by A. M. Geever
He continued. “I know we’re on your patch, but that puts us at a disadvantage, and there are only four of us. I’d sure feel better if you’d let us bring all our gear with us. I’m Rich,” he added. “This is Miranda, Alec, and Phineas, and the dog is Delilah. If that’s not acceptable to you, we’ll leave.”
There was a long pause, then the voice said, “What settlement are you from?”
Wary glances were traded among the group. From the look on Rich’s face, Miranda knew he would play it straight.
“We’re out toward Beaverton.”
“Oh,” the voice said, sounding warmer than before. “You’re in the park?”
Miranda said, under her breath, “Who the hell is this guy?”
Rich shrugged almost imperceptibly, then said, “Yes.”
Miranda had never heard Rich sound unnerved, until now.
After a long pause, the voice said, “Is the dog trained?”
This is getting fucking weird, Miranda thought. Aloud, she said, “She’s basically a couch potato who thinks she’s a lap dog. She’s very friendly.” As an afterthought, she added, “I’ll clean up after her, of course.”
Another long pause. Then the voice said, “Okay. You can keep your weapons. We’re armed, too, just so there are no surprises. The second door won’t open until the airlock is closed. Please walk straight through to the central dining area.”
The sound from the speaker clicked off.
“Dining area,” Alec said, his low voice faux-impressed. “He said it like it’s something fancy. D’ya think it has a Michelin star?”
They closed the airlock door behind them. Almost immediately, a loud click came from the other door, and a whirring sound. The light switched from red to green. They all looked at one another. Miranda reached for the lever, turning it ninety degrees. She gave the door a push, then stepped through. She found herself in a finished concrete corridor similar to the ones they had just traveled but half as wide; it curved out of sight in both directions. The ceiling overhead was much higher than in the airlock or entry corridor. Indirect lighting glowed above them. The ceiling arched up and away from the wall.
Eye- and foot-level track lighting was built into the corridor wall. The corridor curved out of sight in both directions, the concrete walls stained a light tan. Indirect, overhead lighting made the space feel airy. To their left along the inner wall of the corridor were doors, with signs: Bedroom 1 and Bedroom 2, presumably with more beyond the curve.
They walked straight ahead, into a room shaped like a piece of pie. Shelves lined the walls, with games, books, and other knickknacks—the kinds of items found in any home. The furniture looked expensive but comfortable. There were a lot of plants, some suspended from the ceiling, others in planters that jutted out from the wall. The room reminded Miranda of a hotel lounge.
“Wow,” Rich said softly.
They kept walking into a huge circular room. A round disc of light hovered at the ceiling’s central apex twenty feet above them. Suspended around the disc’s edge were chandeliers—tangles of small white lights that looked like a collection bird nests. Curved dining tables of gray wood, with matching chairs lining both sides, faced one another in the center of the room. They resembled halves of a circle, arranged with a gap that formed a pathway through the center of the room.
“It’s a dome,” Alec said, wonder in his voice. “This room must be fifty feet wide.”
Miranda trailed her hand along the smooth wood of one of the tables. Directly across from the pie-shaped room they’d walked through was another room just like it. There were four in all, like the arms and post of a cross. The narrower ends were adjacent to this center room, and the wider ends were along the curved hallway.
This central room had activity rooms along its edge, between the openings to the pie-shaped lounges. All had curved glass walls with sliding glass doors.
“That curved glass must have cost bank,” Miranda said softly.
The glass was opaque, a smokey brownish-gray that should have been an ugly color but wasn’t. Each door had an acid-etched name on it. Classroom and Gym were next to one another, flanked on either end by one of the lounges, likewise for Theater and Library. A double-sized, pie-shaped room housed the kitchen, which was a gleaming oasis of industrial stainless steel left open to the dining area. The last of these activity rooms, the same size as the kitchen, was labeled Medical/Surgical.
Rich turned to Miranda. “Where are they?”
