Log begins
May 7th, 2208.
Kathy R. Jarvis, Mayor of Benton Harbor.
We've been underground for 2 years, mostly, a few of the men have been out to check on the other shelters from time to time. A few of them have not come back. We assume that they have just walked out into the nuclear storm to die. Jerry and a core of determined men and women started digging tunnels to connect the bunkers. A year later, they had 2 completed. So now we don't have to brave the harsh weathers above to check on each other. Food is running short. No contact with the outside world.
This morning some of the diggers discovered a previously missed bunker about 150 feet from ours. They came back to tell Richard and me the news. It's labeled D39. Richard went through all the records he had and there is no mention what it's for or how to get in it. We don't have the codes. No one who is living was briefed on it. Richard said it must have been top secret, since he knew nothing about it or how to get in. We are still doing a thorough search of the records in hopes that something will eventually turn up.
end log.
My escort brings me up from the wharf to what turns out to the main street of the market section. It's like something out of a post-apocalyptic fantasy novel like Shannara where a medieval market squats between the skeletons of burnout buildings. Vendors of various degrees are setting up shop in stalls around and in these shells. Their wares are vegetables, some grains, scrap, and clothing. We wind our way through the vendors, some form of paper currency is being passed for goods when the people aren’t just trading physical goods instead. It appears to be handwritten notes, some kind of promissory notes, perhaps,
After a fairly long walk down through the maze of stalls and at least a few hundred people of all ages- which is remarkable since this is the largest community I have seen in a very long time. We break out in to a park area surround a squat building that must have once be partially or completely buried but now is exposed. The building squats below a crown of ruins that appears to be the burnout remains of a capital style building.
The park area is the first real signs of cultivation I have ever seen. I stop in shock looking at the trimmed lawns, pruned trees, rose bushes! Freaking rose bushes! stone benches that look new, untouched by the ravages of time and war. There are people walking in the park, they stop to stare at me the gawking stranger. I have seen a lot since I came up from the ships but not something like this. For a moment, it is as if the world has been dialed back to a time before the madness came upon it. When the world was green and somewhat more innocent than it is now.
Some kind of statue carving stands around a thicket of small green trees. I feel my escort standing around me, surrounding me.
Two guards standing near the entrance take notice of me and begin to approach, the same young woman who approached back at the lighthouse jogs by them to reach me first. She does not look like she had just run from the lighthouse however.
She comes to a stop in front of me.
I remain in shock. There is so- much- green.
The world is burnt.
The world is brown.
I realize, somewhere in the back of my brain that there would be places that would, could recover, but almost everywhere I have roamed since leaving the ships, humanity has not concerned itself with restoring the green as much as taking and controlling what little has been left to take. Instead of a bombed out ruin of a town where I had expected-even planned to fight my way into to steal the necessary parts for K-74, I find a place of hope, civilization, a dream of green. I am overwhelmed.
“I guess this is a bit much to take in?” The woman says.
I’d say yup, but I don’t, settling for nodding instead.
Log begins.
May 12th, 2220.
Kathy Jarvis, Mayor of Benton Harbor.
The discovery of the other bunkers have led to a new hope for survival. The survivors have rebuilt our collective communities below ground and sub-divided life into “towns.” Collections of rooms interconnected with one another. We trade food stuff creations giving them whacky names to fit each of the towns. BR-Town specializes in cooking the Basic Rations into goulashes and such. There is laughter and music in the Towns.
I am pregnant with out first child, Richard has come back to life with the concerns of future parentage and fussing over me. I found myself smiling for the first time in days as he made our daily meal and insisted I drink the warmed instant milk- which tastes atrocious. I have noticed that several other women in the towns are also showing with expected children.
July 15th, 2220.
A major discovery was announced today by Alan Atkinson, our resident environmental engineer.
There is little to no radiation left above ground. No one can explain why other than seeing it as a miracle. Alan just looked at me and shrugged. “We never blew up the world, before. So who knows.”
This means that soon we can leave our bunkers and see about rebuilding our beloved town. There is a strong group of people who are rightly afraid that there will be another war. Chad Parks, our communication officer has reported total radio, radar, and cell silence though, so I feel that this madness has passed along with the madmen that caused it.
February 5th, 2221.
Rebecca and Samuel Jarvis came into the world today. We have twins. Who could believe it. Safely arrived and even healthier than expected. They are among the first to be born since the world ended and above ground to boot. I am so pleased. Alan Atkinson has announced that not only can we grow our own food but also that we have radiation free soil to grow it in. To think that this brown world will one day become green again….
End log.
“I am Becky Jarvis, Commander of the Benton Harbor Watch,” She says by way of formal greeting, even as the other two soldiers join her. I notice that another man has emerged from the building and is walking over.
I wrack my brain for a formal greeting, but nothing seems to fit the occasion. Becky Jarvis gives me a quizzical look and looks to her companions who shrug as well. The other man arrives, he is quite a bit older than Becky and the two soldiers who for their part are a bit nondescript in their fatigues. The older man wears a white coat over a blue shirt, neatly pressed and what appears to be slacks, something unheard of in the wasteland. He is even more clean that Becky and the other men.
Becky nods to him respectfully.
“I am Commander Rebecca Jarvis of Benton Harbor,” She repeats and signals to the other three men. “This is Mayor Robert Atkinson.”
I nod to him
“And this is Commander TJ Sparks and Lieutenant Leo Anderson,” She finished.
“I call myself Frank.”
“Just Frank?”
“Never needed more than that.”
“So, you are not with an army or another town?” Mayor Atkinson asks.
“It’s complicated,” I reply, I mean I am not going to say that the last supercomputer AI has sent me here for spare parts.
They look confused. I don’t blame them. I’d be confused.
“Let me try this again,” I say. Just make something up but make it sound plausible. “I am special operative Frank here on behalf of the GIDF- Global Initiative Defense Force.”
It’s close to a certain kind of truth.
They look stunned. Becky glances from me to the Mayor who looks nervous. The two soldiers hands have dropped to their holsters.
“It’s usually easier to just call myself Frank,” I say, slowly measuring the distance to cover.
My escort have gone rigid. I can feel the sudden rush of fear.
Becky looks back at me, there’s some suspicion but also a slight quirky smile tugs at her mouth.
“What does the GDIF want in Benton Harbor?” the Mayor asks.
If I was paranoid- I’d swear he’s measuring the distance to cover.
“I am here to retrieve parts for repairs to our defense systems,” To far to the park bench, at least 50 feet to the closest wall.
“And you can get into D39?” The Mayor says suddenly.
And then I know why D39 is a trigger point.
Also Becky gives the Mayor a “What the hell are you doing!” look.
Well, I have a bargaining chip after all.
The Mayor notices her look, realizes his mistake, gives me a terrified look then shrugs helplessly.
“This is why I wanted to handle this,” Becky says, exasperation written on her face.
“Sorry sis,” the Mayor says, then claps his hand to his mouth in horror.
The other two men chuckle.
“Yes, I have the access codes and the passkey,” I say.
They stop chuckling.
“There is only one way you have that key.” Becky says.
The guns are up, the safety’s off.
“I took it from President Drumpf’s skeleton,” I answer calmly.
