Bunker Door — Ryan Landels
The lights in Leon’s room reached 70 lux, illuminating his sleeping form and the cobbled-together radio. The radio crackled with static, a dial slowly rotating around the frequencies. Short of the frequency searcher slowly rotating, there wasn’t any motion in the room.
The light reached 400 lux when the first word came out of the radio: “Fear.” The frequency searcher, oblivious to the change from static to word, continued gradually cycling through the frequencies.
The light’s brightness continued ramping up, growing to 10,000 lux. When Leon failed to wake, the room brightened tenfold. He began to stir, not wanting to wake up and complete yesterday’s tasks again today. The radio spoke again, “My,” and he startled, rolled over, and fell off the bed.
Sleep still clouded his eyes as he fiddled with the radio, trying to disable his frequency searcher. Slowly, he ran the dial through the frequencies, searching for the words in the radio. He tuned out the hum of fan-forced air, trying to find a pattern in the static, barely noticing the light as it dimmed to match what he’d been taught sunlight was. And then he found it:
“I will remember you, my child, of my cold and distant place.
And though the void lives on, and I am gone,
I will remember you, my child,
despite your attempts at harm.
Do not fear my child,
for I remember you always,
and you could never do me any harm.”
With that, the radio fell back into static. Leon let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and his shoulders slumped. He lay back in his bed, running all the poems he knew through his head. He’d never heard this one. Perhaps Alphus knew. He typed out the poem on his tablet, before sending it to Alphus and rising for the day.
His routine kept him busy, but not busy enough to forget the radio transmission. He hoped what he’d heard was a poem. Poems were how he broke the monotony. Poems and his cobbled-together radio were the two things that he hadn’t inherited from the previous inhabitants.
The day’s work continued to be monotonous. After the radiation leak in the lower half of the bunker, the bunker’s custodians were reduced to just Alphus Septimus and Leon. As if the bunker knew this, the amount of regular maintenance required to run the bunker had been shrinking since the reactor leak. Hydroponics B and C were shut down last week after the water filter in the piping broke. After the coolant pipes began to leak, HVAC had been shut off in non-essential areas. Still, the power generator limped along, running off of solar and battery reserves, since the fission reactor’s leak caused it to shut down.
Half of the day passed before Leon ran into Alphus, by the bunker door that was streaked with rust. Leon was pretty sure that was the door to the outside, though Alphus had never confirmed it. Whenever Leon raised that question, he was reminded of the pointlessness in knowing which door was the outside door and somehow, Leon never continued the argument.
“Alphus. I think there may be life outside.”
“Leon Korsavo. The world was not sufficiently irradiated for the total eradication of life. Plenty of plant, bacteria, fungal, and possibly even simple animal life has probably survived. Why have you brought this up again?”
“I think I heard a new poem, on the shortwave.”
“Unlikely. It’s just a broadcast bouncing around the ionosphere.”
“Can you at least ask the database if this poem is new? I sent what I heard this morning.”
“I can. I have downtime tonight. I will get back to you, but please remember the database isn’t exhaustive.”
With that, Alphus pivoted on his heel, his long jacket twirling around him. It was a dozen paces before Alphus pivoted again, turning to face a wall. His mechanical right arm clicked and whirred as he plugged into the wall-mounted universal port.
“You should get back to work. Even with the decreasing maintanence, the bunker is hard to maintain with two people and we cannot permit excess idleness.” Alphus’ voice sounded far away, as if this was some subroutine programmed into his voice box.
The day was uneventful after. Following Alphus’ instructions didn’t lead to an exciting day. Rebellion against the rules was an option, but not one Leon had considered for a long time. Not since the days of Alphus Sextus, Alphus Septimus’ father. He had thought it an odd tradition at the time, naming the family all the same name. Only later had he found it odd that there was no Mrs. Sextus to meet, but by that time Alphus Sextus had died and Alphus Septimus was in charge. That was the day that reactor had melted down. The crisis was narrowly avoided, but only Leon and Alphus Septimus had survived. Protocol dictated Alphus Septimus was to be placed in charge.
They had consumed the rest of the meat rations in the ensuing weeks. Alphus Septimus had told him that the refrigeration units had been damaged by the meltdown and the meat rations had to be consumed immediately. Alphus had been rather quiet during that time. In fairness, Leon had been quiet, processing the fact his parents wouldn’t be coming home anymore. They had both kept busy in the months after, suppressing their grief through working.
