Reset (10 page)

Suddenly I am cast into a surreal existence. Trying with all that I am to decipher if what I am experiencing is real or a dream. Perhaps I am still in a state of stasis or that explosion has me in limbo.

This is Day One. Not because it is the first day that we are awake, it isn’t, but rather, the first day that we emerged from our reset state.

We were reset, for how long, remains to be seen. I can’t think of that aspect of it, I did for a small amount of time and it can be insanity inducing. I decided to place my focus on my family. After witnessing the fall of civility on the base, my heart is completely and utterly broken. Jason mentioned that perhaps I was indeed supposed to be in stasis. That maybe, like Amy, I was going to be snatched away from my room in some late night, post explosion covert operation. Deep in my heart I know that not to be true. In my deepest wishes that my family received the inoculation, I know they didn’t. I was not supposed to be there. They all believed I was Summer Rosewood.

I wonder if Summer, the real Summer, got the inoculation?

In some aspect the cure had to work. According to Meredith, someone, somewhere, actually a lot of people, had to be immune to it.

My family.

What they must have gone through when they heard that I died in that explosion. How devastated they had to be. I hate that they felt that pain, I hate thinking of them suffering through an illness. Of Rick trying his hardest to care for the girls. What if Rick died and no one was left to help my daughters. What of Mia who was only three? What if she was never ill and was left to care for herself. That scared me. She didn’t know. Her survival of the virus wasn’t a guarantee of her survival in the world.

I was quite a distance from my hometown, but not so far that I couldn’t get there.

There are seven of us remaining. I am not convinced, like the others, that the president jumped into the elevator and rode down below for a fiery death. I think he ran. I think he slipped out, ran and kept going.

A part of me wants to run, too. I just want to take the supplies John gave, grab one of those buggy type vehicles that Malcolm is fixing and go. Run. Head home.  That was not a possibility. Over our evening meal we decided that we would pair off.

Malcolm and Amy would head west toward their homes. Jason and I would go straight north. Grant, John, and Meredith would head northeast. But there also was a secondary plan. Three weeks. We had three weeks to find our answers or family and make it to a meeting point. It was the only way if things were truly bad and everything gone.

We had to stick together.

With Amy living as far west as Albuquerque and John living as far north east as Stamford, Malcolm found a center point on the map between us all and the meeting place was set for a little town called Champaign, Illinois.

Grant and Meredith were both familiar with the town and believed it to be a good meeting point. It stood a good chance of being there. After all, war had broken out. To what extent remained to be seen.

Was it nuclear war? Biological war. Was it a ground exchange overseas? We just didn’t know.

Three weeks to return. To start things over and follow through on the objective of the Genesis Project. That’s why we were saved, that was the intention.

Four hours after sun up, the vehicles will be charged enough to go. Malcolm gave us instructions and we will depart.

The questions remain, if we find our answers, will any of us really care enough to return? Will our journey for answers bring us life, or take so much from us that there is really no reason to begin life again?

Nora marked the words ‘Two AR’ in the journal, scribbled ‘journey’ and closed the cover. She’d write later when she had the time. The course was set and the first destination was Jason’s home in Louisville, Kentucky. At nearly three hundred miles away, in a vehicle that moved no faster than 40 MPH, they were looking at a nine hour trip. But that wasn’t happening, because they had to stop and recharge after six hours. A simple drive would turn into a three day trip and a very uncomfortable ride. The dune buggy type vehicle had the name NASA Mite-2 on the side, and was small with little room. A back area hatch for supplies and two very exposed seats. It didn’t offer any protection from the elements at all and Nora through it felt flimsy. Malcolm assured her it wasn’t.

They were the last ones to leave, because theirs was the last vehicle to charge.

At noon, they were fully charged. Nora took the driving position, Jason rode in the passenger seat. She quietly said a prayer, and pulled out of Redstone Arsenal. They had a direction, but which route they’d end up taking was all in the air. They hadn’t a clue what was ahead. But it was a journey they had to take.

<><><><>

There was a tad of guilt on Malcolm’s part, just a tad. After all, he got the buggies up and running so he deserved to have the souped-up one. While the others slept, he had taken the fourth vehicle apart, and enhanced the NASA Mite-3. The dual batteries allowed for nearly eight hours of travel and the buggy moved near fifty MPH. Although, he didn’t go that fast. He just didn’t trust it. It moved and felt like a golf cart to him.

