Safe: Chapter Eight

By Luke Echterling and Natalie Peters

©Luke Echterling

Impatient MFVs idled outside, listening to the muffled sounds of combat. Bloodied, bruised, and limping, the passengers burst from the doors followed by a hostile zombie mob. MFV mini-guns and 20 millimeter cannons started firing at once into the crowd. 

Military grade rockets exploded against the sides of the MFVs, marking them with black charred asterisks. Fuel bombs were also lobbed from a building across the street. They arced down from the roof and landed on exposed soldiers who scrambled blindly on fire. Their mates rolled over them to put out the blazes. 

An MFV swiveled its mini-gun and ripped across the rooftops, clearing them of attackers. During the lull in hostile fire the teams fleeing the dome leapt up open MFV ramps. Alestir and Brutus caught their breath while the ramps were pulled up and secured, the body and head of Van Dam quickly stowed in a black body bag. The MFV caravan barrelled out of the parking lot and onto a street blocked by cars. Gunmen appeared out of hiding places.

“Ram them! Make a hole!” Green shouted into his mic, commanding the lead platoon in a thunderous voice. Twelve UN soldiers rapidly resupplied ammunition. Brutus slammed himself into a seat and buckled up. Turning, he found Alestir next to him shaking uncontrollably with shock and fear, struggling to work the five part harness. 

Brutus reached over and latched him just before the MFV rammed into a hastily made barricade of semi trucks. The vehicle exploded through a wreck of flying bodies and metal. Bullets bounced off the MFVs. Tires absorbed thousands of impacts from rounds, the thick rubber compound creating one solid piece. They churned over wreckage and screaming gunmen who crawled for safety as the MFVs plowed through them towards the ramp. 

They found the entrance to the causeway blocked by a pair of large construction vehicles. The MFV’s came to a sudden halt. Immediately, a dozen well aimed armor-piercing rockets struck from above. Three MFVs containing UN infantry caught rockets through their top hatches. The bombs exploded within the vehicles. They rolled and crashed into buildings, driving madly through the streets on dreadful detours to hell. 

“Ramps are bloody well fucked - highway is out!” the commander of the lead MFV shouted in a panicked voice.

“Activate secondary egress - hit the river!” Green screamed into his mic, blood from his cut lip dripping down on his hand. 

He prayed the swift boats would arrive in time to save them.

Just around a big oxbow bend of the Mississippi, the air roared with jet engines firing to propel two large boats with curved hulls. They sprayed crystals of water to the sides as they pushed forward through the  muddy water. Gatling guns and grenade launchers bristled along the bodies of the boats. Shuddering with sudden motion they started their twelve mile run upriver. Secondary egress was on its way. 

The four MFVs holding the FASE teams and remaining UN soldiers frantically made large,  awkward U-turns, taking more hits and damage as they careened down the wide road. Their huge lumbering wheels pushed the armored beasts three blocks as MFV commanders rapidly spoke back and forth over radio, their voices short spurts of static.  

Cannon and machine gun fire raked their surroundings, spewing metal like candy at a horrific parade.  Brutus and Alestir were jostled painfully as their vehicle bumped and shook, the sides ringing with bullets. The interior was thick with acrid smoke from impacting rockets. 

A shattering explosion rocked their MFV as they took a broadside hit. The tires squealed as the driver overcompensated for the force of the impact, causing the vehicle to bounce up into the air. All the gear and bodies not strapped down tumbled around the cabin. The MFV came down hard on its side, sliding forward until it crashed through an ancient brick wall.  When they finally skidded to a stop the air was thick around them with dust, blood, and shouts. 

“Mark Four - we’re looping back. Hold tight!” The radio crackled through the chaos.

An angry hail of gunfire pelted the underbelly of the wrecked MFV. Brutus could hear the bullets punching metal. The world was still spinning as Alestir grabbed his shoulder. Fastened in their seat harnesses, they were both flat on their backs surrounded by displaced bodies and gear. 

“They’re gettin’ us to ground! Green shouted, moving his giant frame through the cramped cabin, pulling soldiers to their feet, checking them for injuries. 

Soldiers strapped into the seats opposite Brutus and Alestir hung from the side of the MFV, now their ceiling. Unlatching their harnesses they dangled briefly before carefully dropping down around them. Two FASE operators dressed in fatigues and tan mottled body armor wiped sweat from their faces. Straining and groaning they pried open the main roof hatch. A cloud of shrouded sunshine flooded the cabin with cool gray light. The MFV’s occupants slid from the roof hatch to the ground, scrambling out into the waiting arms of a graveyard. 

The cemetery sprawled like a maze before them. Behind them the old church was breathing fire like a demonic minotaur. Outside the walled graveyard, the city screamed. It was coming for them. 

Green pulled the last man from the open hatch, one of many injured when the MFV flipped over. He then pulled the man’s arm across his neck and supported him as they all moved forward. Brutus came alongside Alestir and did the same. The man was limping with a twisted knee. Brutus’s own injuries were minor by comparison and numbed by adrenaline. 

With gunfire cracking incessantly on the other side of the brick wall they walked through a heap of broken bricks into the cemetery. FASE operatives moved forward cautiously, deeper into the maze of tombs. UN soldiers fanned out and covered their flanks while Green kept Brutus, Alestir, and the rest of the wounded near him in the center of the phalanx. The air rang with cracks and yells echoing from the other side of the enclosure, drawing closer. Gunfire started raining down from a dilapidated overpass to the left, raking the exposed soldiers with bullets. They took cover behind large stone tombs the size of sheds. Hot, angry bullets skipped off the granite structures leaving fresh white impacts and puffs of dust in their wake. 

Green lowered the soldier he had been supporting to the ground. He scanned the area in all directions assessing the situation. Then he keyed his shoulder mic, “Alpha! Bravo! Go west, take MFVs down St. Louis street an’ clear it! We’re goin’ three blocks west to link up!” 

“Roger that.” His speaker reported.

Although he couldn’t see it from the cemetery, Green turned toward the river. “Swift boats, ETA?”

The immediate reply from the large boats making their way up the Mississippi was faint, “Twenty mikes!”

“This’ll have to be the fastest combat mile ever,” remarked the FASE soldier Green had been supporting, just before a sniper’s bullet shot off his jaw. He fell to the ground, his body shuddering as additional bullets pierced his armor. 

“Pop smoke!” voices called out, trained soldiers reflexively reacting to the well placed sniper fire. 

A huge chunk of plaster coating a rust-colored tomb exploded next to Brutus. The soldiers repositioned themselves to aim for its source. It only took them a few shots to eliminate the sniper.

Brutus watched as soldiers moved into the drifting white smoke to set claymore mines at a gate and T juncture. If anyone pursued them through the cemetery, these would deter their progress. Green hoisted Alestir over a shoulder and shouted to Brutus, “Follow me!”

All around them bullets slapped brick and cobblestone as the diplomatic entourage angled out of the graveyard towards an alley. One by one they slipped in, the soldiers placing more mines behind them as they went. They heard the first ones explode, sending thousands of metal balls shotgunning into mortar, air, and flesh. That bought them a little time. 

The haggard line of soldiers jogged and stopped before moving down the alley, their alert eyes scanning the area in all directions, taking in three blocks of an eerily quiet and shadowed street.