She shrugged, but Rich was right. The voice had said we, but no one was here. The security room they’d passed was operational, if the blinking lights were any indication, but it wasn’t manned. That was weird. Whoever had gone to the trouble to build this place didn’t strike her as the type who would neglect security, so where were the people? Weren’t they as curious about newcomers from the world they had shut themselves away from as Miranda and her friends were about them?
Footsteps from the outer corridor caught everyone’s attention. They sounded like they were coming from the dome’s far side. Everyone tensed.
“Don’t be threatening,” Rich said. “Keep your hands away from your guns.”
They waited; an electric fizz of excitement filled Miranda’s chest. She wanted to know who was here and who had built this place. A man walked through the lounge on the far side, stopping well short of them. He held a pistol in one hand. Miranda could tell immediately that he wasn’t comfortable with it. He stood, looking at them but saying nothing.
Finally, Rich said, “Hello.”
“Hi.”
Miranda studied the man. There was nothing remarkable about him, apart from the fact that he was here. He stood about five foot ten and looked to be maybe in his early forties. His light-brown hair was combed back from his face, and he wore a slightly scruffy beard of the same color, but with a slight tint of red. His eyes were brown, and he looked nervous as hell.
Rich said, “Thanks for letting us in. This place is something.”
The man nodded, glancing around the room. “Sure.”
“I’m Rich,” Rich said, stepping forward with his hand extended.
The man started, surprised, and Rich stopped. Then he collected himself and came close enough to offer his hand.
“I’m Kendall,” he said.
His voice was surprisingly deep, though Miranda wasn’t sure why it seemed so to her. Phineas and Alec introduced themselves to Kendall, who reminded her of an old-fashioned doll with stiff, articulated limbs. Miranda still held Delilah by her leash. Delilah strained against it, tail wagging.
“Do you want to meet Delilah? One of the guys can hold her.”
For the first time, a relaxed display of emotion crossed Kendall’s face. “I like dogs,” he said, fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a dog biscuit—the kind that used to be sold in stores. Miranda stared for a moment. They had dog biscuits here?
Delilah’s tail wagged hard enough to whip up a tornado. Kendall offered the biscuit, which she took from his hand. After she finished munching, he petted her, starting with her chin. The pittie scooted closer and sat on his foot, head upturned to beg for more. Kendall laughed, the sound scratchy, like his vocal cords were rusty from disuse. Then he straightened up.
Miranda held out her hand. “I’m—”
“Miranda,” he finished for her. “I remember.” She must have looked confused because he said, “You introduced yourselves on the speaker.”
“Right, of course.”
Kendall’s hand was cool, but his shake was firm. His eye contact, not so much. His eyes kept sliding away from whomever he was talking to.
“Can I let her off the leash?” Miranda asked. “She’ll take off to explore.”
“Uh…” Kendall hesitated. Miranda was about to retract the question when he said, “Yes. That would be okay.”
Miranda unclipped Delilah’s leash, and as predicted, she shot away to begin checking the place out.
Rich said, “Is it okay with you if we set o
ur stuff down? I’d like to get this rifle off my shoulder.”
Immediately, Kendall’s body language relaxed. Miranda smiled to herself. Rich was good at the people stuff.
“Sure,” Kendall said, nodding.
They set everything down, Rich and Phineas removing their holsters, which forced Miranda to do the same. The feeling of lightness surrounding her hips instead of the weight of the holster made her feel exposed. Kendall holstered his pistol, snapping it in place like he was unaccustomed with the procedure.
“Where’s everyone else?” Alec said.
“Well…” Kendall said slowly. “Actually, it’s just me.”
“Just you?” Alec said, at the same time Phineas barked, “No way.”
Kendall’s eyes widened, as if startled by their reaction. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.
“Um, yeah,” he stammered, beginning to look anxious, and Miranda began to wonder how long he had been down here. “There were others.”
Rich opened his mouth to say something, but Miranda interrupted him. Kendall seemed to be getting overwhelmed fast.
