Meteor (12 page)

Troy opened the door to the bunker as quietly as he could. This was a challenge with three locks, one of which had tumblers the size of popsicle sticks, but he made it outside without waking anyone.

He had timed this excursion just right. Nine a.m. on the nose. He set the disc on the frosty ground, wrapping his long arms around himself to hold in what little warmth he could. Despite a well-stocked bunker, Troy had grown thin since this catastrophe began.

Rationing took a toll on a person and Troy always made sure everyone had plenty, often to the detriment of himself. So he tightened his belt notch and carried on with life. The wind cut through him like an icy sword and pelted his mask with dirt and tiny pebbles.

The disc began its speech. It reported lower carbon monoxide and radiation levels outside the bunker. This had been Troy’s fear. It seemed their sanctuary was quickly becoming their sarcophagus. He picked up the disc and examined its surface once again, looking for a button or a switch which would force it to perform its scan on demand. Once again he found none. It slid shut silently then lay inert in his hand. He would have to wait a full twelve hours to re-scan the bunker to see if his meticulous cleaning of the filtration system had helped.

In his preoccupation with air quality, Troy did not hear the crunch of approaching footsteps until the man was upon him. The man was grimy with his full beard filthy and a frozen dribble of snot beneath his nose. His hands and face bore ulcerated spots presumably caused by acid rain. Muscle and sinew were visible beneath some of the spots and looking at them made Troy want to vomit. The man held a small pistol trained at Troy’s midsection and did not speak for a full minute, only stared while his hand shook around the pistol grip.

“You’re gonna take me in that bunker. I haven’t eaten in seven days. I know you have food,” the man said in a shaky voice. Troy backed away with his hands palm out in front of his body. The man’s mouth hung slack as he peered into Troy’s face, waiting for him to follow this demand. He took a step toward Troy and raised the gun to head level. Troy took a sharp breath in and said, “What’s your name, man?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Troy, wiping his free hand across his dirty face. Troy noticed a smear of blood on the man’s check, left behind after his gesture peeled a particularly gruesome scab. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“My name is Caleb. I am sorry to have to do this but I am going to die if I don’t get some food and medical attention. I assume you have both of these things inside your little building there.”

“I can’t let you in, Caleb.”

“Yes you can. Let’s just start walking over to the door, you turn that little lock and in we go. Sounds easy to me. You may not believe me, but I will shoot you over this.”

“Listen, I cannot take you in. There’s no room. But I will bring you out some food and water, okay?”

Without any verbal response, Caleb lost control then and fired a shot at Troy’s feet. The shot missed Troy’s toes by only centimeters. Dirt clods and grass leapt up then rained back down as Troy attempted to run away. Outside the bunker, the fight began in earnest. Inside the bunker, four frightened people huddled around the periscope lens and tried to make sense of the sounds from outside.

Troy took a lurching step towards the bunker just as Caleb launched himself at Troy’s feet. He hooked one mangled hand around Troy’s ankle and pulled with astonishing strength. Twisting his other foot awkwardly, Troy managed to stomp the disgusting hand and loosen its grip enough to take another step. But Caleb gave the toe of his boot a firm yank and Troy collapsed to the cold ground with a whoosh of air.

Troy had just enough time to flip quickly to his back but he was still completely vulnerable. He cursed his own stupidity for walking outside without a weapon. He was in his own backyard and hadn’t planned to be outside longer than a few minutes, just long enough to compare the radiation levels indoors and out. He vehemently wished for a gun to pull from his waistband but none was there. Caleb had regained his own feet by that time and stood over Troy with the gun once again pointed directly at his skull.

“You will be taking me inside now. I will eat a meal, take a shower, and then I’ll be on my way. You have my word,” Caleb said in an even voice, slightly breathless from adrenaline but once again mostly in control. He even reached out a hand to help Troy to his feet. Troy declined but stood up on his own.

“The gun stays outside. My family is in there and I’ll die out here with you before I let a stranger with a gun in our home.”

“Once that door is open, I will leave the gun right outside. Deal. I’m not here to hurt you or your family. I’m just trying to stay alive.” With Caleb’s empty hand wrapped around Troy’s wrist in an iron grip for security, the two men covered the remaining distance to the bunker door.

Troy heard two distinct squeals from inside the bunker when the combination lock clicked open but he couldn’t tell which women made the sounds. The gun pressing now into the small of his back kept him from making any rash moves. Troy was not going to be the hero today. As he inserted the key into the deadbolt, the bunker door opened from inside and he was met with Mary’s face as the door swung inward.

“Come in, both of you please,” Mary said, stepping back and allowing Caleb his first view of the bunker. “Too many people have already died, please don’t hurt my husband. We will help you. We don’t want you to die in our yard either.” Caleb’s eyes darted from Troy to Mary and the he craned his head to see as far into the bunker as possible.