Suddenly the silence was shattered by explosions. The building beside them exhaled dust as it shook with cannon impacts. Sunlight high up on the walls caught the dust particles as the wind made them dance higher into the sky. Smells of combat assaulted Brutus. His eyes and throat were dry and coated with dust. 

“Dammit!” Green rasped while holding a fist in the air, halting the group. Screeching tires and gunfire from the next street over told them the remaining MFVs were being ambushed. Vehicle commanders shouted over the open net, Brutus could hear them through Green’s shoulder mic as he crouched next to him. Green signaled for his soldiers to secure the alley from any threat in the balconies above. FASE operatives fired probing rounds into the metalwork balconies dripping with vegetation. They needed to get to the MFVs.

Alestir was propped against a dark brick wall slick with moss. His face was pained, his eyes glazed over. He was mumbling something barely audible. Brutus leaned down to meet his eyes. The scent of Alestir’s cologne miraculously burst through the stench of war as Brutus came face to face with him. 

“Barrin. Barrin. We do not lose. I am a Barrin,” he rambled. “Do not die.”

“Pull yourself together - we’re almost out!” Brutus grabbed his shoulders, willing the rambling lunatic to pick himself up. “Come on!”

Aslestir’s eyes focused on Brutus. “I don’t want to die!” He shrieked before the clap of a grenade drowned him out.

“Keep moving!” Green shouted. “They’re through the cemetery!”

Seagulls dotted the sky, fleeing the battle. Below them, two MFVs rolled past one that poured smoke and flames from every firing port. Stately buildings around them bristled with militia that moved across connected rooftops, leaving broken bodies to bake in the sun as the living pursued their prey. The UN ambassadors would be dead shortly if they did not make it to the river. 

Heavy machine gun fire ripped the corner of Treme and Conti Streets, blocking their path to the waiting MFVs and the river. They were going to need a detour. Green scanned the area, assessing the distances they needed to cover. Ahead of them a wall had a hole that had just been blasted through by explosives. Green knew the hole in the wall would not have been accounted for by the enemy. Silently he gave the signal, pointing two fingers in the direction of their escape. 

Their white concealment smoke gone, the soldiers resorted to marker grenades. They threw them into the street as they hustled through the cavity. Orange and red smoke swirled around Green as Brutus followed. They stopped just inside to find themselves in yet another graveyard. It seemed this city was populated more by the dead than the living. 

As the ground troops fought for their lives the swift boats sped around an oxbow bend in the Mississippi River, bringing the city into view. The crew could see smoke from the battle rising in the distance. Rifle fire crackled faintly. Overhead, a scrambled drone had just arrived on the scene. As it flew over the battlefield accumulating data, their radios relayed the bad news.  

The initial ambush at the stadium was final in its violence, there were no survivors. Three MFVs were being picked over, still hot and burning. Down the wide frontage road another MFV lay on its side in a cemetery, crashed through a wall. Dark blood trails and pockmarks on buildings showed the trail of Green’s Charlie team through the streets. A fourth MFV burned like a pyre just a few blocks from a final pair of MFVs  still fighting for their lives. Three thousand feet still separated the survivors from their evac point. 

The armored boats approached the landing zone to find the entrance along the river blocked by four large sand barges linked with cables. Guarding the sand barges was an antique Mark VI Patrol Boat. Long decommissioned, the boat was still fast and formidable. An 85 ft combatant craft designed to be deadly, the boat started towards them as soon as they were spotted. Without a word recoilless cannons on the swift boats opened fire.

FASE operatives fanned out quietly to check for an ambush.They crept through the creepy silence slowly. Heads bobbing across building rooftops indicated the militia was up there silently repositioning themselves. 

The handgun Green had given Brutus pushed into his back where he had slipped it into his waistband. Crouched against a large white mausoleum covered in multicolored X’s, he reached back and pulled it out. A large gouge from where a plaque once rested held his head. 

To his right Alestir moaned in pain. The miserable man’s left foot was twisted, his pant leg soaked in blood. To his left Green was peering over a demolished tomb shouting at the radio on his shoulder, commanding the MFVs to blast them an exit through the fence a few hundred feet away. 

Brutus leaned his back against the side of the mausoleum. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the handgun. Opening the slide he caught the glimmer of a bullet in the chamber. He closed it and held it close to his body as he shut his eyes. He counted to five and opened them to complete darkness. He was alone in a deathly quiet world of darkness. 

 The darkness around Brutus dissolved into a gray ether with slowly falling ash. Sitting against an ivory mausoleum in the silent cemetery Brutus found himself alone with the spirits of the dead. In the anchor gray light a beautiful woman with ruddy tan skin and full lips emerged from the crowd of moving apparitions. Dressed in silk shawls and a striped head wrap, her clothing rippled as she floated towards him. Her deep black eyes stared into his soul. 

“Marie?” Brutus whispered.

“Hello, Brutus,” the ghost’s voice laughed. “It has been a long time.” Her Creole accent was thick.

“Marie, what happened to you?” Brutus squeaked.

“Ahhh, now, now, now. I do not think this is the question, no? No. Now, Brutus. The real question is, what has happened to YOU?”

Brutus gulped. He knew what she was asking and he didn’t want to answer. The spirit before him enjoyed his discomfort.

“Yes? I knew you a looong time ago, back when I was young. And yet, here you still be. Still walkin’ around the land of the living. How can you explain that?”

“Marie, I-” 

“No. I do not want to hear it. Your voice is full of lies.” Irritation gave her otherworldly voice an edge. But then her voice brightened. “How do you like my girl, Rainbow? She is wonderful, no?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Rainbow?!” Brutus squaked. “She tried to KILL me!”

This time the ghost laughed heartily. “Brutus, she is from our blood. She was not trying to kill you. She saved you. Even though you break your promises, I am an honorable woman. I keep mine.”

Brutus just stared at her, not sure how to respond to this woman, this ghost that had been dead for so long.

“And, Brutus. Rainbow prayed and searched Vilokan high and low for her elusive and powerful paternal source of power-you. My maternal instinct and powers guided her to me long ago-but you, so many lives! So many changes of names! But now, she knows what you be. And she will know what you become. Both the Rada and the Petro. The positive and the negative.”

“How can she possibly know my secrets?” Brutus stood up abruptly but the ghost didn’t move. He began to pace. “What? Why? And why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“That should be obvious, fool. Because I did not want you to know. I wanted you to go away. A lot of good that did me. Here I am, dead of body, and I still can’t be free of you.”

Brutus spun back around to face her in the gloom. He gave her a grim look. “Rainbow, the lunatic who just tried to kill me and is mercilessly slaughtering all those people is my offspring?”

“Ah, yes, yes, yes. She knows what she do. And you, Brutus. You will not get rid of her so easily. She has seen into your heart.” She paused and drew herself up, standing over her old lover that now stumbled before her in the ether. “She has seen into your future. And when the time is right and if you listen to Rainbow she will guide you to the end and beginning of everything.”

“How can she see into my heart that has been broken for an eternity? 

“EVERYTHING. Focus, Brutus, you have always been dramatic. Even as an eternal I have not the time for your tears. Listen. You have another daughter, no? Rainbow has seen her too.”

“You leave her alone.” Brutus said angrily.

“Oh, no, no, no. It is not for me to meddle. For me, I am done with you, Brutus. But Rainbow is her own person. She will do what she will do. As for you, your heart and soul is in danger. You had bettah take care. But I know you,” she shook her head sadly. “I know you will not.” She paused momentarily and then drew uncomfortably close.

