by Glen Johnson
A fucking weather satellite! Don’s blurred mind thought. His head hurt like a bitch.
“Craters over twenty feet across have been located within the touchdown area. As of yet no casualties have been announced, due to hitting the unpopulated countryside.
“NASA has publicly apologized for any inconvenience the reentry has caused. A spoke’s person for NASA stated...”
Fucking NASA! Don’s head was throbbing.
Fuck!
Realization sunk in. He had locked the door for six months, and there was no way of bypassing the countdown. Jess would probably starve, as well as all his other animals, and the plants in his greenhouse would all whither, and he would have to consume six months worth of stored food.
None of that mattered to him when he thought his life was on the line, but now he knew it wasn’t it really pissed him off.
“NOOOOO!” Don shouted at the buzzing, flickering ceiling lights.
All his senses now came back on line, and he realized he was wet.
What the fuck?
Don was lying in four inches of water.
The pain in his head was forgotten as he sprung to his feet. Dizziness washed over him, and he had to steady himself on a metal surface.
Water was bubbling around his boots.
“This can’t be happening!” He screamed.
As the lights flickered on and off, he ran through the connecting pods towards the power and ventilation section. The fresh water spring was piped into the bunker through the last pod.
The water was now up to his ankles, as he ran through it, kicking waves up over the la-z-boy, and crashing against the small bed. He ran through into the last pod, as packets of dried food floated around him. Sparks flashed from different locations on the walls. The lights dimmed for the last time, and didn’t come back on.
Don had to reactivate his head torch. A lance of light shone though the pitch-black. Pointing his head down, he could see that the water was bubbling up through the floor.
The impacts must have ruptured the underground pipe.
There was no way for him to get at the leak. No way to stop it, water was seeping in through multiple cracks along one side of the metal bunker.
Realization dawned.
He had no way of stopping the water and no way of getting out. Within three hours the whole bunker would be full, and he would drown, and no one even knew he was down here.
There is one option left; he reasoned.
Don waded through icy water that was now up to his knees.
He stood in front of the communications wall, with the three Ham radios in front of him.
The power was out, but there was a hand crank, to generate power for the ventilation, a few lights, and the radios.
He unclipped the panel to reveal a hand crank. The water was now up to his thighs. With all his strength, he spun the handle.
At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the light above slowly started to fade on and off. Then the sound of the ventilation system kicked in. Lastly, the lights flicked on across the front of the radios.
YES!
Don grabbed the microphone. He tuned the frequency in and said, “Mayday! Mayday!” The standard handbook call for help.
Nothing? Shit! Fuck!
Don was confused; he should have been connected to thousands of other Ham radio users.
“Mayday! Mayday!”
Something is wrong?
The light started to fade again, with the lights also dimming on the radios. Don started to crank for all he was worth. He cranked so hard and fast he doubled over to vomit into the cold water. While on his knees, he noticed something to his left. Wires!
Fuck!
All the delicate wires for the radios ran down the back of the communications station and along the wall. When he stumbled in, and hit the table, he had severed several of the wires – wires that now floated useless on the water.
“No! God why?” Don screamed.
A handgun was in a holster connected to the wall. He removed the Springfield Armory xdm 9 mm compact. He then sunk to his knees in the water that came up to his chest, and lifted his head and screamed louder than he had ever done in his life. When he was finished, he forced the metal barrel into his mouth. He knelt in the water for a few minutes, unmoving, contemplating his life and its outcome.
Strangely, one of his worse fears was drowning.
Don opened his eyes for the last time, and noticed the sign hanging from the wall: Some things are so unexpected that no one is prepared for them.
-8-
Nosey Parker
The godly care for their animals, but the wicked are always cruel. Proverbs 12:10
Timothy Richard Parker was nervous, the kind of nerves you get at the first day of school, or going to pick your girlfriend up for the prom. Today was Tim’s first day at his new, first ever, real adult job.
“You’re going to be late Timmy!” A female voice shouted up the stairs.
He ignored his mother. Always the busybody; always rushing him.
“Timmy? Tiiiimmmmyyy!”
“I’m coming mother!” Jesus she is so annoying.
“Your sandwiches are all ready, and I put extras in, in case you make some new friends.”
“I’m not at school anymore mother!” Tim shouted back, as he tried to sort his tie out. He noticed a splotch of toothpaste on his shirt.
Ah, crap!
He used the corner of the towel to scrub it clean.
“Leave the lad alone. You’re smothering him,” floated up the stairs all muffled by distance. “He’s got to learn to be a man.”
Tim studied his reflection. At twenty-two, he stood five foot nine. He was thin with the body of a runner. He wasn’t what would be called handsome, but was often described as cute, a word that drove him insane, because as soon as a female used that word, you could be sure to be moved onto the friend’s list, and once on that list – he had learnt through experience – you never got off.
Tim heard a crash downstairs.
Mothers probably dropped something again.
He could hear muffled complaining from his father, a retired army Colonel. He knew his father was upset that his only offspring had not followed in his footsteps.
