cremation, assuming it stayed inhabited long enough to be necessary.
A massive greenhouse section, along with frozen food, sealed can reserves, and MREs promised to sustain several thousand people for close to a century, should the need arise.
The current headcount was 4,156 civilians, 294 government officials, 514 laborers, and 713 others. Add Karen and Jason to make a total of 5,679 total inhabitants.
They stepped out of the helicopter and ducked away, pulling their bags and belongings with them. The man, Todd Baker as he called himself, pointed toward a large window pane separating a receptionist from the din of the facility.
“Intake is over there,” Baker pointed. “Good to have you two with us.” To Karen’s surprise, he sounded genuine.
“Thanks,” she uttered. “Is it your job to go on search and rescue missions to save who you can?”
He nodded. “It is. I am part of Retrieval Team Alpha. So far, between all retrieval teams, we have saved over two hundred people. Men, women, and children.” He thought for a moment and added, “Most of the other bunkers like the one you two were in had around twenty to twenty-five people.”
Jason lowered his head. “There was no way to save anyone else when we locked the door. We were already under attack and lost friends and family.” He didn’t have time to inform the masses that there was open space inside their bunker.
Baker threw up his hands in defense. “I’m not blaming you. I’m sure you did what you had to do. I’m thankful we’ve managed to save as many as we have on short notice.”
“Are there others out there like us who are holed up?” Karen asked.
“INY1 and BMD3 were the only remaining bunkers within our range that were inhabited. BMD3 in Boston was totally destroyed when we arrived. You two were the last survivors we were scheduled to extract.”
Karen’s mouth dropped open. “We were the last survivors?”
Todd Baker nodded. “The last two we know about. It’s probable there are more somewhere, but we have no way of contacting them unless they find one of the bunkers or happen across this facility.”
“That’s not likely, is it?” Jason asked. He would have never known there was anything special about the massive lawn they landed on had it not been for the hatch that opened under them. Even still, he doubted he could find it a pinch.
“There are no indications outside that would lead anyone here. There are no markings of safety or otherwise. Someone from retrieval would have to detect them on one of the surface sensors. Don’t worry, you are totally safe here.”
Such a bold statement. Karen worried that they weren’t as safe as Baker led them to believe. Still, the last thing she wanted was to sit around and worry that they would be blown away down here, too. “Thank you Todd Baker. For everything.” She extended a hand.
Baker shook his head. “No problems.” He shook Karen’s hand, then Jason’s. “Once you go through intake, you should see someone in medical for your wounds.” He nodded to where Jason had been grazed by a bullet and the wound where a separate bullet had traveled straight through his arm.
“Will do,” Jason agreed.
Chapter 27
The bunker was a cool sixty-one degrees throughout with little deviation. The minimum depth of the massive concrete structure was eighty feet below the surface, with six levels and two structures in all. The first level offered intake and storage for vehicles such as rescue helicopters, jeeps, and Humvees.
Move down one floor and one could find medical, storage rooms, an industrial kitchen, and a cafeteria large enough for over five hundred at a time. Off the kitchen was a locked entrance to the greenhouse, which was held in a separate structure with an oversized hallway connecting them.
Floors three through five were designated for dormitories, communal showers and restrooms, and a laundry area. Each room had two sets of bunkbeds set on opposite sides of the ten-feet-square space, separated by two tall dressers and a trunk at the foot of each bunkbed. There were no windows – engineers saw no need for inhabitants to be able to see earthworms crawling through what was bound to be irradiated soil by the time the bunkers were meant to be used – nor were there toilets in the rooms. All generic dormitories were left bare of decoration, save for a single full-length mirror mounted on the backs of the doors.
An entertainment room consisting of board games, decks of cards, pool tables, dart boards, and an assortment of other engaging activities was located at the end of floors three through five. There was also a full-size basketball court, exercise room, and several large, vacant rooms. They could host bingo, serve as classrooms, and be used for an endless number of other undetermined functions as needed in the future.