Lunch and dinner had as much taste as sucking on the plastic that made up the plates they were served on. The radio was crackling on static when Leon returned to his room. The frequency searcher scrolled the frequencies, dial rotating slowly, but only yielded static.
Leon’s tablet pinged with a message from Alphus: No media found with those lines. Remember the database isn’t complete and this isn’t indicative of outside life. Have you received any more transmissions?
Sleep had nearly come when the radio spoke again: “Do.” Leon turned off the frequency scroller and found the channel again. Taking note of the frequency, 49.42 MHz, he listened to more of the poem, transcribing all the new parts he heard:
“Do not fear my child.
For even when you leave me for red dust and white rock.
When you walk the paths of curiosity and discovery and opportunity.
And through your perseverance on this darkest path.
Nothing can be done to harm me,
until yellow gives way to red,
and I do breath my last,
forced from my very being, the final exhale in an uncaring universe.
I will remember you my child,
though your bones were ashes a millennia ago.
When a swollen red embrace,
pushes the last breath from me,
and flays my very existence from this place…”
Leon found moisture in his eyes. An unusual feeling that he’d only felt after the reactor leak, after his parents never came home again. After sending it off to Alphus, he collapsed onto his bed, feeling things he couldn’t remember how to process.
The next morning, Leon resolved to carry his radio in his pocket, removing the frequency scroller and adjusting it back to 49.42 MHz. He’d woken early for the purpose of showing Alphus the poem, hoping to evoke the same strange feelings in Alphus that the poem evoked in himself.
He passed by Alphus Septimus at the door again. “Alphus, d’you have a radio?”
“I don’t need one of those luxuries.”
“Take mine. Keep it tuned to 49.42 MHz. The poem should be on soon.” Leon pressed his radio in Alphus’ hands, forcing him to put it in his pocket. Leon waited, but Alphus pushed past him, knocking him slightly as Leon failed to get out of the optimal path.
Just then, the radio crackled to life.
“This is Jurgen Etason, of the commute Kaman. Today is the last day I will read this poem, Mother to Child, by our very own Matilda Vargendaughter.
Do not fear my child.
For though you pump and dig of the ones who came before.
And though you belch your clouds of pearlescent fog and smoke.
And when you pour your waste, bleaching coral and algae red.
Despite your blinding flashes, and chemical burns, and power yearns…”
Leon had heard the rest already, but it was still just as moving a second time around. Alphus Septimus had begun to breathe funny, his breath making the same hitching and irregularities Leon’s had made last night.
“Did you ever learn Greek, Leon?” It was a rather unusual question. Alphus never asked what Leon knew, except for that which pertained to a task. Without waiting, Alphus continued, “There were 26 bunkers that were built and staffed by 26 cyborgs. This is Bunker One, and was originally founded by Alphus Primus. Eta Primus staffed Bunker Seven. Etason must be the descendant of the Eta bunker staff. Unusual that they are transmitting and referring to the Eta Bunker as commute Kaman.
Alphus emitted a strange whooping sound that Leon had never seen him express before. “And I thought I was the last one! A strange twist of cosmic fate and irony, the Alphus becoming the Omegon, but no! There are others!” Then, in a more restrained tone, “We should contact them and offer them some of the resources of our bunker.”
Before Leon could point out that the two, half-broken hydroponics units could barely feed the two of them—especially since the end of the meat rations that Alphus had found after the reactor leak—let alone another bunker, the fans that cycled air around the bunker stopped functioning. There was an audible click as they stopped in mid-cycle, belts being thrown as the gears stopped turning and began to grind to a halt. Alphus cocked his head at this noise, then he plugged himself into the wall.
“There is sufficient air in the bunker for about a week’s worth of survival. After that, we asphyxiate.” An eerie silence descended. Without the fan-forced air, there was no background hum, no feeling of air moving ever so slightly. It was as if someone had plugged their ears and numbed their skin.
“We can’t invite them back to the bunker then, can we Alphus?”
“We cannot offer them refuge, no. It appears our options are a slow and painless death from CO2 inhalation or a potentially sudden, swift, and/or painful death outside. I would like time to think this over.” Alphus bustled Leon out of the corridor and put him into Hydroponics D.
Alphus took the radio out of his pocket and pressed it into Leon’s hands, “Take it, see if you can’t find more information out.” The door locked with an audible click and Leon was left locked in the garden. With nothing better to do than stave off the inevitability of potential death, Leon checked water levels and monitored the calcification of the pipes.