“My son has gone into computers,” his father would state if asked what career path his son had taken. “At least he’s been through university.” Then his father would finish with. “Four years, on computers!” Then as an afterthought would toss in, “I hear computers will be used to run the world one day!”
Tim finished getting ready by using a small electric hair trimmer to clip the hairs from his ears and nostrils.
First impressions and all that, he thought.
He washed the hairs down the sink, before his father noticed.
“A man, clipping his nose hair!” His father had once stated, after noticing hairs in the sink. “I thought I had a son, not a daughter!” Tim didn’t know of any females who had to trim their nose hair, but he didn’t say so. Once his father had said, or stated something that was the end of the discussion.
Look at me, he thought. Four years of university and I’m about to start my first day in a real job. Computer Networking with Server Administration BSc with Honours. It sounds impressive! Tim smiled at the mirror.
“Timmy! Your breakfast is getting cold!”
“Coming!” Tim grabbed his new supple leather briefcase and jogged down the stairs.
The house was large and old, befitting of a retired US Military Colonel, of such celebrated stature. What the celebrated stature was Tim had never found out, his father was always tightlipped when it came to what he actually accomplished in the military. When a few of his fathers retired army friends came over there were words like Black Ops whispered over old whisky and expensive cigars.
The house was a five bedroom, old historic, Victorian era building, with a veranda all the way around, and even a small pointed tower, and of course, an American flag on a pole over the front door. The large hous
e was situated in Heritage Park, Old Town, San Diego, California.
“At last, your food is almost cold,” his mother stated, her voice coming from behind the breakfast table, as she knelt to wipe up whatever she had dropped.
His father, retired Colonel Richard Edward Parker, sat hidden behind his morning paper.
“Morning mother. Morning Sir.” For as long as Tim could remember he had always called his father Sir, never dad, daddy, or papa. It was just the way he was raised.
“Morning son.” His father didn’t lower the paper. Smoke rose from behind. Breakfast finished; pipe lit.
They had conceived Tim when his mother was coming up to thirty, and his father was in his late forties. He knew he wasn’t an accident though, because his father didn’t make mistakes.
His mother, Jennifer Anna had never worked a day in her life. His mother’s job was looking after his father, cleaning the house, and raising the child.
Tim tucked into his scrambled egg on toast. He took a sip from the cup of piping hot coffee.
Behind, his mother slipped his sandwiches into his leather briefcase and a couple of dollar bills for drinks, in case they had any vending machines.
“Are you excited dear?” His mother questioned, as she stood washing his father’s plate.
Tim had just forked a mouthful of eggs into his mouth, so he didn’t answer right away.
“Your mothers talking to you son.” The paper rustled, as if having to teach his son manners was upsetting his morning routine.
“Sorry Sir. A little mother, thank you for asking.”
Tim couldn’t wait to start earning some money, so he could find his own place and move out.
I’m getting too old for this shit!
“What time will you be home dear, so I know what time to have supper ready?”
Tim was mopping up his egg juice with a slice of toast. “I’m not sure mother; I will text you.”
“You don’t even know what time you finish?” His father asked. And as an after thought stated, “And take the time to phone your mother, she’s not one of your chums that you can just text all the time.”
“Yes Sir.” Tim said to the latter statement. Then added, “No Sir, I don’t know what time I finish. I will after today, but I have yet to be given my schedule.” Another sip of coffee. “There are day and night shifts at the company.”
“What’s the company’s name again, dear?” His mother asked while cleaning out the percolated coffee makers glass pot.
“It is called Krysotronic Technologies.”
“Sounds so important,” his mother stated.
It sounded like his father grunted. Or it might just have been from the effort of turning the page.
Tim stood, and passed the plate to his mother. “Thank you for breakfast, now I gotta run.” He kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Good day Sir,” Tim stated, while waiting for his father to lower the paper. After a few seconds longer than necessary – while his father finished the line he was reading – he lowered the San Diego Union-Tribune.
“So they make computer guys wear a shirt and tie?”
“Yes Sir, they do.” Tim stood stock-still.
“Won’t the tie get stuck in the cogs?”
Tim didn’t know if his father was taking the piss, or just had absolutely no idea about what a modern-day computer looked like. Tim had a collection of them in his room that he worked on, but to the best of his knowledge, his father had never stepped inside his room.
“I will be careful Sir,” Tim stated.
“Have you kissed your mother good-bye?"
“Yes Sir.”
“Then have a good day son.” That was it, the paper rose to conceal his fathers face.
“Thank you Sir, I will.” Tim hurried out before his father thought of something else.
Tim climbed into his old, battered, black 1983 Chrysler New Yorker Fifth Avenue. The car guzzled petrol, pulled to the right, needed four new tyres and had an oil leak, but it was his, paid for by delivering pizzas at night while in university.