The sixth floo
r housed offices, communication and infrastructure control rooms, cleaning storage closets, etc. Civilians were not allowed on the sixth floor. There were two elevators – large enough to carry massive cargo – and two sets of stairs allowing travel between the different levels. The sixth floor opened to an enclosed space with a locked steel door equipped with a card reader and retina scanner. Once entry was granted, the sixth floor opened into the underside of the greenhouse structure through a network of hallways and corridors.
There was a depository consisting of thousands of military weapons and gear; everything from bullet-proof vests to night-vision goggles, from handguns to handheld rocket launchers. The civilian population was unaware of the weaponry below them, as was necessary to reduce risk of riot and violence.
They were also unware of the intended longevity of the enclosure. Once permanently sealed, the bunker was designed to sustain itself for centuries in the best case scenario, allowing fallout from the suspected Nuclear World War to fade. Multiple generations might possibly be born and die before the bunker could be reopened.
Nobody knew how long the bunker would really persist. In fact, nobody knew if the structure could truly be sealed off from the outside world for longer than three weeks – the test period – without the buildup of toxic underground gases or the supply of oxygen dwindling to lethal levels. For that matter, what would happen if the water filtration system failed?
What was known was that there were exactly 8,301 of these facilities scattered across the continental United States of varying size and layout. Some were hidden underneath Young & Buck’s locations, as was the case with INY1. Some had been excavated into mountain ranges or hidden in the mouth of naturally occurring caves, obviously with a steel door blocking entry and mechanisms in place to seal from outside radiation. The small percentage of remaining apocalypse bunkers had been hidden in plain sight.
These Disaster Survival Bunkers, such as WDC2, were built underneath the ground. The entrance opened in two sections, gear-driven, semicircular, steel hatches that slid down and moved inward on a massive set of tracks. An industrial elevator similar to those found on aircraft carriers allowed for vehicles and supplies to be brought into the bunker on a large scale.
Above ground, the survival bunkers were totally concealed. Sod was installed to blend the entrance perfectly with the surrounding area. WDC2 had been constructed near the White House with an escape tunnel leading directly from the White House itself. The President, Vice President, and other select government officials, along with their families, had been evacuated at the first sign of trouble, moments before it had been too late.
The tunnel entrance was sealed in four locations along its length to prevent infiltration from invading forces. As the fifth and final door shut and sealed the tunnel where it opened into the survival bunker, the world outside shook.
Now, days after the initial onslaught began, James Neil, the forty-fifth president of the United States, lay hunkered on his bunkbed above his wife.
“Susan…” He spoke quietly in case she was sleeping; he hoped she was sleeping.
The iron bed creaked as she rolled over and looked upward at the wooden slats holding up the twin mattress above her. “What is it, James?”
James lay still without rolling so his voice projected toward her. “They’re saying ninety-five percent of the population has died.”
For the fortieth time, Susan Neil consoled her grieving husband. “There is nothing else we could have done. O’Reilly had a job to do. It is not your fault that he was too much of a coward to do his job.”
He’d heard this time and time again. It never helped. What else could he have done? There must have been something. What about Tanner? Sergeant Tanner had been his second choice as ambassador for the human race. Maybe Tanner would have done what was necessary, even if that meant to sacrifice himself, so that the human race could carry on. Jacobs would undoubtedly have done whatever it took to ensure survival. Why the fuck had he picked O’Reilly?
Susan groaned at the silence from her husband. She climbed out of bed, her tired bones screaming protest from the uncomfortable accommodations. She stood on the bottom rung of the ladder and stared her husband down. “Look at me,” she demanded. “I get it. You’re upset. So is every single other person in this place.” She waved her arm around for emphasis. “But there is not one thing you could have done differently. That damned alien said on live TV that there were already three thousand war ships headed to Earth. Had things not happened like they did, it could have been much worse.
“Instead of the preparations that were made, that saved thousands of lives across the country, we would have put our guards down and thought them to come in peace. Then, when the warships arrived, there would be no hope of saving any lives.”
James rolled over to stare back into his wife’s beautiful brown eyes. He had always thought her the most attractive woman he’d ever met. Nothing had changed over their twenty-three year marriage. “I guess you’re right.”