Three hours into their trip they were half way to their first destination of Memphis.

It was the next biggest city off the highway. Perhaps if any civilization remained it would be in that area.

They didn’t see much of Huntsville. They got right on the overgrown highway. The grass was high in some spots, and the thick tires of the buggy cut through. There was a traffic jam of sorts, a graveyard of cars outside of Redstone and the Huntsville area. The nimble and small buggy zigzagged on and off the road to get around it.

Despite all the abandoned cars, there still was no sign of people.

He and Amy had the longest journey. Twelve hundred miles of roadway, at least. He took the first two batteries that hit a full charge and he and Amy were on the road before nine AM.  They moved with the hot sun, so there was no relief, which also told Malcolm it was summer. The nights weren’t cool, they were still muggy. The skies were clear. If he were to guess, he’d say it was probably July.

Malcolm conveyed his theories on the weather, and the seasons, and Amy laughed

“Why are you laughing at me?” Malcolm asked. “Is that funny?”

“Well, yeah, it is.”

“How is that?”

“Well, finally, I can say I am an expert in something going on around here.” Amy proudly stated.

“What do you mean? Explain.”

“Okay. I may be a star and sun person. And study solar weather. But, I did my internship on the Weather Channel for two years.” Amy said.

“How does that make you an expert?”

“Really? Seriously? You are asking me that.” Amy laughed. “For starters, you are forgetting Where we are geographically. We are south and west which means seasonably these areas are warmer this time year.”

“This time of year?” Malcolm asked. “What time of year is it?”

“Let’s break it down. Look around you. Look at the grass. Yes, it’s high but it’s not vivid green. Which tells me it’s lived through a bad winter. Nothing here is vivid and fresh green. Nothing is new. Look at the trees. Things are just barely budding. That along with the size of the sun in the sky, it’s the month of May.”

“You really think it’s May?”

“I do.”

“We should bet on it.”

“And how will we determine the winner?”

“Once we find people. There has to be people. Somewhere. Somehow. Out there.”

Amy chuckled and turned her head. “Malcolm. Look. Slow down.”

Malcolm saw that she was pointing. “What is it?”

“Tire tracks.”

Malcolm brought the buggy to a crawl and looked. The highway may have not shown any signs that anyone had driven on it, but perpendicular to the highway was a set of tracks. They cut through the foliage, went across the field in their own make shift road. One that was worn … one that told them it had been used.

“Life,” Malcolm said and turned the wheel.

He drove off the road to follow the tracks.

<><><><>

Richmond, Virginia wasn’t that far and John had no problem heading there first. Meredith didn’t want to go. She had no family, anyone to look for and to her it was a waste of time.

“Head north,” she said. “You two need to find your loved ones. We should, however, aim for Washington DC. I think we’ll find answers there.”

“In our nation’s Capital?” John asked.

“Yes, if anything happened here, such as a war, there would be a telltale sign.”

Grant asked. “Don’t you think that we should avoid big cities? I mean, I would think they’d be the most dangerous. In fact, traveling the highway is dangerous.”

“It’s a straight route,” John said.

“But we’re easily spotted. We have things, that if people are desperate. They’ll want.” Grant said.

“If there are people,” John commented. “We haven’t seen a soul. One would think we would have.”

“It all depends,” Meredith explained. “There are people out there. Just a whole lot less. We need to find them. And it all depends what region was hit hardest by the virus. If the southern states were hit the hardest then people moved north. They ran from it. The traffic outside of the cities and Huntsville told of a desperate situation.”

“There were cars,” Grant said. “No bodies. Where did they go?”

Meredith shrugged. “Where would you go? Back to their homes.”

“Or there.” John pointed ahead.

Beyond them, set off the road at an exit designed merely to fuel the tanks and stomachs of travelers. A huge camp had been set up that took up most of the road and parking lots. It was so large, there was no denying what it was even at a distance.

White tents lined up for as far as the eye could see. Big tents, square in shape with windows. Military trucks were parked sporadically. The exit ramp ahead was jammed packed with cars and there was no way to get down there with the buggy.