Echoes of ghostly laughter dissipated as colors and figures of soldiers came back into focus. It was like looking through a microscope, adjusting the intensity of focus to see one layer of life disappear as another came into view.

The voice of Marie repeated, over and over a series of words that Brutus could not fully grasp as they slipped away. “Fear yo in fire.” She said. “No.” Brutus shook his head, his eyes still locked onto this last vistages. “Fear yo infant.” She said. “No!” Brutus screamed, his mind filling with dread and confusion. “Fé yo infine.” 

The words seared him, the meaning eluded him as he searched the troves of languages he understood from several lifetimes of study. He closed his eyes and screwed them shut, but he felt the iciness in his face as the specter placed her hands on his cheeks. He shook his head, knowing he did not want to open his mind to her. Her face drew so close to his own that their foreheads touched. “You have set in motion the creation of a monster impossible to touch, Brutus. The monster will control a loop broken only by an infinite universe.” His eyes opened involuntarily. Their eyes locked. 

“I must make them infinite?” he asked. Marie smiled as she backed away, nodding. Echoes of her ghostly laughter dissipated as colors and figures of soldiers came back into focus. It was like looking through a microscope, adjusting the intensity of focus to see one layer of life disappear as another came into view.

The face of Green standing over him materialized. Brutus became aware that the man had a fistfull of his collar and was shaking him.

“We got to MOVE, you idiot!” 

“Okay, okay!” Brutus screamed back, standing up. Shaking off the vision he looked around him to get his bearings.

Green watched him carefully for a millisecond.

“You got your head back?”

“Yes!” Brutus insisted. He noticed Alestir watching him intently.

“Then let’s hustle! Go!”

Brutus jerked into a crouch from where he was sitting and noticed a tarnished bronze plaque that read, “Marie Laveau was the most widely known of many practitioners of the cult.”  

The first pass of the Mark VI was too fast. Its operators were awkward in their handling of the craft and the shots directed at the swift boats boats were late. None found their targets. The swift boats ignored it at first, choosing to aim for the sand barges instead. If they couldn’t clear a path to the landing zone, their mission had already failed. 

Their gatling guns filled with armor-piercing rounds shredded the two middle barges, sending sand and earth flying into the air. Quickly the two barges sank like stones, pulling the others down with them. Boiling water bubbled around them as the swift boats barrelled through. Mud colored waves churned and vectored behind them. 

Finishing the arc of its return path, the Mark VI continued its pursuit.

Claps of ricochets followed them as they moved towards the gaping exit blown inward by the MFVs. Brutus found himself near the end of the line with Alestir, guarded by a FASE operative busy picking off rooftop snipers. Before they could make it through the exit hole rimmed with crumbling brick and mortar, shots rang out from behind them. Brutus spun around to see a pair of young teenage boys firing revolvers from their hips, skipping from tomb to tomb to avoid return fire. Brutus pulled up his handgun. He fired and missed. The boys collapsed behind cover and continued to fire, moving closer with each shot. One of the teens rounded a corner before him, close enough for Brutus to see the joy in the boy’s eyes as he emptied his gun into Brutus. 

The impacts of the bullets against his body armour felt like someone repeatedly hit his chest with a hammer. His breath was knocked from his lungs and he staggered backwards. The other boy swung out from behind a tombstone and crouched to take aim for his head. 

Wide eyed and breathless, Brutus waited. His muscles twitched as the shot rang out. 

On its second pass the Mark VI again opened fire on the swift boats. This time it was more successful. Faster and more agile than the swift boats, the patrol boat had no difficulty catching up. The swift boats were in staggered formation, one in front of the other. The Mark VI opened fire at the boat in the rear. Unable to pull away, the swift boat fired back. But it was useless. 

Fire from the Mark VI found its mark. As gunners’ bodies went limp over their weapons, the swift boat started taking on water. A few guns continued firing relentlessly as the hull of the Mark VI rode up on a swell in the river and came down on the injured vessel. A sickening crash of metal could be heard by the surviving boat. They watched as bodies and debris from their friends resurfaced to be carried downstream on the current.

Correcting its course yet again, the Mark VI directed itself for the surviving boat. 

Brutus sucked back in a lungful of painful air as the boy fell. Above him, Green stood like an Olympian as he replaced his firearm. He hauled Brutus and Alestir through the hole in the wall by their shirt collars. Alestir gasped and winced as Green manhandled him roughly.  

Around them the street echoed with shouts. Brutus was relieved to see that the two remaining MFV’s were a short distance from the punctured wall. A pair of UN soldiers grabbed him and Alestir beneath their shoulders and hauled them up into the vehicles. The rest of the soldiers and FASE operatives clambered in quickly. Bodies crammed into one another for space aboard the final two vehicles. 

 The surviving Charlie, Alpha, and Bravo FASE teams manned the open hatches above as the huge wheels surged down the street. Expert marksmen frantically picked off rooftop threats. Hot shell casings rained down on them leaving red marks on sweaty skin. Outside, the city throbbed with menace, prepared to answer the call of Rainbow Mamba. 

The world inside the cramped MFV smelled like hot metal and fear. 

Brutus found Alestir watching him with a furious, bloody face. “Do you see?” he shouted over the maelstrom. His wide eyes were wild. “They are bloody maniacs!”

“YEAH. Makes one wonder who the FUCK thought this ‘plan’ was a good idea in the first place.” Green’s response shocked Alestir into sullen silence, but Green continued to stare at him with disgust anyway.

The MFVs slammed to a stop, idling in a terrifying absence of gunshots. 

Green stood up chambering a round into an assault rifle. “They’re regrouping - now’s our chance,” he hollered, releasing the closest ramp. “We gotta move fast! Go! Go!”

The first group swung out of the hatch and positioned themselves to provide cover. Alestir collapsed into tan stretcher that sagged between two men who breathed like horses. Sweat flew from their noses as they sprinted for the dock. 

From the bank of the river the survivors could see the lifeless remains of a sunk boat floating slowly downstream. In the middle of the floating debris their last boat was fighting desperately for its life. A frenzy of fire spewed from the swift boat towards the Mark VI, but as the versatile attacker banked and flanked, it had little effect. The Mark VI was gaining ground. 

Heavy gunfire sprayed from the MFV turrets towards a surge of bodies that oozed out between the links of a long, ancient chain of train cars covered in graffiti. They spilled onto the old parking lot and focused their slack eyes on the MFVs. Rainbow’s zombies plodded towards them across the cracked asphalt. They were the cannon fodder for the enemy’s last push. 

Tracer bullets streaked through flesh and bone. Bodies exploded into each other, the air heavy with blood. A copper offal bit Brutus’s nose.

Still they came, a mass of threadbare misfits spitting and snarling, bearing down on them towards the river. Brutus glanced back towards the crowd as he ran, followed closely by Green. 

“Keep your fuck’n eyes forward and keep movin’ toward the dock!” Green shouted. 

Evacuating the MFVs at the last possible moment, the remaining soldiers took flight for the river. The huddled group on the water’s edge  resorted to sidearms to buy every possible second. Those helpless to do anything watched as the Mark VI came down on top of their boat as it must have done the other. Their hope of escape disappeared into the water underneath the attacker’s hull. The Mark VI slowed to a crawl. Then it trained its guns on the shore.

