STALEMATE: Part One

For them, the war never ended...

Image: Ahmed via Unsplash+

I woke up in a panic, grabbed the rusty clock on my bedstand, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only 10 AM. It was a miracle the damn thing still worked. All the non-critical electronics on the island had long turned to junk.

I climbed out of my bunkbed and walked past rows of others on my way to the bathroom. It was hard to believe so many people used to share one space.

My toothbrush sat carefully balanced on the side of the sink. I winced as I saw my reflection in the mirror: pale skin, heavy eyes, and open sores across my face.

As I brushed my teeth, my eyes wandered to the poster on the wall beside the showers. A cartoon man in a yellow hazmat suit pointed to a bulleted list of side effects.

REPORT ANY SYMPTOMS TO YOUR SUPERVISOR, it read.

The symptoms included nausea, fatigue, brain fog, open sores, ulcers in the mouth, abdominal pain, and diarrhea.

I chuckled. That list sounded like a normal day for me. I finished brushing my teeth and showering before putting on a yellow hazmat suit, just like the character in the poster.

The morning sun bounced across the inside of my helmet as I stepped outside. The catwalk to the main chamber always had the best views. Past the cragged rocks, there were calm ocean views in every direction.

The sky, however, was a different story. I traced the trail of putrid smoke rising from the main chamber. The clouds above churned and shifted, shimmering with all manner of hues. There was no doubt: It was getting worse.

Over the years, the main chamber entrance had become a shrine to the past—a reminder and a motivator.

The sides of the rusted metal door were adorned with the only photos I had left of my family. They were glued to the metal, permanently attached so the wind wouldn't carry them away.

On the left was my father, dressed in his military uniform and with the same stoic expression he always had when he was alive.

"Don't worry, Papa, I'm keeping up with our work," I said.

My eyes went down to the photo beneath it. It was my favorite photo of my mother. We were on the beach—I couldn't remember where—but she was wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat, and I was wearing a matching one in a smaller size.

The last photo was of my family. It hurt every time I looked at it. I often wondered where they were, if they had somehow survived the Fall, and if they even remembered me.

I tapped a long string of numbers into the keypad beside the door. The mechanisms groaned as the door swung open. The main chamber had two floors: the top was a communications array, and beneath deep underground sat the main vault.

I walked past dusty monitors and servers that worked tirelessly to collect data, pressing a button to call the main elevator. A panel slid open, and a small retinal scanner protruded from the wall.

I leaned in to scan my right eye and leaned back once I heard the chirp of a confirmed scan. The doors slid open, and I started the long journey down.

Within seconds, the Geiger counter built into the arm of my suit started to click and chatter. I lifted my arm and looked at the gauge, watching as the needle climbed higher and higher.

The elevator reached the bottom, and I stepped out to see the intricate and forboding door of the main vault. A single circular window in the center was the only way to see inside.

Beside the door, a desk sat adorned with equipment that I didn't understand and a monitor that always displayed the same flashing message: BREACH DETECTED.

I approached the door and touched the glass window. Bright flashes of color came from within. A profound sadness washed over my entire body. The thing inside was crying for help, but I couldn't oblige. I had a job to do.

"You don’t deserve this. I'm sorry; please forgive me," I whispered, pulling my hand from the window.

I sat down at the desk beside the vault door. My body went through the same motions as always: I pulled the second lever, hit buttons three, five, and six, and then turned the key on the left side.

The message on the screen changed. PACIFICATION IN PROGRESS, it read.

I returned to the elevator and held my hands over the sides of my suit’s helmet. Haunting screams followed me well into the elevator ride, echoing through the bowels of the planet.

Next came the earthquake, like the thing below was furiously shaking its chains as it screamed. I braced myself as the elevator swayed in its shaft. Like every other day, it only lasted a few seconds.

When I reached the communication array on the top floor, I sat down at another desk and typed a simple message on a keyboard:

DAY 3652, GAIA STATUS: PACIFIED.

The screen changed to a live feed. I once again looked upon my face. I looked Tired, sad, and broken. A red dot flashed in the top corner with a message that read: BEGIN RECORDING.

“Corporal Pavel Stanislav, badge number one-alpha-two-three-niner-zulu. It is day three thousand six hundred and fifty-two of my service here at the Gaia Vault facility. My current status is…”

I paused, watching the recording timer continue to go up.

“I am slowly becoming convinced that no one is watching these messages. I apologize, comrade, if I am mistaken, but it has been well over two-thousand days since I last heard contact from the main base. So, you’ll forgive me if I feel a little abandoned out here.”

I adjusted in my chair, my eyes wandering past the monitor and over to the ocean-view window.

“You know, sometimes I think about who you are. The one who is responsible for watching these every day. Do you actually care about my mental and physical health? Or perhaps I am one of many boxes you check daily.”

I looked back at the screen as if I could make eye contact with whoever was supposed to be on the other side.

“I wonder what you lost in the war. I wonder what is left out there. With each passing day, I start to think the answer is nothing. I will continue to man my post. I promised my father I would not abandon this duty. If you’re there, comrade, give me a sign. Please, show me I’m not alone.”

I sighed. “End of report.”

A message came back on the screen almost immediately: ACKNOWLEDGED, PETROVIA THANKS YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE.

I leaned back in my chair and let out a long sigh as I shut my eyes for a moment of respite.

It would not come, though, as a blaring siren suddenly rang out. I shot back up, checking the screen for signs of what was happening.

The message had indeed changed. PERIMETER BREACH, it said in flashing red text.

I ran out of the room, sprinting across the catwalk back to the barracks. I opened a chest at the foot of my bunk bed and pulled out a PETROVIAN SK-47, an automatic assault rifle that was standard issue for all soldiers. The difference with this one is that I had never fired mine.

My mind raced as I checked the clip and ran back outside to another catwalk that led south to the archive. The only entry point on the island was the southern shore at the dock; a natural barrier of jagged rocks surrounded the rest of the island.

I cut through the archive, passing rows and rows of bookshelves detailing the war, the Fall, and the thing locked deep beneath the ground.

I threw open the doors leading to the dock and took the concrete steps two at a time, barely able to see through the foggy window of my helmet.

When I reached the bottom, I turned and spotted a figure walking toward me. He seemed non-threatening, carrying only a thick folder bursting at the seams with papers.

He adjusted his rounded glasses and froze mid-step when he spotted me. I raised my rifle, and he, in turn, raised his hands. Several of the papers in his folder escaped into the wind.

"Don't move!" I shouted. My hands shook as I curled my finger around the trigger.

"Please, don't shoot, I mean you no harm!" the man shouted back.

It didn't matter; the rules were clear. I exhaled and pulled the trigger.

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