John slowed down. “Should we stop and see?”

“We’d have to walk,” Grant said. “You think this will be safe.”

John finally stopped the buggy. He looked left to right. “I don’t see anyone. I’d say yes. It’s safe.”

“Then I’d say stop.” Meredith said. “Someone down there took notes. There has to be something.”

Grant asked. “That looks like a medical station. Is that something we want to see?”

“No.” Meredith shook her head. “Absolutely not. But it is something we need to see.”

Dust was limited. For a camp that stood for an unknown amount of time, surprisingly there was no dust. Of course, that was still at a distance, and Grant kept looking back to make sure that the buggy remained untouched. He was obsessed with it. Fearing someone was going to pop out and steal it.

John had parked it in the deep grass, trying to camouflage it, but the solar panels were a huge reflector and flashed specks of light every time the clouds parted.

They walked slowly, past the cars that were abandoned.

“We should check these,” John said. “If we find nothing there.”

“We’ll find something,” Meredith replied.

Grant wasn’t as cool and calm as the others projected. He kept peeking in the cars, hoping each time he did, that he wouldn’t see a body. He ran his hand over the one car. There was dust, but not a lot. Not years’ worth.

When they were in Huntsville and Redstone Arsenal, the dust was so thick, that every time the window blew it moved and hovered over things before settling again.

Maybe they were too out in the open for the dust to settle. Grant looked down. It wasn’t on the ground. Why wasn’t the pavement cracked?

He followed behind John and Meredith, she led the way as if she knew exactly where she was going. From the highway, down the exit, toward the setup. The cars stopped long before the camp. A line of military trucks blocked all traffic.

When they made it beyond the trucks, the camp was more in sight.

Meredith and John moved steadily and focused. Like them, Grant wanted answers, but he wanted those answers to be about his family. He wasn’t married, but he had a mother, father, siblings and a slew of nieces and nephews.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The four rows of tents lined the road and they made a flapping sound when the wind rustled by them. As they drew closer to the camp, finally, Grant saw black dust, it danced close to the ground, moving with the breeze.

Meredith stopped walking about fifty feet from the camp, just before the line of roadblock horses. Her hands were to her side as she peered to her right over her shoulder, then she pivoted, moved at a snail’s pace about ten feet and stared out.

“What’s going on?” Grant asked. “What do you see?”

Meredith didn’t answer, neither did John when he joined her. So Grant picked up the pace and closed the distance between them. “What is it?” He then looked.

It wasn’t in his line of sight. In fact, one had to be upon it to fully grasp the huge pit. A hundred feet long, and the depth was undeterminable. The black dust came from there. It hovered over top, almost as if the air served as a suction, bringing it up just a little, moving it around and letting it drop.

Every few seconds, the thick black dust would clear enough to expose the massive amount of bodies in the pit. All burned, most of them to ash... explaining the black dust that moved about.

“Do we need to do this?” Grant asked. “Can’t we just go? It’s a dead camp.”

“It’s an organized dead camp,” Meredith quipped. “Someone took names, notes, kept records, even if early on. Even if for distribution of medicine.”

“Where do we begin?” John asked. “I mean, there have to be a hundred tents on this road.”

Meredith pointed back toward the camp. “The first tent. It’s the only one without a flag.”

Grant thought, ‘Without a flag? What did she mean?” and when he squeezed by the first road block horse, he saw.

Plastic, thin triangles were attached to the outside of each tent. Just one on each tent. The type of triangle flags Grant would see at a carnival, and just like at a street fair or carnival, the flags were different colors.

Red. Yellow. Blue.

Each tent was marked in one of those colors.

Meredith walked in the first tent, was there a moment and she stepped back out. “This is definitely the main tent. No cots or beds here. Just tables and boxes. Let see what we can find. Grant? Why don’t you look around and see what you can surmise.”

“Me? Why me?” Before Grant got a response, John had slipped into the main tent with Meredith. He supposed that was their way of making him do something. He wasn’t really contributing. Other than when he helped organize supplies, he had nothing to add.

He knew nothing about viruses or post apocalyptic worlds.

The first tent to his right had a blue flag. He inched his way to it and as he reached for the flap, his foot caught something. He felt it under the sole of his shoe. He looked down to see a small stuffed toy.