The old pier shuddered with their weight as soldiers and diplomats ran for their lives. Bullets fired from the buildings across the street reached out for them. Several hit the pier’s planking and the water surrounding the refugees. There was nothing left to do but swim for their lives, and they all knew they would probably never make it. 

Brutus stopped short as he felt the air around him explode. 

Bursting out of the water behind their attacker, soaking soldiers manning deck guns spit water while their weapons spit fire. Not expecting the swift boat to survive, the Mark VI had exposed its vulnerable back end. Their swift boat sped up to the dock as the Mark VI detonated like a bomb. 

While survivors limped and tumbled up onto ramps dropped from the aft section of the swift boat, the boat unleashed its gatling guns on the buildings across the street. A buzzsaw of fire obliterated the entire area. Furious casings spewed into the river, catching the sunlight in a stream of gold before hissing into the brown water. 

Green pushed Brutus down into a seat and buckled him against the center row. The craft heaved and roared, sending them out into the river. Screaming soldiers didn’t let off the hot metal of their weapons to suppress return fire until they were well out of range. And even then, the riverbank swarmed with zombies climbing over themselves to pursue the survivors up the river. 

The wretched roar of a thousand angry souls pierced their ears as they sped away.

Safe: Chapter Nine

Wiley was finally free but he felt more alone than ever before. The straps of the helicopter seat dug into his chest as the craft buffeted in the air. He braced his body against the cold wind. In the distance the glassy black hole of a nuclear blast mark sucked the horizon’s sun down into its despair. San Francisco sprawled out below him like a concrete quilt, ripped and used. This assignment was his final test to join the UN special forces, FASE. 

He smiled to himself as he remembered the Major’s parting words. The major had poked his finger in Wiley’s chest before he left the cadet program saying, “Don’t get cocky, Grisholm.” Wiley hadn’t listened.

The helicopter swayed over the Golden Gate bridge, cutting through a patch of fog that was settling on its rusting spires. Alcatraz Island emerged from the low morning clouds, solemnly gray and ringed with armored fast boats and long, sleek navy cutters. This was UN headquarters for northern California. Stuffed inside were UN administrators tasked with maintaining order in the state’s last major city. 

Wildfires stoked from nuclear embers had ravished the countryside surrounding the metropolis and left it as barren as the surface of the moon. Only the strongest concrete city blocks remained, their eyeless windows patched with solar panels. Generations of buildings built on top of each other were sewn together by tough survivors using ingenuity and cunning to outwit a world that seemed to want them gone. 

From his vantage point Wiley could barely see people moving through the sun-dappled city, bustling and biking, most of them in tight fitting radiation suits and masks that were recommended for surface exposure for more than eight hours. It was the colors of their customized radiation suits that caught his eye, all of them patched and taped and spray-paint sealed rips in garish scrawls of color. The survivors clustered together in this corner of America were no different than any others. They flocked to the strong and used martial law with impunity. 

The UN was busy preparing the city for what was to come. Safes were going to be built by Stoics deep under the mountains that rose above the sea. People had to be saved and sorted, supplies prepared and rationed, geological sites mapped and sent to the Stoics for architectural planning. 

Wiley grimaced. For too long promises had been traded for hope. The promises kept coming but hope was running dry, its absence souring the growing rifts between the UN and American survivors. And it certainly didn’t help that everyone could see fractures developing between the UN and the Stoics who held the reins of the Safes being built. A new world order was emerging but no one knew what it meant yet. 

Northern California was one of the strongest areas governed by the UN. But even though he was young and new, Wiley could see it was barely holding itself together. Just one riot or one major fire could bring down the entire city. If the UN lost control he knew exactly what would happen: the people would succumb to the dominating forces of vicious warlords. Wiley thought the speedy arrival of Safes could provide stability to his country. But what the hell was taking so long?

A squawking siren interrupted his thoughts as the helicopter settled onto the landing pad next to a large building. 

“Grisholm.” The nervous little officer was shaking with cold from the droplets of rain. He shook like a small dog when he spoke. “That damn nuke has been a needle in a haystack. I have no idea how you are gonna find it, but I’d be damned pleased.” The officer shuffled out of the helicopter and shivered his way across the landing pad, his arms crossed against his chest. .“Damn all of this! Especially that damn thing!” He looked back over his shoulder out to the sea, towards the expanse of water that somewhere held an errant warhead in her cold clutch. Then he huffed with chilled disgust and disappeared through the prison doorway. 

Wiley looked back too, out over the ocean. The damn thing. That was why he was here. Wiley was not even technically cleared for such a mission, but here he was about to fish a nuclear bomb out of the sea. 

Inside the old prison Wiley felt the walls closing in on him. Years of living below the Earth’s crust had made him hate being enclosed. He entered the general’s office, halted, saluted, then stood at attention waiting for his orders. Before  the general spoke a word, Wiley already knew what he was going to say by the look on his face. 

“Frankly,” the general’s accent was edged with irritation, “you are only here because ve haf no other choice.”

Wiley stood up straighter and let the general’s sharp words glance harmlessly off of him. “I will get it done,” he said confidently.

The general came out from behind his desk and strode across the bare concrete floor covered in peeling paint. His shoes scuffed pigeon droppings fossilized with age. Stopping abruptly before Wiley he sized him up. “Ja,” he said slowly. “Ze mission is this: Ve know zat San Francisco vas targeted by no less than three nuclear missiles. One exploded far east of the city, off target. Ze other, three hundred miles northeast. Ze third fell short. Ve presumed in the shallow bay itself, but after years of searching ve haf turned up nothing.”

Wiley inhaled slowly and processed the luck of the people surrounding this tiny, man-made island. 

The general continued, “Ve think ze missile fell short and is just vest of ze city in the deeper vaters of ze Pacific Ocean.”

“Nukes won’t just go off. The US left a huge one off the coast of Tybee Island in Georgia a long time ago. It’s still there.” He had spent the last three years on the surface training and studying soldiering, mathematics, and engineering. 

The general’s eyes widened in shock. This young, man spoke openly without invitation? Ignoring him, the general held an irritable hand up for silence. “A blast of zat magnitude vould trigger a tsunami. This city is ze last bastion holding ze Vest Coast of ze United States together. As our protectorate, ze UN is obliged to keep it safe until Stilo’s Safes are built. And you know damn vell zat vill be many years from now. Ze planning process takes years before ze building can start.”

“They are flying through Germany. New Safes every month all over Europe.” Wiley prickled at the UN general. “So you can go home any time now.” 

“Quiet!” The general’s voice boomed. He raised his arms to the heavens. “I ask for a man and zey send me a boy!”

“You got a soldier.” Wiley said in a honed voice. “I’ll get it done.”

“Just find it.” The general flippantly flicked his hand. “Your cell is prepared for your...vhatever it is you do.” 

Wiley opened his mouth to respond, then jerked his head back as the general’s finger pointed in his face. 

“Just find ze damn nuke.”

The halls echoed with footsteps in the ghostly light. It was night on the island and haunted sounds reverberated through the old prison. Whistling wind became cries of the dead, shadows loomed and then shivered in the light of the guards’ flashlights as they walked down the hall to a cell that was bathed in red light. Creaking joints of the door greeted Wiley as he pulled the last of his wetsuit over his head. It clung tightly to him as he entered the “hole” and lowered himself into a vat of water. The salt content was so high it made him float effortlessly. 

