Fiction

New World

The bleakness of the bunker was something Hazel had quickly become accustomed to

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

The bleakness of the bunker was something Hazel had quickly become accustomed to, although she knew that many of the others still battled with being confined in such an artificial environment.

The Restless paced away most of the day, up and down the narrow spaces between the long rows of beds. They were incapable of sitting still, tap-tap-tapping one foot on the floor, agitation coming off them in waves. Sometimes, Hazel thought she could actually smell their unrest and the creeping disintegration of will.

She watched them curiously, occasionally making bets with herself on how much longer they would last. Three days? Four? A week at the most.

Thousands of bunkers like theirs existed across the country. The lower half of each huge structure was nestled deep into the ground whilst the upper half remained upside, surrounded by the eerie silence of water. They somewhat resembled a submarine, their creator understanding well what precautions were needed when discussions surrounding the melting of the polar ice caps had reached fever pitch. There had been a call to action; it was too late to reverse the damage, the world was set to change, but some countries had heeded the warning to prepare, including Hazel’s.

As young as she was, Hazel had sensed the irrevocable change from the very first day she and her mother had been led down into the bunker with the others. A new era had begun, and their lives had moved onto something far removed from what they had previously known.

They had been one of the lucky ones. On the day entry tickets for their postcode had been released, her mother had stayed up past midnight. With hundreds of users trying to secure admission to their last hope, the government website had crashed continuously. Eventually, the connection had held and her mother had bought two precious places, hitting her credit card limit in the process.

There was no internet now though, and certainly not in the bunker. The walls were too thick, too well protected from unwanted threats, including those of the cyber kind. Besides, Hazel knew that every telephone mast and every internet exchange were now submerged. They had been told by the guards that nothing outside of the bunkers had survived the new water levels. Hazel had a theory that the loss of their much-loved technological devices was the reason so many of the Bunkies had struggled to adapt.

Before, they were able to create a link with anyone anywhere in the world at any given moment.

Now, they were alone.

The very first group of guards used to deliver bits of information, as well as the odd treat for the children. A chocolate bar here, a coloring book there. Despite the cumbersome helmets hiding their faces, the Bunkies had gotten to know some of them by name — Adnan, Sam, Eliza — and the resolute faith each of them had in the government’s work had put their charges at ease.

That was not an easy thing to do in a place where so many still grieved for people, their lives, and the world they had left behind. But the kindness of the guards had blended with a type of conscious amnesia that had fallen over the inhabitants of the bunker. As a result, most were peaceful. After all, they were the ones who had survived. It was for them that a New World was being built.

Then, the guard allocation had changed without warning. Adnan, Sam, and Eliza hadn’t been seen for a long time now. There was no kinship between the Bunkies and their new wardens — how could there be when they just stood there, dressed head to toe in black, not saying a word but carrying an alarming array of weapons at their waists?

It had been one hundred and thirty-three days since their arrival when the Restless man appeared by Hazel’s bed. Errol was on her mattress, lying on his back languidly and taking up a rather unnecessary amount of space for a cat. Hazel was reading a book and had curled up towards the top of the bed in order to accommodate him. Her mother was speaking with one of the other women two rows down. Hazel looked up to see that the man — thin and reedy with unkempt hair and a mole above his left eyebrow — had paused his endless pacing to come to a stop in front of her. His eyes focused on Errol.

“Better hide that cat.”

“Why?”

“The others have gone missing. Better to hide him.”

Hazel was bewildered by the man’s words. Before she could reply, he resumed his eternal march, scuffing his already worn loafers on the linoleum floor in the process.

She looked at Errol who stared back with unblinking amber eyes, unperturbed by the brief exchange that had taken place over his feline head. Hazel knew things often went missing in the bunker (books, shoes, bits of food squirreled away to make them last) and she had also heard the stories about animals disappearing. Admittedly, she had always assumed they had simply run away or escaped. She wasn’t sure where exactly they could escape to, seeing as they all essentially lived in a huge steel fishbowl, but perhaps there was a hiding-hole that even the guards had overlooked.

But Hazel also knew that not only were animals going missing. Recently, some of the Bunkies had vanished too. Their disappearances were random, but when questions of where they had gone had been put to the new, unfamiliar guards, those left behind received no reply.

Suspicion grew as time went on and more people disappeared. The Bunkies’ questions soon became demands for answers. The guards, however, would say only one thing, the only thing they had ever uttered: The Chosen have been transported to the New World. It was a mechanical, repetitive mantra. But these words only fueled further queries from those who were left. What did the New World look like? When would they be joining the ones who had already made the journey?

After her conversation with the Restless man, Hazel began to wonder if the animals had been deliberately removed as the humans had. Perhaps they too had joined the New World to aid in rebuilding it. After all, Noah had had his ark and his creatures.