Grant cringed. He closed his eyes tight as a sickening feeling hit his gut and his chest tightened. A stuffed toy meant a child.

It was a dead camp.

Suddenly he thought of his nieces and nephews, all of them young, all of them children. He bent down and lifted the toy. It was a bear, not much bigger than the palm of his hand and pink.

Trembling he reached for the flap of the tent and pushed it aside.

He was holding his breath and immediately exhaled when he looked inside. Cots were lined up orderly, some contained disturbed bedding, but all of the cots were empty. There was sense of relief when he saw that and confident, the entire camp was empty, he moved to the next tent.

Blue flag. Empty.

He crossed the row to the other side, and just as certain he’d see the same, he walked in.

Grant was wrong. Cots lined up like the other tents, IV poles were the bedside ornament, but the cots were not empty. Every single cot held a body.

It wasn’t like the movies. The skeletal remains weren’t just bones lost in clothing and covered by a blanket. Two steps in, he caught his first real look. The body of the person lay on their side, the blanket pulled up to the shoulder and the arm dangled outward. IV tubing hung by it. The head didn’t rest on a pillow. It was surrounded by a black stain, that formed a halo around it. In fact the same blackened stain was under the body, some on the edge of the blankets and on the floor under the arm. Was it blood? Grant didn’t know, he had seen enough, backed up and turned to hurriedly leave. As he did, he bumped into a cot and not only did he feel the physical pain, he felt it emotionally as well when he saw the small body. It was a girl, of that he was certain, she wore a pink night gown and a ribbon was by her head.

Grant’s heart broke.

An innocent victim of the entire establishment control mechanism.

It angered him. He wanted to scream, cry, released emotions. He felt horrible for the child. He grabbed the blanket to cover her completely.  It was the least he could do. Was she alone? Did she die without anyone by her? When he looked down to lift the blanket, he received his answer.

Drooping from her wrist was a red band.

Red.

On it was the number 6522.

The poor child had no one around, no one to hold her hand. In the war to control the population, the little girl lost. She wasn’t a person, she was just a number.

Grant placed the tiny pink bear next to her head, covered her quickly and left the tent. He had seen enough and headed straight toward the main tent.

His mouth was dry from nerves and he hastily stepped inside the tent, John and Meredith were so engrossed in reading from thick stacks of papers, that they didn’t see him.

“How is this possible?” John questioned while reading. “This looks like this camp was set up in April after we were put in Stasis. Didn’t Harrison say it got out of control right away?”

“He said by November it was obviously out of control. Millions died by the day. But he didn’t say where. There are billions of people on this planet.”

“I understand that,” John said. “But the base was clearly shut down in November, the magazines …”

“Came from the PX. That could have been closed in November. Lots of explanations.”

Grant cleared his throat.

John glanced at him. “Grant. You all right?”

“Yes.” Grant paused. “No. No. I want to leave. Please can we leave?”

John faced Meredith. “Can we take this with us?”

“I don’t see why not. Let me look through to see what may be useful.”

“A lot of these are just names next to numbers,” John said as he looked.

“You don’t see number 6522, do you?”

John looked up from the papers. He gave a curious look to Grant. “That’s an odd question.”

“I need … I need to know her name. I don’t know why, I just need to.”

John peered around the stacks of papers. “This one starts at five thousand.” He flipped pages. “Ah, yes. Hmm. Douglass Oldowski. Not a she.”

“Then it’s wrong.” Grant said. “I know the number I saw. She was wearing a red band.”

“This says 6522 red.” John read. “Douglass, male, fifty-two years old.”

“There has to be a mistake.”

Meredith’s airy, “Dear God,” rang out.

Grant looked at her.

With a horrified look, Meredith raised her eyes. “It’s not a mistake. John, check the date on Mr. Oldowski’s admission.”

“April seven, the year after we were put in Stasis.”

“Then he would be long gone, burned or buried,” Meredith stated. “The name Grant is searching for is another 6522.”

John chuckled. “How do you know?”

“Because that …” She pointed to his stack of papers. “Is seven months after we went to stasis, right?”

“Right.”

“This…” She held up a stack of papers and dropped them. “Is five years after.”