“Guys,” she said. “I could use a bite to eat. You know how I am when I get low blood sugar. What do you have in your packs?”
Rich, Alec, and Phineas all looked at her as if she had lost her mind. They’d only eaten breakfast an hour ago. Admittedly, it hadn’t been much, but enough for more than an hour. Her request must have clued them in that something was going on, even if they didn’t know what it was.
“Sure,” Rich said. “Good idea.”
“I have food,” Kendall offered. He pointed to his right. “In the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Her mind raced at the offer of food. How much food did he have? Would he be this willing to share some with LO? Trying not to sound excited, she said, “Are you sure?”
“It’s probably better than camping food,” said Kendall.
She smiled. “Thanks. I could use a drink of water.”
“There are bowls, for the dog,” Kendall offered.
She nodded. Then she looked at the guys, tipping her head toward the kitchen. A curved counter, with openings on either end, demarcated where the dining area ended and the pie-shaped kitchen began. Along the back wall, on the wide end of the room, were two industrial refrigerators and a separate freezer.
“Dishes are under the counter,” Kendall said.
“Phineas,” Miranda said. “Will you get some plates, and a bowl of water for Liley?”
He nodded. Miranda walked into the kitchen to see where everything was. Lights overhead blinked on automatically. On the right were stainless-steel tables for food prep, rather than counters. Their lower shelves were stacked with pots and pans of almost every variety, but only a handful showed signs of regular use.
Alec whistled. “You’ve got everything you need here, Kendall.”
At the end of the counters, and before the refrigeration units, sat a six-burner gas cooktop with what had been—and still was—a state-of-the-art ventilation hood that fed into the heavy-duty ductwork overhead. Beside it sat a vertical three-unit industrial oven that was almost as tall as Miranda. In the center of the room was a stainless-steel island with an integrated double sink, a wine fridge that had bottles of white wine in it, and one industrial and two residential dishwashers. The other longer wall opposite the stoves and tables had floor-to-ceiling cupboards.
Rich opened a cupboard, while Miranda and Alec headed for the fridge.
“Woah,” Rich said.
She swiveled around, eyes widening at the amount of foodstuffs inside the cupboard. If they were all that full of food… She reached the fridge, unsure of what she would find inside. She pulled the door, cold air making her arms prickle with goosebumps. Over her shoulder, she heard Alec’s sharp inhale.
“Christ on a bike,” she said softly.
The contents of the fridge were…impossible, and plentiful. The produce crisper, which spanned the width of the fridge under a shelf of glass, was full of leafy greens and root vegetables—carrots and radishes and beets—as well as red bell peppers, some tomatoes, even what looked like fresh herbs. There were apples and peaches and plums. Three pint cartons of milk were inside, one opened, the others not. Miranda wasn’t familiar with the design, but they had to be shelf-stable. Similar cartons were labeled cottage cheese, sour cream, and yogurt. There were various jars of condiments, a few of jam, and butter. It wasn’t a lot of food given the size of the fridge. At the same time, it was so much food. Those cupboards alone would feed a few households at LO at regular portions for a month.
“Doesn’t shelf-stable milk have a shelf-life of six months?” asked Alec, who now stood beside her.
“As far as I know.”
“Is there anything there we can use to make pasta?” Rich asked them. “It’ll be the easiest thing. There’s a basket of onions in here, and a jar of minced garlic.”
“Fresh onion and garlic, and all this?” Miranda asked softly, shooting Alec a sideways glance. “There’s a garden somewhere.”
Alec looked in the crisper and pulled out a bunch of a dark leafy greens with red stalks. He said to Rich, “Pasta will work. I can do something with this.”
Alec looked again at the fridge Miranda still stood in front of. “You’re letting all the cold air out, lassie. And if you don’t shut your mouth soon, you’ll draw flies.”
Miranda shut the fridge, then said to Alec, “Who the hell is this guy?”