“Thank you,” Caleb said and this was all he could manage for the tears welling up in his eyes and clogging his throat.

Inviting as she was, Mary was reluctant to touch any part of Caleb’s stinking body. She turned and walked further inside and prayed with all her might that the two men followed without incident. An air of unease followed Caleb and Troy into the tight confines of the bunker, but the stranger was true to his word and laid his firearm down at the entrance before shutting the outer door firmly.

“The shower is upstairs. All of our towels are damp at the moment but they’re hanging on the rack up there, just pick one. I will heat up some food for you when you get out. I would feed you first but Lord knows what you’ve picked up out there. Please go get clean.” Mary spoke to Caleb using a tone similar to the one she used to speak to her own children. “I will also give you some medicine for those wounds.”

Troy thought to protest that Brandon wasn’t completely well yet and that they should keep every ounce of medicine they had. Instead he silently berated himself for putting his family in this situation at all. It was completely his fault and he therefore had no right to voice this opinion.

He glanced at Brandon, whose healthy color had returned, and said nothing. He kept his hands clasped behind his back and nodded when Caleb looked at him, seemingly for permission to go upstairs. Everyone watched as Caleb ascended the stairs and let out a collective sigh once he was out of sight.

“Oh, Troy. Are you okay, honey?” Mary asked.

“Yea, just pissed off and confused.”

“Confused?”

“What’s his angle? How will we ever get rid of him now that he’s in our home?” Troy did not mention the bit of information he had found out earlier, that the radiation is actually higher inside the bunker than out. He would share that later, once he had a plan.

“I don’t know. But we are not going to act like savages. People like Caleb have an excuse, life has been much harder for them these past few months. We’ve had it relatively easy. Wow, I would never expect to say that living in a five-hundred square foot bunker and having my son shot was ‘easy’ but it’s true I guess. We’ve been lucky, thanks to you.”

Troy indulged in a small grin at this compliment.

“Maybe he’s really nice, Dad,” Cordelia said from her seat on the couch.

“Yeah, I don’t think he wants to hurt us,” Brandon agreed.

The family spent the next ten minutes trying to behave normally, or at least as normally as they had since entering the bunker. Cordelia and Hannah played poker with some questionable rule changes while Brandon listened to his headphones and doodled on a page of notebook paper. Troy and Mary sat at the kitchen table, hands intertwined in an ever-increasing display of affection.

“It’s done now, we’ll see how it turns out I guess,” Troy said.

Mary gave his hand a squeeze in agreement and rose from the table just as Caleb’s head peeked out from the top of the stairs. He looked like a different person.

“Hope you don’t mind. I borrowed someone’s razor.”

His hairless face now showed the extent of his injuries. He looked as if he had been caught outside in a downpour with his face turned up to the sky. Raw pink wounds dotted his face. In different stages of healing, the range of colors on the upper portion of his face made him almost appear pixelated.

He also looked much younger now that he was washed and combed and free of that ragged beard. He wore only a towel around his waist which provided a painful view of his thin chest and stomach. Visible ribs and sharp collar bones spoke to how long this man had been without adequate food.

Hastily, Mary rifled through the laundry piled behind her and produced a clean pair of boxers and a plain white t-shirt.

“Here, put these on, but leave the shirt off and come back down. I’ll wash your clothes and put medicine on all your cuts.”

Caleb nodded. He took the clothes from her hands and disappeared up the stairs once again.

Troy truly had thought of everything. Mary pulled down the first aid kit and for the hundredth time admired her husband’s forethought and preparedness. An unopened box of latex gloves lay nestled in one corner of the box and Mary felt faint with relief. She was not looking forward to touching those open sores with her bare hands and now she wouldn’t have to. She lined up antibacterial wipes, antibacterial cream, and a variety of bandages. Caleb took a seat in front of her at the table and Mary set to work.

“How old are you, Caleb?” Troy asked from his seat nearby.

“I’m twenty.”

“I’m also really sorry I had to shoot at you,” Caleb said. His dark blue eyes looked directly into Troy’s as he said this. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have much before and I have nothing now. I don’t have any family around here.” He sucked a breath in between his teeth as Mary squeezed antiseptic liquid over a deep puncture on his shoulder. It ran down his arm in a pink river, hopefully sluicing away all the germs.

Mary held a towel up to catch it before it dripped on the floor. She gently patted the wound dry and taped a thick pad of gauze over it. She continued likewise with all the other lesions on his body, taking special care with his mangled hands. There was little to do for them save bind them entirely with clean cloth until the skin began to grow back. She coated the worst spots with antibiotic gel and hoped for the best. An infection could be lethal the way things were going since the meteor.

“You did what you had to do, just like all of us have been doing. I’m just glad you didn’t hit me. You’re a terrible shot, son.”

Cordelia and Hannah were shamelessly staring at the strange young man. Cordelia was shocked at her father’s acceptance of the apology. Maybe things were looking up.