“I’m ready.” Wiley fastened a pair of goggles over his eyes and let himself float. The red light clicked off, leaving him in absolute darkness as the door slammed shut. “Lock it!” Wiley shouted. He had done this numerous times before, but the pit in his stomach never diminished. Here in the belly of Alcatraz it was no different. 

He listened acutely as the lock clanked home, followed by retreating footsteps. Wiley relaxed, listening to the blackness around him. 

Ok, he said softly as he let himself slip into the infinite space of the sensory deprivation chamber. He had done this before. He could control it. It would just take time.

In the darkness Wiley could see three glowing green dots emerge from the void. The tiny fluorescent cues launched him on the hunt. He concentrated on the tiny trace amounts of radioactive material. First, geometric shapes on his closed lids flew at him. They spun and twisted and made no sense. He pushed past them, further into his mind to a place that felt empty and safe. He breathed deeply and slowly, filling his lungs with the damp air tinged with salt. He ignored the sensation that there were other people in the room with him. You are alone, Wiley reminded himself over and over. No ghosts. 

He left himself there in that place and felt himself leave his body. The sudden weightlessness got him every time.Wiley was still learning to control this strange power to remote view by completing an out of body experience (OBE). He felt like he would never completely master it in his lifetime. 

The only people who knew of his ability were the Major and a few of Wiley’s old friends, all sworn to secrecy. Many of his old friends had unusual talents, but Wiley’s ability had been discovered only recently. Which was good. Because his “gift” made him a dangerous weapon. And that also made him a target. It was better if people didn’t know what he could do. Humanity was hard enough to hold on to in a world of endless warfare.

For hours Wiley’s body floated in the sensory tank, a water tank designed to prevent all sensory distractions. His talent could only be harnessed in absolute solitude and only after long periods of time. 

 He found himself wandering the inky planes of consciousness thinking about his secret life. It was a life ruled by a project that he did not fully understand. Everyone Wiley knew in the project had extraordinary gifts that were cultivated and manipulated for use in this strange new world. Some were more terrifying than others. But he couldn’t figure out what the ultimate goal and purpose of the program was. He knew they were all sent out on missions, theoretically to make the world a better place. He had his doubts. He just couldn’t explain why.

And then there in the darkness lay the terror he had been sent to locate, at the bottom of a dark sea where it was buried in mud. A whale carcass was rotted white and bits of flesh fluttered in the ocean currents. Crabs scuttled over the bones and scampered over the tip of a cone jutting from the sea floor. 

He had found it. 

Wiley smiled. 

He was getting faster.

Wiley pressed the retrieval button on his shoulder but he was too weak to pull himself out of the tank. His body felt rubbery and useless. Hands lifted him out and slowly pulled off his goggles. Wiley blinked his eyes. 

“Did you find it?” The general stood in the door frame, arms crossed. 

Wiley coughed several times. “I found it.”

“Where? Tell me now.”

Wiley smiled mischievously. “Only if you let me get it.”

The US Coast Guard ship covered in UN markings made its way beneath the rusted and salt stained Golden Gate bridge and out of the mouth of the bay. Mist hovered over the surface of the troubled sea. Wiley took a deep breath of briney air and smiled at the giant bulbous metal suit that hung before him on a crane’s hook. It was tethered to the ship’s winch with steel cable that glinted in the deck light. 

“Prep diver,” crackled a voice from the loud speaker. Wiley climbed into the deep sea suit swaying with the turbulent movement of the boat. He sat back into the small padded seat and fastened the safety harness while a pair of hands connected his headset to the suit. A grizzled man with sad eyes looked him over and checked the air controls one last time. 

“Remember, this suit is just a big ass extension of your own body. Take it easy.” His beard shook drops of water as he wagged his head. “Ain’t never seen a kid read through a manual that fast,” he frowned. “But this is the real deal. Ain’t no book down there, boy.”

“It’s only a few three hundred feet.” Wiley’s voice sounded tinny as the suit’s mic picked him up. “Anyway, the suit’s foolproof. Go down. Come up.”

The lines in the man’s face softened. To him this was just another pain-in-the-ass request passed down from command. This shit happened all the time when they were training special forces candidates. It made him feel sorry for the kid. Special Fforces never lasted long. The old sailor wondered how much time the boy had left. “Atta boy, kid. Have some goddamn faith in yer equipment.” He secured the heavy canopy over his torso and secured the latches. Wiley’s face was barely visible behind the thick glass. “Make sure you use the camera. You ain’t gonna be able to see shit through the visor anyway. It’s just built that way to keep newbie aquanauts like you from freaking out.”

“I’ve lived through worse.” 

“The sea don’t give a fuck.” The man slapped the side of the sturdy suit and twirled his hand in the air. 

Wiley saw him mouth good luck just before the crane whirled him about and lowered him slowly into the churning waves of the Pacific Ocean.  

Wiley felt cold and smelled rubber scented air. The water outside his visor was gray-green and bubbled as he sank. He felt the suit rock in the descent. He was protected inside the torso where he was free to manipulate the robot’s arms and legs. Methodically he switched on propellers and tested the rotation of the torso and limbs. 

“Status is green,” Wiley said. 

“Descent at 30 meters,” a calm voice replied in his ear. 

Wiley adjusted the temperature of the suit to warm him up. Outside, the bubbles were gone and the gray was darkening rapidly. He turned the monitor over his visor on and watched the camera feed. Bits of debris and tiny plankton washed over his view. 

“90 meters,” the calm voice upticked. “Prepare for impact. Get those thrusters up a bit.”

“Roger.” Wiley adjusted the propellers on his legs to slow him down. He felt the suit jostle as it settled onto the ocean floor. Outside, the lights of his suit illuminated a murky white expanse that stretched into blackness. 

Soft metallic whirring sounds surrounded him as he guided the suit towards the search grid he had laid out on his map. The drone they had sent down earlier had spotted the whale carcass teeming with crabs. A sensor picked up radiation levels that spiked in close proximity to it. No air or surface sensors had been able to pick up the signature. He didn’t have a visual on the nuke yet, but he knew it was there.

“I’m here.” Wiley picked out the carcass long fallen to the floor. For years it had been a boon for the sea creatures that stripped it clean. The white bones half buried in the mud seemed to wait patiently. 

“Acknowledge secure channel.” The calm voice was replaced with a more authoritative one. “No unauthorized personnel on this channel until target secure.”

“Mark channel secure.” Wiley directed the robot to pull a shovel from the tool belt at its waist. Then he gently scooped away sand, silt, and mud that blossomed into a cloud obscuring his vision.

Wiley waited while the cloud slowly dissipated. He could see the outline of something buried just beyond his reach. He maneuvered the controls delicately, causing the robot to raise the shovel, preparing to scoop more debris out of the way. That’s when he saw a white shadow piercing the darkness. A ghost. 

“Confirmed target?” The voice in his suit inquired. 

“Negative. Hold.” Wiley stopped what he was doing and peered into the distance just outside of his light’s reach. He saw a flash of white and felt the suit sway with the ghost’s passing. He saw teeth and shouted as soulless black eyes sped past his visor monitor. 

