When we tramp back into the bunker entrance, shaking snow from our coats, something is happening. Kim has called everyone into the cafeteria. Everyone, no exceptions. Even the few people in the infirmary are wheeled in. Children, whom I rarely see, cling to adults, some of whom I know are not their real family. Kids hang off people too old or too young to be their parents. There are heartbreaking stories here, ones I have no desire to hear. The thought of my own broken family keeps me awake at night, every night, obsessing about things I wished I’d said and done.
Seeing the whole population of our refuge together for the first time, I’m struck by the futility of our existence. I’ve seen the food stores. This bunker was never properly supplied. The food will run out before the winter does, even on reduced rations.
There are about two hundred and fifty of us. If we could make it through the winter, we could plant in the spring, maybe venture out into the abandoned farmland and see what animals have survived the snow. Hunt. Gather. Fracture, let the bones regrow, bent and weak. Shelter in place, just like those government safety videos advised. Wait until someone, somewhere, somehow, wins this war for us.
I envy those in the base who live by that hope. The more time passes, the more I find I don’t have the strength to hang on to the idea of rescue, or a human victory. It feels hopeless. I feel hopeless. But maybe that’s just the helplessness of having to wait for someone else to act. All the more reason to go back to Calgary, see who we can rescue and who we can kill and whether there is a way out of here, a way to the coast.
The coast is nearly a thousand miles away over a mountain range that could be swarming with Nahx.
When everyone is seated, Kim climbs onto an empty table in front of the video screen. She looks terrible, haunted. Her hair is limp and streaked with gray. Nearby, Liam stands, stoop shouldered, his arms tightly wrapped in front of him, like he’s holding his own chest cavity closed.
“Any idea what’s going on?” Topher says, sliding onto the bench beside me. I shake my head as Kim begins to speak.
“The Nahx killed my husband and daughter right in front of my eyes,” she says.
Well, that explains some things.
“It came down to what side of a fence we were on. They were running, actually ahead of me and Liam. They ran right into a pair of Nahx, who shot them dead without a second of thought. Liam pulled me to the ground and we rolled under a car. He clamped his hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming. The Nahx came around the fence and walked right by us. My son. My hero.”
Liam, who I expect to be reveling in the glory, is actually hanging his head. One of his friends pats him on the back.
“This side of a fence or the other side,” Kim continues, her voice breaking. “It could have easily gone the other way.” The vise that holds her together is coming apart. I can see it happening. And I think we’re about to find out what pulled it open.
Without saying another word, she steps down from the table. Someone flicks a switch and the video screen clicks on.
There is no sound. The image is a map of the world. The countries, the familiar patchwork of politics and borders, are gone. The seas are blue; the continents are gray. It is like a simple puzzle for children, the shapes crude and expressionistic. Over the speakers, a woman’s voice starts. Once the volume is adjusted so we can all hear it, it’s easy to tell she’s no one important. She doesn’t have the oratory skill that even Kim has. She’s reading something that someone else has written. She’s the message bearer, not its creator.
“ . . . that in the last forty-eight hours, the International Cooperative Defense Force have attempted to negotiate with . . . with the invading forces, now known as the Nahx.”
Topher twitches next to me. The woman continues reading, tonelessly, tightly, liked a drugged widow reading a eulogy at her husband’s funeral.
“To date, the human losses have been unacceptably heavy, and the ICDF has determined that losses would not only continue but increase unless hostilities cease. The Nahx’s advanced technology and . . . ruthlessness make them an impossible foe.”
The map starts to change. Red patches start to appear, like blood from bullet wounds. A slash from Alaska to Nevada, a patch farther east. Central western Europe, north India, parts of Africa all soaked in red.
“Those are mountain ranges,” I say to Topher. His eyes are fixed on the screen. The woman’s voice continues. Her pitch increases slightly, making her sound younger.
“The Nahx occupation patterns have indicated a preference for territory above twenty-five hundred feet in elevation. For this, uh, reason, the ICDF, in agreement with the nations that make up the forces, has . . .” Her voice breaks here, and there are several seconds of silence. We watch the map as the red zones spread over the land we currently live and breathe on, the Rocky Mountains and the high plains to the east. “ . . . has taken the drastic and regrettable step of surrendering all territory above two thousand feet to the Nahx.”
There are gasps as the map stops changing. The red stains become fixed, grotesque blotches, like third-degree burns. My vague understanding of our location puts us well inside the red zone, at least a hundred miles from any border. Somewhere in the cafeteria, someone, possibly a child, starts to cry.
“The perimeters of these territories are now heavily fortified and patrolled. The ICDF and the United Nations tried to arrange the evacuation of the surrendered territory, but the Nahx command would not communicate beyond . . . compass points and maps.” The woman is crying now; I can hear it in her voice. “If you are hearing this message from within one of these regions . . . we had no choice. . . . You are now subject to Nahx rule.” There is a long pause before she finishes. “God bless you.” Static surges over the speakers, and the map of the world fades. Someone clicks the screen off.
Topher has laid his head on the table. I lay mine down beside his. Our eyes fix on each other.
“God bless us?” he says. “God has completely and utterly fucked us.”
The cafeteria erupts. The civilians react with all the ferocity that we militarized types keep contained. There is screaming and accusation in at least five different languages. There are a lot of tears. I expect Kim to stay, to try to restore order, but she and Liam walk out together, leaving us leaderless and broken.
It’s not long before Sawyer finds us, along with Xander and Mandy. Emily slips in beside them a minute or two later. I have to force myself to make eye contact with her.
“You think anyone here knows what this means?” Mandy asks.
“Probably not,” I answer. “Do you?”
She looks much calmer than I might expect, watching the civilians gathering back at tables, their voices lowered now to sepulchral tones.
“There is very little medicine left,” Mandy says. “Things like high blood pressure and heart disease we can try to control with diet, I guess, but we’ll lose a few to that. There’s a child here with leukemia. It was just diagnosed. Funny, right?”
Xander starts to bang his forehead on the table as she continues.
“At least we can probably avoid the worst of the seasonal viruses, since we’re isolated. Everybody has been cleared for HIV and hep C, and that’s good because, I’ve got to say, we’re getting through the condoms pretty quickly.”