“Have you guys felt the tremors?” Caleb asked.

“Huh?” Mary stopped wrestling with the manual can opener lodged in an industrial-sized can of peaches. She looked at Caleb and wait for him to say more.

“Yea, I noticed them a few days ago. I’ve never felt an earthquake. I mean, I’ve lived in Tennessee my whole life so… but yea, I guess maybe y’all wouldn’t notice being inside here and all but something’s happening. The ground shakes at least a couple times a day.”

“Hmm. Something else to worry about, I guess. Troy, turn on the T.V., let’s see if the news is reporting about earthquakes.”

For days the family had left the T.V. off and silent. All it seemed to show was death and destruction. No real rebuilding had taken place yet because resources were so thin. The camera routinely panned across desolate acres of burnt land showing scraggly trees rent and twisted by flames, wind, and lightning.

Watching any news report filmed outside in the early days of the meteor strike was like watching a 3-D movie, various items whipped toward the camera and looked as though they were about to fly right out of the screen, making every viewer flinch. But now the news was like the saddest movie ever made.

Once beautiful green hills were reduced to charred dirt while piles of garbage and other organic debris lay in scattered heaps about the landscape. It was depressing so the family had agreed to leave it alone for a little while. But this claim of Caleb’s had everyone intrigued. Troy walked over and flipped on the little television, taking a nostalgic joy in adjusting the metal rabbit ears on top to clear a picture.

When the static cleared it showed local news-anchor, Sharon Barnes seated in a semi-lit studio and dressed impeccably in a light pink business suit. Every hair was in place, and it looked just like every other newscast from before the meteor struck. Some parts of the world were carrying on. The only telltale sign of the semi-apocalypse in which everyone was living was visible on the screens behind Sharon’s head.

“Oh my God,” Hannah whispered.

Mary let out a small gasp as she took in the sight. The screen showed another local reporter, Frank somebody, out in a neighborhood somewhere west of the bunker. Only it was no longer exactly a neighborhood. An enormous sinkhole had swallowed the majority of the homes along the tree-lined street, creating a pile of lumber, shingles, broken glass, and tree limbs deep in the earth.

“I’m here looking at what is left of Creekview Avenue, Sharon.” Frank’s voice intoned from the television speaker. “Following yesterday’s seemingly minor earthquake, a crack nearly a mile long opened and sometime in the night broke apart, leaving a hole that looks to be hundreds of feet deep. Sharon, the scene here is serious. First responders have been rappelling into the sinkhole to rescue any survivors. We believe that many people evacuated their homes late last night as the danger became evident. We’ve spoken to many residents and our best guess right now is that eighty-nine residents are unaccounted for at this time. Local fire and rescue teams will continue their efforts to retrieve people from the rubble. We will keep you updated. For Fox 12 News, I’m Frank Wellborn, back to you in the studio, Sharon.”

Troy changed the channel to CNN.

“It is just science, Gordon. As this massive meteor melts, large chunks will break off and tumble around inside the impact site, and since the impact was so deep and widespread this has the potential to seriously damage tectonic plates deep within the earth’s surface. The danger and damage is certainly not over, Gordon. We’ve already seen the effects of this in the recent earthquakes in Africa, Asia, and the Americas. Reports of huge fissures and even sinkholes are coming in everyday. Entire neighborhoods are being swallowed up and truthfully, until the meteor has completely melted and dissipated, everyone remains at risk. We fully expect more reports of violent earthquakes and corresponding foundational damage”

“Thank you, Dr. Rhodes for that informative message. Are there any precautions our viewers can take to protect themselves?”

“At this time we are encouraging people to take every local warning seriously. If you feel an earthquake, even a slight tremor, initiate your emergency plan. At this point we don’t know whether it is safer to remain indoors as with a typical earthquake or if evacuation to an outdoor location is best. Use your judgment.”

“Dad, that first neighborhood is just a few miles from our house,” Brandon said, fear painted on his face. When Troy looked at his son he was struck by how young he appeared all of a sudden. Love for his family twisted his heart as this new threat sunk in. And with the amount of worry lining his pallid face, Troy he knew he looked as ancient as he felt.

“Yes.”

Running a hand through his hair and letting out his held breath, Troy sat down heavily onto the couch, letting his head hang almost between his knees. Cordelia scooted closer to him and laid her head gently on his shoulder.

“Can’t stay here and can’t go home,” Troy said in a desolate voice.

As if on cue, the little metal gauge initiated its warning sequence and Troy watched with dispassionate eyes as it broke open and voiced its warning of imminent doom. Carbon Monoxide levels had climbed by three tenths of a percent, which wasn’t much but had edged them into the “moderate risk” category according to the device.

“Oh, shut up,” he said. Troy would allow himself the evening to wring his hands and gnash his teeth but by morning, there would be a plan.