There may have been comfort to be found in thinking that their beloved pets would help create their new environment, a new ecosystem, all the way up on the watery surface. But the question of why their owners had never been told, nor why they hadn’t accompanied their animal companions remained unanswered.

Hazel herself didn’t have the answer, but one thing she knew was that she preferred Errol to be down here with her, not up there. She didn’t want him to be a part of whatever was happening outside of the bunker. At least, not without her.

It wasn’t long after her encounter with the Restless man that another, more poignant absence was discovered. Hazel’s mother had been on her daily walk around the inside perimeter of the room where the space between the very last row of beds and the ugly steel walls created a kind of circuit that could be followed. When she’d returned, her eyebrows had been furrowed, and her dark hair even more flyaway than usual. Hazel knew her mother ran her fingers through her hair when she was anxious.

“Who was it, Mama?”

It was a moment before she replied.

“The Fishers.”

Her mother had been close to the parents. Hazel herself had frequently played with their five-year-old son, deliberately throwing their games of naughts and crosses so the little boy would be exultant in his win. Up until now, the Chosen had only ever been people they knew by sight. Hazel could tell by the way her mother fussed distractedly around their sleeping area that she was worried.

Whilst Hazel’s mother straightened their blankets and tucked stray belongings back under their beds, she noticed that Errol wasn’t there. Now she thought of it, she hadn’t seen him for the last few days. When she asked Hazel as to his whereabouts, she only shrugged. That in itself was unusual; Errol did not often leave her daughter’s side. She opened her mouth to speak again, then changed her mind. She had no words.

Four days after the disappearance of the Fisher family, Hazel sat at the furthest end of the room, her back against the outer wall of the bunker. She felt uncharacteristically tired and lethargic. Perhaps she was coming down with something. A few feet away, a group of women had formed, her mother included in their number. They talked animatedly and every so often one of them would cast a sharp eye towards the entrance of the room. Hazel didn’t know what they were discussing but suspicion hung heavy in the air.

The clang of metal rang out as the doors to their area began to part unannounced. Hazel heard heavy footsteps and, peering down the rows, saw the guards enter. She wondered who they had come for. It wasn’t often that somebody was taken during the day.

She lost interest when she saw them turn left down the rows, however, and sat back against the wall again. She didn’t know anybody down that way so decided to ignore their presence.

Until they were there in front of her. She blinked up at the intimidating group in surprise. Her mother quickly spotted what was happening and hurried over, breaking into a run. She seemed to be calling out to the guards, although Hazel couldn’t hear what she was saying.

The figure directly in front of her gestured for her to stand up. Her mother reached the group and one of the others moved behind her, blocking the way she had come. The action was not lost on anyone. Her mother’s furious questions were ignored, but Hazel knew why they were there. Hazel and her mother had been chosen.

She stood up awkwardly, for she had been sitting cross-legged on the floor and her foot had gone to sleep. The sudden rush of blood to her lower limb was painful, however it didn’t distract from the fear that stirred in the pit of her stomach. Using their imposing physical presence, the guards began to herd them both towards the door.

Hazel’s mother took her hand and squeezed, silent now. The route back to the entrance of the room took them past their little living area. As Hazel passed the beds they had slept on, she noticed a strange smell infusing the air around them. It was the sweetly bitter stench of early on-set decay, and it seeped out from the dark space between the floor and the underside of her bed. She turned her head away.

The group reached the doors. The last time Hazel and her mother had seen the main corridor was the day they had arrived. It looked completely alien to them now. As they traveled along it, something close to the linoleum floor flashed in the harsh ceiling lights and caught Hazel’s eye. She looked down and noticed that the trouser hem of the guard closest to her seemed to be caught on something further up, exposing part of his leg.

It didn’t look quite right, however, so Hazel peered closer. The area should have shown skin; however, she only saw a silvery, metallic sheen. His calf curved the same way a normal calf should but was steel rather than flesh and blood. She thought of how the new guards refused to speak with the Bunkies, except for their repeated, robotic explanation about the Chosen. Refused to — or couldn’t.

The group stopped a few moments later before a set of doors. Hazel couldn’t remember seeing them previously, but she knew they must have been there all along.

None of their custodians had yet spoken a word. One of the guards pressed a bright yellow button inserted into one of the doors in place of a handle. As they opened, Hazel was struck by the depth of the darkness that loomed before them. Nobody turned on the lights; instead, small glowing cat’s eyes studded a narrow walkway which they began to follow.

Hazel’s eyes were slow to adjust to the change of light but when they did, she could just about make out tiny movements ahead of her, strange flecks that were undulating in the shadows. In the same moment, she realized the slow-moving, crushing blackness of water surrounded their group, only an arm’s length away and separated by thick glass.

Hazel’s pulse began to quicken, each breath catching in her chest. Their journey to the New World was about to begin.