He pulled out of the drive and headed through the suburbs towards the San Diego freeway. Then it was simply the case of getting onto the Friars Road, and then along to the Fashion Valley complex, which was only a twenty-minute drive away.
The large complex had all the regular names: Macys, J C Penny, Starbuck, and The Cheese Factory, but it also had a new section built on one end, which comprised of a business park. Out of the nine new buildings, Krysotronic Technologies had the largest square footage. The two-story building sat squat against a golf course backdrop. To the left was a plush apartment complex, and to the right, looking out of place, was a homeless soup kitchen and shelter.
Tim pulled into an empty space. After locking up, he headed towards his new workplace.
The front of the building screamed new money; dark glass encased the whole front. The company had only been around for six months, and already it was about to float on the stock market. In six months it had drawn over four-hundred and eighty million in contracts.
Krysotronic Technologies was a new concept. A vast supercomputer, that took up two whole floors, of the five-level building, specialized in algorithmic computations. The computer runs over three thousand processors, stacked in eighty-six cabinets connected by a high-speed optical network. It was built for one purpose: to alleviate the need for animal testing.
Once the particular, individual information, pertaining to the requests of the customer was entered, the computer would then use its vast algorithmic capabilities to provide every type of scenario.
So far, large multinational cosmetic companies, and supermarket chains were using Krysotronic Technologies, so they could claim their products are not tested on animals.
Tim was hired to help make the supercomputer run as smoothly as possible. Any breakdown in server power would slow the process. The faster the computer worked the more money it earned. They had companies backed up, waiting to use the computer’s powerful algorithmic capabilities.
Tim entered the large, cream coloured marble reception area. His polished shoes echoed off the surroundings. The vast open area simply had the reception desk smack in the middle. Behind the desk, the complete back wall was marble, but to both sides and the whole front was glass, with about forty thick columns holding up the first floor.
Tim reached the desk; behind it were two stunning looking receptionists. To one side, looking lost in the expanse of marble and glass, was a collection of cream colored leather seats, and about forty-foot away, behind them was a collection of two lift doors and two normal doors.
A blonde receptionist beamed at him with an amazing smile. “Hello sir, how can Krysotronic Technologies help you this morning?”
Tim cleared his throat. She was stunningly beautiful. “My names...” He had to clear his throat again. “Sorry. My names Timothy Parker, I work here. I mean, I am going to, or do. This is my first day.”
The smile stayed on her face, but it did get wider. “Good to meet you Mr. Parker.” She looked down at her computer’s flat screen. “Welcome to the Krysotronic Technologies family.” She motioned over to the seating. “If you would like to take a seat, Mr. Collins will come and get you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, um...”
“I’m Melanie, and this is Kim.” The other female looked up from her computer screen.
“Hi!” she said.
“Hi. I mean, hello.” Tim went to offer his hand to shake, but instantly felt stupid. He started to fiddle with some brochures on the tall reception surface, to hide his hand movement.
“I’ll go sit over there,” he stated, turning bright red.
“Ok Mr. Parker. Nice to meet you,” Melanie stated. Kim had already returned to her computer work.
What an idiot, Tim thought. God I am embarrassing. Then he realized he would probably run into them in the cafeteria, or whatever room they had here for staff. He liked Melanie’s smile.
Before he had a chan
ce to sit, the right door opened and a short man in a dark suit came striding out.
Tim didn’t want to sit, knowing the man was heading in his direction. Should I head towards him? Why have they got such a large reception area; it’s the size of a football pitch.
About ten feet out the man extended his hand. “Mr. Parker, so glad to meet you.”
Tim took a few steps towards him and took his hand. The shake was one of those that wasn’t tight enough to suggest the man had strength, but it wasn’t weak enough to pull away from. It felt like holding a cold, wet fish.
“Congratulations, Mr. Parker, you fought off one hundred and sixty-four other applicants to get this job.”
Jesus! Tim thought, but instead said, “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure why he said thank you, but it was too late to take it back.
If Mr. Collins was confused by this, he didn’t show it.
“Shall I show you around?”
“Please.”
“Please follow me.”
Walking beside Mr. Collins, Tim headed towards the lifts and doors. He gave a quick glance towards the reception desk, but both heads were lowered, working.
“We have been operational for just six months and four days. However, we have been around a lot longer. The supercomputer, which we simply call Blue, took almost a year to complete.”
They reached the lifts. Mr. Collins pulled a pass card from his pocket and swiped it against the scanner. They waited for a lift to arrive.
“The door there is simply the stairwell. The other leads to the scientific department. We ask all our customers to send a large quantity of the physical sample that they want us to run through our supercomputer Blue. We then break the product down using a gas chromatograph, which gives us a complete list of ingredients, so we can be sure not to miss anything when it gets inputted through data entry.”
The lift to the right pinged, and the door swished open.
“From tomorrow, when you get to work, you will use the employee’s entrance.” He didn’t state where it was located.
Inside the lift, there were five buttons. There were two floors above ground, and three beneath. Mr. Collins pressed the top button. The lift ascended.