Perhaps an hour had passed before the door unlocked. Leon opened it and found that the only unlocked door in the hallway was to the machine shop where he’d cobbled together his radio years ago. There was a note on the workbench, written in Alphus’ perfect script: You should figure out how to build a transmitter.
It had taken nearly two hours, but Leon had nearly finished the transmitter. Using the last bits of scrap to solder an audio pickup to the circuit board, he’d built an ad hoc microphone. All that was left was to plug it into the radio. Before he could do that, Alphus Septimus walked in with a lunch tray.
Handing the tray to Leon, he began speaking, “I’ve put the bunker to sleep. The lights are dimming, the water is draining, and the generator will go into standby soon. Have you finished the transmitter?”
“I have. Shall we attempt to communicate with Jurgen Etason?”
“Yes.”
Leon adjusted the dial, rotating it to 49.42 MHz. Plugging the microphone into the radio, he flicked a handful of switches and began speaking.
“Commute Kaman, Commute Kaman, this is the inhabitants of Bunker Alpha. Is anyone there?”
Static greeted his statement, crackling with the inherent randomness of the universe. Nearly a minute dragged out, each second stretching out as Leon checked either side of the frequency. Leon repeated his call into the radio, then continued waiting. Out of frustration and boredom, he kicked the table the radio was sitting on.
“Bunker Alpha, Bunker Alpha, this is Commute Kaman. We hear you loud and clear. Mind telling us where the bunker is so we can pop over?”
Alphus leaned past and spoke before Leon could, “Bunker Alpha is compromised. Half of it is irradiated, the guardian is compromised, and the ventilation system has failed completely. We request a pick up at the following coordinates: thirty-eight point seven, four, four, seven degrees north, one-oh-four point eight, four, three, three degrees west. Repeat, thirty-eight point seven, four, four, seven degrees north, one-oh-four point eight, four, three, three degrees west.”
“Copy that. We’re sending out a convoy, it should meet you in an hour and a half.”
Leon waited until they stopped transmitting, then asked Alphus, “What guardian? How’s it compromised?”
“The guardian is the term referring to a collection of point-defense weapons hidden in caves around the entrance. Geological tremors and the like have rendered them inoperable and sealed them in.”
The time passed quickly, Leon gathering his handful of possessions. Alphus emerged from his room with a knapsack. The lights were slowly dimming as they walked to the bunker door. The evening broadcast on 49.42 MHz played, the poem being listened to in its entirety for the final time. Leon could’ve sworn he saw moisture in Alphus’ eyes, but the half light made things difficult to make out. Alphus plugged himself into the wall, and the corroded doors shuddered open for the first time in seven generations.
A dry breeze blew over the two of them. Dust carried into the bunker for the first time in either of their lives. A desolate expanse greeted them, grey ash and white snow mixing on the ground. A handful of burnt trees were scattered around the entrance to the bunker. About a kilometer away, a cloud of ash and snow was kicked up by a trio of trucks.
It wasn’t the paradise outside that Leon imagined. There wasn’t a lush green—or even a sickly green. It wasn’t the desolate, irradiated wasteland that Alphus spoke of. The charred remnants of civilization and the death of a species wasn’t to be found recorded across the sands of this new desert. As the trucks approached, Leon and Alphus took one last look around the bunker enterance—a final glance at a sight they’d only just met. Alphus waited as Leon got into the truck, then tossed his knapsack into the truck and closed the door behind Leon. Before Leon could protest, Alphus slapped the bumper and waved the trucks off. As the trucks sped off, Leon watched, helpless, as Alphus returned inside the bunker. It wasn’t his place to cajole the drivers into turning around for Alphus. Besides, between the coughing of the engine and the rattling of sand and pebbles being driven over, it was all quite impossible to make out what the drivers were saying into their headsets.
After the bunker door closed behind Alphus, Leon opened the knapsack. Inside were two items. A storage box with various implements and tools. Alphus’ practical spirit, carried with Leon. The other item was a paper note:
I’m sorry. There is no guardian point-defence weaponry. I am the guardian and I cannot come with you in good conscience. Not after what I did after the reactor leak. This is my choice, and you are not allowed to change it. —Alphus Septimus
Ryan Landels is a high school author who spends his days writing, doing more homework than he deems necessary, and assembling/painting small plastic miniatures. He also writes music and plays piano and euphonium. This is his first publication.