“It’s just a fucking shark!” Wiley wheezed over the coms. He tried to calm his heart rate and his breathing. “Goddamn great white!”

Wiley spun the torso and tried to find it but only managed to stir up more silt from the ocean floor. Bits of decayed flesh and sand danced in a nightmare. 

Static hissed and a voice said calmly. “Yes, we saw it. Don’t panic. The suit will protect you.”

Panic my ass, Wiley cursed in his mind. He waited for the silt to settle and slowly lowered the shovel into the muck. Ever so gently the blade trenched around a warhead that was stuck fast in the sea floor. 

“Target confirmed.” Wiley looked at the frigid weapon that begrudgingly loosened itself into his robotic arms. 

“Affirmative. Is target intact?”

Wiley studied his HUD screen that scanned the giant bullet-shaped warhead. No leaks. The weapon was likely still active. Wiley pushed the thought of his instantaneous death out of his mind. 

“Yes, target intact. Secure for retrieval.”

“Roger. Securing target for retrieval.” Wiley unlatched a cargo net from his leg storage compartment and wrapped the weapon like an egg that he feared would crack. As he inspected the net he unclipped from his hip a dedicated steel cable attached to the crane hundreds of feet above. Goddamn egg of doom, Wiley thought. It would be hoisted up before him and now he would have to wait a safe distance away for it to come back down. He glanced down at his GPS marker to make sure he was received loud and clear. The last thing he wanted was to be lost at the bottom of the sea with a goddamn shark hunting him.

Wiley tapped the cable’s ring holding the warhead and made sure it was tight. “Target secure for retrieval.” 

Slight movement pulled the weapon up, slowly at first until it rose above Wiley and finally out of his view in the darkness above. 

“ETA for diver retrieval thirty mikes.”

“Shave off a few for me wouldya.” Wiley said nervously over the coms. He looked around nervously for the shark that had shown interest in his suit.

“Plenty of air, just breathe and maintain your position. The suit is armored so stay calm. You will be out in no time.”

Wiley sipped water from a straw by his mouth and closed his eyes. Fear began to course through him. Silt floated before him like spinning stars in the galaxy, lit bright by his suit lights. The nothingness in the white light terrified him. 

Turning off the lights, Wiley gasped. 

This put the sensory deprivation tanks to shame. 

“Diver please engage suit lights.”

Wiley ignored them for a moment and then said calmly, “Just let me wait in peace.” Only the interior lights gave a dim glow. 

“Acknowledged. Twenty-six mikes to retrieval. 

Inside the warmth and safety of the armored suit, Wiley enjoyed his isolation. He relaxed, allowing distance and the expanse of the ocean to embrace him fully. Without even trying he felt himself fleeing his body. He could feel his body and the expanse simultaneously but he could only see one thing. A confusing vision of strands filled with numbers and letters all spinning to helixes that vanished in the darkness. 

A voice suddenly cried out in his mind, “Get out!” Then it was gone like a scream in the night.

The violent jerk of the suit yanked Wiley back into his body. He gasped and opened his eyes to frothing bubbles and the shadow of a beast. “Get me out!” Wiley yelled. 

“Two mikes!” 

“Goddamn shark is back!” Wiley flicked on the suit lights and caught the massive tail of the shark churning powerfully away from him in a cloud of pink mist. 

“Shit!” Wiley shouted and searched the HUD for any signs of a breach. The bastard had bit him! “Blood!” He cried over the coms.

“Diver, be advised. Suit repellent shows activation. Confirm your status.” The voice was irritatingly calm. 

Wiley slowed his breathing and confirmed the suit was intact. Well, mostly intact. The robotic arm was gashed deeply with bite marks. He pulled his own arm out of the armored sleeve and flexed his shaking hand. Those teeth had been just inches from tearing him apart. But there was no blood. And then he remembered the color of the repellent. Who in their goddamn mind thought the color red was a good idea? Wiley felt the magnetic clunk of the steel cable automatically connecting to his suit and as he slowly began to rise from the ocean floor. There was a tickle on his leg and Wiley suddenly felt wetness around his groin. 

“Diver, report status.” Images of strands of DNA still spinning in his mind dissipated with his own embarrassment.  

“God dammit.” Wiley cursed over the coms. “Other than a pissed pair of underwear...I’m fine.”

Safe: Chapter Ten

“Brutus, you will not get rid of Rainbow so easily. She has seen into your heart. You have another daughter, no?” Ghostly laughter cackled in a crescendo until he snapped back awake, cutting it off abruptly. Brutus had only skimmed the edge of sleep. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, realizing his hands were shaking. The tan and white carpet floor of the jet was stained with spots of blood.  

In the seats ahead there was a scuffling. A soldier also woke suddenly from nightmares. He shook it off and fell back onto his neighbor, one using a shoulder and the other his mate’s head as a pillow. 

Across the aisle, the mysterious woman’s lids were closed in medicinal slumber, her eyes rapidly flicking beneath her lids. Her body had been clothed, her wounds dressed. She lay curled up in a seat that was reclined into a padded cot for her with safety straps loosely fastened above her chest. She kicked once and was still. 

Next to Brutus sat Alestir, reeking of burnt hair and the fear of dying. 

“You’re right,” Brutus said just loud enough to be heard. 

Alestir had been staring straight ahead, absorbed with his thoughts. His eyes were wide and unfocused. It took him a minute to realize Brutus had spoken to him. Eventually looking over at Brutus, he struggled to grasp what Brutus meant. “I’m right?”

“And you were wrong,” Brutus added. “The UN Safe Project will not work in America.” He paused before saying boldly, “But Stoic Safes will.”

“No.” Alestir sat bolt upright. “Stoics cannot build there. You cannot build there. Not without a mandate from the UN. The Preservation Act is for Stoics to build UN Safes in Europe only. America is too unstable.”

“Correct, at least for now. We are just now getting the raw data we need to design Safes in America. But the American survivors, they hate the UN. They hate what you’ve done there. Your UN Safe Project, The Act we signed years ago, is a failure. It’s finished.” 

“We are saving lives,” Alestir said in a harsh whisper. With his murderous plan in New Orleans in disarray, he needed Brutus. “For now - at least until we can solidify our clone population base to offset zero population growth. This is just the first phase, eventually it will be the stars! Go slowly - our way. You must stay with the United Nations.”

Brutus furrowed his brows. “I tried to help you...in the past and now. Our plans have failed and it is time for a new path. Zero population growth is based in biological failure-simply that nature intends to end this stage of human evolution and I cannot allow it. We will focus our efforts while safe underground to solve the issues of fertility.”

Alestir fumed and gestured his hands to the earth below. “Our ability to breed clones is evidence of our next evolutionary leap. We do not need those people anymore. We can tailor each offspring for our own design.”  

Brutus nodded solemnly and took a moment to compose himself before responding. “I resign. Officially. Find someone else to execute your mandates.” 

“You. Cannot -” Alestir bumbled. He was skilled at endless negotiating, but exhausted and frayed with shock, he could do little more than ooz threats. “There will be an inquiry. I will see to it. And I pity the man who will be blamed for a visit to a war zone that took the life of a very, very important delegate.” 

His threat had no effect on Brutus. Brutus simply shrugged, he didn’t care. The scotch on Alestir’s breath was hot and angry when he finally lost his patience and his cool facade completely crumbled. “Treason! What you are committing is treason of the highest order - abandoning your post when you are needed most!” His voice shook, his face was red, haloed comically by his unruly hair.