“Damned right, I’m right,” Susan said, emboldened. “Now get up and be the leader to our country once more.” What’s left of our country, she thought to herself but knew better than to say aloud. “You are expected to make an announcement in two hours.”
President Neil leaned over to embrace his wife. “Thank you, Baby. Let’s go make a broadcast.”
Chapter 28
“This is President James Neil speaking. Our nation has been devastated. As I’m sure you are aware, the world has fallen prey to an invading alien species known as the Qspolians. This is a live broadcast from a secure location which will remain undisclosed at this time.
“I received reports this morning and the results are grim. It is estimated that over ninety-five percent of the world’s population has been murdered by these monsters. At this time, it is unknown how many casualties the aliens suffered. But I can promise you one thing: it isn’t nearly enough. I will not rest until every single one of those bastards have been killed and brought to justice!”
President Neil’s voice boomed out of speakers throughout WDC2. Jason looked to Karen in awe. Neither one knew there were speakers in this facility, nor did they know that the president was still alive.
“There were 8,301 Disaster Survival Bunkers across the United States. Nearly a third of these bunkers were destroyed by the invading forces. On average, these facilities could house about three-thousand inhabitants each. Continued updates and communications have verified that there are currently around twenty million American survivors in these bunkers.”
Jason and Karen both looked horrified. Since intake and seeking medical attention, they resided in their dorm. They were the only two survivors in the room, thankfully, so at least they had a little privacy. They sat on the bottom bunk, side by side, clutching each other tightly as they received the horrifying news. There were only twenty million American survivors. Jason knew the population of the United States had been over three-hundred million only a few days ago.
“Now, we have reason to believe there are more survivors than the twenty million accounted for, but there is no way of communicating with them outside of the bunkers. All infrastructure for power, water, and communications is likely destroyed across the country. These alien bastards seem to have known exactly where to strike.”
President Neil was sweating now. He had to sit down and catch his breath. It was so much to take in. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Now, the United States is based on democracy. I very much believe in the right to vote as a nation to make decisions. I will not make the executive decision here; rather, the people as a whole get to decide their fate. Each bunker has a system set up for taking votes. Be it a head count in smaller bunkers, or a computerized system in the more updated bunkers, all remaining Americans have the opportunity for their vote to count, at least one last time.
“Twenty-four hours from now, votes will be tallied and I will broadcast the results. The vote is for war against the remaining alien
forces. Yes, and every able bodied man and woman will take arms and fight for their country. No, and we will remain in these facilities for another fifty years before the next vote.”
Karen heard a low murmur begin to rise all around their dormitory. Other survivors had already begun to voice their opinions. She hugged in tighter to Jason and closed her eyes.
“My vote is this: Yes. I say we kill every one of these alien scum and get vengeance for our brothers and sisters, husbands, wives, and children who we have lost to this scourge. Now, because this is a democracy, my vote is just that. One vote. I’m counting on the almost twenty million others to voice their opinion. You have twenty-four hours.”
Chapter 29
Twenty-four hours. One day wasn’t long to decide if the remaining few million inhabitants of the world should go to war. Still, President Neil had been abundantly clear on that fact.
Lines began to form on each floor of WDC2 in the classroom areas. Computers were drug out and began tallying voters. As in an election, voters were urged to keep their votes confidential and not to sway the vote of the other survivors.
“Go to war or wait it out and hope for the best,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Not the best of options, huh?”
“Not really,” Jason answered. He placed a reassuring hand on Karen’s back. “What are you thinking?”
Karen hesitated. Not because she was unsure, but rather because she dreaded the words coming out of her mouth. “You first.”
Jason’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “Honestly?” He fidgeted with the hem of Karen’s filthy blouse. “War.” He hated himself for his response, the idea of putting survivors back into harm’s way. Possibly millions more could die. He hated himself more for suggesting they sit back and do nothing at all.
Karen’s body relaxed slightly and her eyes softened. “I agree. Humanity stands no chance without fighting for survival now. As bad as I hate the idea of civilians fighting a war against fucking aliens, I think it best.”