Alec gave her a sly grin. “Between you and me? I think he’s Kendall Grant.”
An hour later, everyone—even Kendall—had eaten, and despite the early hour, two bottles of really excellent wine had been drunk. Kendall said he hadn’t had any wine in a long time, and had suggested it in a tone so hopeful that no one had the heart to say no. And a good thing, as it turned out, because after a glass, Kendall loosened up. Rich had suggested before they sat down, quietly, that they keep the conversation light and not bombard Kendall with questions. He too had noticed that Kendall seemed to get easily overwhelmed.
They were gathered around the end of one of the long dining tables, Kendall on the end, with Miranda and Phineas on one side, and Alec and Rich on the other. Phineas’ tale of the tiger had finally gotten a laugh out of Kendall.
“There are several I’ve seen through the security cameras,” he said. “I think they’re Amur tigers.”
Miranda said, “Amur tigers? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Siberian and Amur are the same subspecies,” Kendall said. Then he snapped his mouth shut, a look on his face as if he’d said something rude.
“I don’t care what kind it is. I never want to see another tiger that close again,” Phineas said. “I almost peed my pants.”
The conversation lulled, and Miranda was just about to ask who had built the place when Kendall stood abruptly.
“I need to attend to something. Are you planning to stay a while?”
Miranda and Rich traded a glance. “A night or two, if that’s okay with you, but not more. Our people will worry about us if we’re overdue,” Rich said. “It would be nice to hear your story and learn more about your place.”
Kendall nodded, as if this was both acceptable and terrifying.
“There are residence domes off the outer corridor, and single bedrooms, too, on the inner side. Everything’s marked. Use any of them you like.” He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “I should…help with the dishes?”
“We’ve got it, Kendall,” Rich said, pouring on the easygoing charm. “It’s the least we can do.”
Kendall nodded. “Okay.”
He walked from the room, but the haste in his step made it seem like a retreat. No one spoke for a full minute until Phineas said, “What the actual fuck?”
“Yeah,” Miranda said, nodding.
“When was this thing built?” Phineas whispered. “And how does nobody know about it?”
“That’s kind of the point of a secret bunker,” said Alec.<
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“I think we should do the dishes and pick out our beds,” Rich said. Then he lowered his voice so only they could hear him. “We’ll talk later, on our own, okay?”
Heads nodded, and plates were collected. Miranda carried glasses to the kitchen and set them on the counter. She tried to smother a yawn and grinned when Alec caught her.
“Wine in the morning catching up with you?” he said. His hazel eyes fairly sparked with mischief.
“Maybe a little.” Then she murmured, “Have you told Rich who you think he is?”
“I will when we talk later.” His expression became speculative. “Are you always such a lightweight, Miranda?”
She barked a laugh. If he only knew.
“Hardly. I’m no stranger to day drinking, but morning’s a little early, even for me.
7
She could hear the baby crying, and Mario’s low, singsong voice as he tried to soothe him, but the baby continued to squall. She pushed the door to the bedroom open. Mario walked back and forth across the room, the baby in his arms. When he saw her, he shrugged.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Let me try.”
Mario held the baby out to her. She reached for him, then froze, plunged into a pool of frigid shock. He wasn’t holding a baby. It looked like a baby, had once been a baby, but its skin was gray, and the arms that reached out from the blanket around it were thin and shrunken—deformed. It didn’t have any hands. Black veins traced under its skin. Its shrieks reverberated off the bedroom walls from a tiny black-lipped mouth. Then they turned into moans.
“Miri, take him.”
She looked into Mario’s face. He looked fine. Calm. Like what he was holding was totally normal.
“That’s not,” she said, stumbling over the words. “That’s not our baby.”
Mario’s brow furrowed. “Of course he’s our baby. Here, take him.”
“No,” she said, taking a step back.
“Miranda,” Mario said, but his voice was taking on an edge of annoyance. “Take him.”
She looked at the baby in his arms. “Where’s our baby?” she gasped.