“I accept the responsibility,” Brutus said simply. “Trial for treason as well? I know you’ll try to beat me to death in the world court but I don’t think you’ll succeed. Besides, I’ve made my decision.”

“You can’t!”

 “I can. I will join my wife in her rescue and research efforts with the Stoics. She is not legally bound by your mandate.”

Alestir bored his eyes into Brutus, worry clouding his anger. He could feel himself losing focus. He stuttered, horrified that his powerful voice was caving. “T-Treason! Abandoning us in our time of need,” he repeated weakly.

“No,” Brutus said louder, causing a few heads to turn their direction and then quickly away, not wanting to draw attention from the powerful men. Green mumbled softly. A snore occasionally tore through the air from a seat somewhere in the back. “I no longer have time for politics.”

There was a bump as the jet buffeted on air. The lights in the jet were dim, only a few men lit by eerie cones of yellow light. Brutus could see Alestir brooding.  

The jet leveled out and flew in a steady, silent hum. 

Alestir decided to change his approach. “Legacy.”

“What?” Brutus said after a long pause. 

“The UN is losing control of American refugees.” Alestir choked. “Of the entire world’s refugees. The Chinese are stalled in a war with Iran and India, but they will move against the west before long. If rumors of a Chinese alliance with Russia are true, they will create an eastern superpower that could barrel through the west unquestioned. America is more than the lackey we blamed for this catastrophe. It’s also our buffer. The United States is the holding ground against the east.”

 Alestir looked away for a moment, paused, and looked at Brutus again. His sharp eyes resembled a bird of prey. “Many are losing faith in this so called ‘remedial’ plan in the United States. The costs are astronomical, the outcome frail. And, by God, the tenacity and ferocity of the American ‘freedom fighters’ are taking a toll each day. No one wants to be there except opportunists who think there’s something to be gained.” 

“I already know this. And you’re not changing my mind, Alestir.” 

“Europe will fall further into the madness of apocalypse if we do not continue constructing Safes to save our own nations.” 

“Obviously. But where your efforts to build Safes are failing, mine will succeed.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what IS your point, Alestir?”  

Alestir leaned his head forward and smoothed his suit pants with his palms, suddenly stopping at a spot of dried blood. He shuddered. Then he looked around at the sleeping soldiers, making sure they were asleep.  “I want to be on the winning side,” he whispered in a low tone. 

Brutus raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do.”  

“I don’t think you understand my meaning. You will leave the UN. I will manipulate the UN to leave you alone. And in return, you will guarantee a primary leadership position for my son, Jaxon, in your empire. Our family name and importance can be traced for generations, but there is nothing on the surface for him, or my other son, Calumn, now.”

“And the UN will leave me alone?”

“Yes. Of course.” Alestir scoffed. “I hold the very lives of the members of the UN council in the palm of my hand. The legacy clones, their children incubate in bunker laboratories my family owns. If they wish to have a future they will see the present and comply.””

Brutus thought about this for a moment, scratching his chin. He liked the idea that the UN would stay out of his business. “I would be willing to share the patents on my technology...to keep a technological gap from disturbing the peace.” He cleared his throat softly and added, “Of course, the implementation of the technology would fall on you.”

Alestir’s hooded eyes gleamed. This could be a victory. “Yes, that is fair. I’m sure the assembly will accept your resignation with these stipulations.”

“Of course they will.” Then Brutus added, “But I also want your support if the Stoic Safes choose to be recognized as a sovereign nation.”

Alestir seethed at the control Brutus held. Still, this solution promised to rid him of two issues at once: the ‘Brutus Problem’ and the incredible cost of research and development. Brutus’s technology was light years ahead of the UN’s tech. One problem reared its head: What if Brutus succeeded in correcting the fertility problem? His clones would be useless.

“My agreement will be contingent on two of your answers.” Alestir ticked his finger. “One. You keep your fertility research secret and any successful outcome and treatment to your Safes. The UN cannot support releasing such potentially dangerous actions upon the surface-think of the ramifications, novel viruses evolving from its use, reactions from irradiated populaces and potential defects that the UN cannot address. Simply-keep the old fashioned way of babymaking to your Safes.” 

Brutus nodded. “Yes. Ane the other answer?”

“My son?s.?”

 Brutus nodded. “Only Jaxon  and he  will have to decide for themselves , so it is agreed in order to keep the peace I will allow an ambassador into the Stoics.  for immunity and sovereignty.” 

Alestir extended his hand and said. “Deal.” 

The two most powerful men in the world shook hands and the agreement was final. . 

Soft yellow light arched Brutus’s face as he shook his head. “Your legacy is your weakness, Alestir.”

“Perhaps,” Alestir fumed. “But arrogance is yours. It will be your downfall.” 

As Brutus drifted off to sleep, Alestir raised his eyes and searched the cabin of the private jet. He found him and he appeared asleep, neck back and thick against the cushion. The man they called “Green” all day was now dressed in his fatigues embroidered with his last name, Crenshaw and a bronze Oak Leaf of the rank, Major, United Nations Forces. 

“Ahem.” Alestir gently cleared his throat. Brutus slept. Major Crenshaw raised an eyelid. It was lucid. He had heard their entire conversation. Without a word between them, the men nodded once and tried to sleep, but neither could not stop thinking about the future. 

Safe: Chapter Eleven

Isabella dreamed of numbers, mostly 1s and 0s spiraling between geometric shapes. Deep in her bedroom tucked into a far corner of a Safe beneath the ruins of Bern, Switzerland she tossed and turned until she felt the smooth pearl necklace her mother always wore and the touch of a hand smoothing the wrinkles on her forehead. She opened her eyes to see her mother leaning over her. Rue  Cantose-Stilos wore an expression of concern. 

Isabella rolled her long, lean body over and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Oh mom,” she sighed. “I...stayed up too late. All I dreamed about was code.” 

“Darling, artificial intelligence cannot be perfected overnight, not even by you.” Rue ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair and kissed her on the forehead, worrying that it was not safe for her daughter to study the forbidden technologies. “It’s time to get up. And make sure you brush your teeth.” Rue pinched her nose and smiled.  

Iz giggled and covered her mouth. Her voice was muffled slightly. “Don’t be silly, Mom. You would not believe the stuff I’m building right now!” Isabella kicked her blankets off in a sudden whirlwind of energy. She launched herself at Rue’s head, wrapped both her arms around her neck, and planted an enormous kiss on both cheeks. Rue laughed. Even though she was a young teenager, Isabella laughed like a child as she bounded from the bed. 

Rue watched her daughter jump busily from one thing to another while chattering about her creations. Rue knew fretting about her stubborn girl was futile. Isabella was brilliant, tenacious, a survivor. She got that from her father. But the girl’s level head and easy interaction with people she got from her mother.

Shaking her head and chuckling quietly to herself, she watched her little fireball. She wondered what lay in store for her. Was the burden of concern for children this heavy before the shift? Before the world fell apart? She imagined her grandparents living a carefree life, naively neglecting to be thankful. Those were the days when people had options, hope. Now it was a daily struggle just for survival. Even in Safes.

She hoped Isabella had a future. And she hoped it would be a long, happy one. But if that future would ever exist, Rue had work to do. Pushing her long, black, shiny hair behind her right ear, she stood up from the bed. 

