Jack Finley’s Blog 10/1/2012
It stinks in here. It smells like sweat and coffee filters. I can’t remember when I last had coffee. A week ago? A month? Year? Time is relative. Locked away in this bunker time is an illusion. The lights are white and cold, like candles wrapped in ice. They always remind me of hospital lights. They’re meant to last as long as necessary but I always feel like I’m headed for surgery.
Before the world died I laughed at my wife for wanting to get some Feng Shui weirdo in to redecorate the apartment. Now I wonder what could have been done to improve this room. Maybe if my cot was moved closer to the door or faced a different direction I’d wake up refreshed for once.
The boxes of provisions certainly do nothing for the room. On top of the box I use as a dinner table is my little house made of protein bars. Before I was told to get my sorry ass to this bunker.
“Prep the generators and get everything running. You’ll be living in with a number of VIPs,” they had said. VIPs. Because that’s all I needed to know.
At least I have my job: military engineer. Assigned to this shit-hole town in the middle of a marsh in Illinois. I’ve been sitting in this steel and cement sanctuary for God knows how long.
The VIPs never made it. It’s just me and enough food to last the apocalypse. I haul myself off the cot and wander to my protein bar house. I lash out and knock it to pieces before grabbing one of those that fell and tearing it open. Breakfast of champions.
I start my rounds by checking the generator. The solar panels seem to be taking in enough, I don’t need to start using gas yet. Although, a quick run on the bike could provide a little supplemental energy. A few tweaks here or there, mostly to keep myself busy.
That could use a bit of tightening.
I’ve got plenty of spares for when that eventually wears out.
Well, next is the-
“Jackie?” a voice calls from the hall.
I stand up and wait. That was a familiar voice. I know there is no one here. I move from the machines and peer down the cold steel and cement hallway. I can see the three bedrooms, one of which I’ve taken for myself, but nothing else. The store rooms are farther down near the main hatch and the lab is the other way past the utilities room.
The rear hatch is in here, and I know there’s no one with me.
I sigh, “So I’m finally going crazy.”
The idea of talking to some imaginary person really wasn’t that bad an idea. At least I’d have company.
Next is the air pump. It’s manual, but easy to get working. I get the air circulating again in short order. Plumbing seems fine and I’ve got plenty of water for now. This place was built to house at least two families of four and myself. I’m not too concerned about running out of supplies.
My daily tasks taken care of I take a seat at what I assume was supposed to be the lab. The surface monitoring equipment is in here, though. Nothing at the front hatch. The rear hatch camera has been dead for a while now, a little disconcerting since it’s supposed to be hidden. I’ve thought about going out to see if I could fix it, but with the plague drifting around like a microscopic reaper I’m not risking it.
Nature cam one: Nothing but scraggly nasty trees.
Nature cam two: Some bushes and wet soggy earth.
Nature came three: More swamp.
I watch the cameras. Not sure what I’m hoping for. The rescue party? Big Papa Government showing up with a big smile and a magic fix? Maybe the VIPs I’m supposed to be looking after are still out there, looking for this promised haven.
I start drifting off to sleep. There is a soft hand on my shoulder and my wife’s voice whispers in my ear, “Look, Jackie. Look.”
I mumble her name and glance at the monitor. There’s a young woman staring straight at the camera.
Outside.