“Get dressed, Darling. I’m going to the forest today to see how the hybrids are coming along. I think you should come with me. You could use a break from the lab today.”

“Yesss!” Isabella shot both arms up into the air. “I can test my Bee!”

Deep within the Safe enclosure they called home, there was an entire level dedicated to the forest. The forest level was divided into three zones, each designed to grow and preserve endangered specimens from the temperate, subtropical, and tropical zones. Rue directed them to the tropical zone. It was a wild place, busy with lush green living things. Alive with activity, nature crawled, sprawled, stretched, dug, towered, breathed. Isabella felt she belonged there.

Rue believed Isabella should be encouraged to take personal interest in every aspect of the Safe, whether it was natural or technological. Not only did the child possess tremendous intellectual potential, it was her future they were building. Someday she would need to own it. 

The product of the forest was designed to sustain the inhabitants of the Safe. But it also needed to preserve life going forward. Maintaining this delicate balance between immediate need and future planning required constant, vigilant supervision. While Rue was engrossed in a conversation with her techs regarding kiwi and kumquat seedlings, Isabella wandered to her favorite corner. 

Her mother had explained that they planted this oddity, the buried forest, because they were guardians. Not just guardians of human lives but plant lives as well. Isabella reached out her hand and touched a flower that bloomed within the confines of the cavern wall. The soft, delicate petal felt like the silk pajamas her mother wore to bed. The orchid, mottled pink and white, seemed so frail. A bee from the many nearby hives buzzed past, waiting patiently for her hand to drop so it could land and inspect this jewel of nature. 

Bees were flying everywhere, alive and carefree as mother nature intended. But Isabelle wanted to see if she could fool her. She took out a small cardboard box from her satchel and opened it. Inside lay a plump little bee with a pink dot on its back. Iz licked her forefinger and touched it gently. Her saliva activated miniscule sensors, waking the synthetic organism to life. Tiny wings began to flutter. Within moments Iz watched in glee as it rose and joined the others. She wanted to see if her synthetic creation could cooperate harmoniously with real bees. The plump little bee flew up and away, into the artificial sun. 

Although life here was strange, it was all she knew. Her travels with her mother and father to hundreds of other Safes were a blur, but there were distinct differences between them. Instead of simple quarried rooms some were lush with design and comfort. The people who lived there dressed differently...dressier. And when they spoke to her their breath reeked of alcohol and superficial merriment. Those places were now off-limits for Isabella. She missed the comfort, the chocolate, and the fresh pastries that mounded on greeting tables, but that was all she missed. 

It was different here than many of the other Safes her parents frequented with her in tow. Here the people were always in motion. They were industrious, earnest with innovation and production. They were stoics. The people here didn’t seem to have as much fun, but they seemed to enjoy their lives more. They had work and purpose and a common goal, and they didn’t seem as self-absorbed. It was so different than the stagnant and boring Safes her parents had constructed for the “Apocalypse Aristocrats”. She had heard her parents call them that. 

But life here was good; she had few complaints. She was almost fourteen and she counted the hours until her birthday. It seemed to take forever. She was anxious to grow and learn. She had so many things she wanted to grasp, to understand. 

Isabella’s education had to advance at an accelerated rate to keep her from getting bored. She grasped most things easily. But when it came to numbers, she soared. She didn’t just understand how to solve the problems, she saw the patterns. Most children give math perfunctory consideration. They solve mathematical problems because they must. And they don’t fully understand the mechanics of the operations until they’re well advanced and can look back and see the meaning behind the operations in retrospect. Isabella was different. She anticipated the operations. For her, each new advancement felt like filling in the gaps to a familiar story. A story that made perfect, wonderful sense. 

As Isabella approached her birthday, she was taking on enormous responsibility: lead research scientist for artificial intelligence. Her parents let her because it was what she loved most. For her, numbers were integral seedlings planted through cognitive science to make “living” things. Her creations utilized synthetic DNA and artificial intelligence of her own design. Tiny helixes intertwined with computer code and proteins, each one an equal part in the fabric of life, the beautiful, rhythmic, ordered, functional beauty behind everything. 

“I make my own friends,” Iz said as she watched her Bee disappear into the light. 

A small babbling brook of clean water from deep in the earth chilled her feet. It beckoned her pleasantly. She followed it to its source, a lagoon fed by an underground water supply. She’d been too busy to go for a swim recently. Looking around she confirmed her isolation. Just a quick dip before I test Bee’s response mechanisms, she thought. 

The quiet clicks of the forest pulled her into fantasy. The forest was thin and new and only 40 acres deep, but to Isabelle it was magic. In the forest she dreamed of faraway lands and life abounding beneath billowing clouds. In her dreams, not everything was hopeless ruin. 

She swam  luxuriantly to the side of the lagoon. Leaning against the side she looked up. Alabaster skies raining thick mineral drops of rain slowly transformed into clouds chiseled by wind. In her vision they morphed into grotesque gargoyles set on the precipice of heaven. 

She once told her father about her visions of blue skies containing cloud-statues with flying gargoyles protecting the people below. But she stopped midway when his eyes clouded with worry; she didn’t like it when he worried. Her mind moved on to happier things, the forest calling to her through the haze of her vision with a wet language of trickles, burbles and branches that swayed gently in artificial breeze. Another bee buzzed lazily around her. The humming buzz of its dance was a hypnotic siren call to daydream.

“OUCH!” Isabella was jerked back to reality with a bolt of pain. The barb of a stinger punctured her wrist and she felt throbbing waves of pain originating from the spot. She held her right hand at bay, subduing the urge to smash the creature as it fell from her wrist. The barb pulled from its limp body as it fell to the ground on its belly. On its back was a pink dot. It was her Bee. 

It lay twitching on a mound of soft vivarium moss. She forgot her pain, suddenly overcome with grief. Cupping the small insect in her palm, watching him slowly die, she blinked back tears. She didn’t want to muddle her eyesight as she inspected him, absorbing every detail of his form and design. She observed his wings, now still. Looking back at her own wrist she saw the tiny stinger. It looked like a wood splinter. The area around it was darkening into a deep red that was spreading as her vascular system carried the stinger’s injection to the rest of her body.

Suddenly nausea washed over her. Isabella felt sick. Why would it do that? It had only been a matter of minutes since she had activated him. Her creation had not been designed to attack - at least not unprovoked. She crawled out of the lagoon and dressed quickly, putting her garments on over her wet body. Her dad might have some answers; he was good with artificial intelligence too. With her dead Bee tucked safely back in its box she dashed out of the forest without letting her mother know she was leaving.  

She opened the robins-egg-blue door that she had painted herself when she was little, the uppermost reaches of the door sloppy and drippy with runs of paint. The foyer was empty, a grate in the floor radiating warmth from the womb of the earth. She quickly removed her shoes before passing into the large living room, a perfect rectangle of open space with soft artificial light and shadows. To the left was the kitchen, to the right a hallway that passed a bathroom on its way to their bedrooms. 

She called out but there was no answer. All of the rooms were empty. She rushed to the bathroom and carefully settled the Bee on the countertop. Then she ran cold water from the metal faucet over her red wrist and plucked out the barb with a pair of tweezers. She pulled over a simple wooden stool and sat next to the toilet with her head in her hands as she tried not to vomit. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.