(again from a little bag) it smelled so mouthwatering we tore off lumps and squirted NASA butter all over it in a gooey, golden stream.
After pigging out, I checked the TV in the living room area. Three of the channels showed the equiva-lent of ambient music. Channel One carried a single view of the ocean washing over rocks. Two showed a view of trees in the fall; flocks of birds came and went but not much else. Three played a static shot of a farm with cows grazing in green pastures. More psychologist-inspired programming, I guessed. Other channels were more promising. A comedy channel showing old TV sitcoms. Music channels for every possible taste. Sports, replaying classic football games. The last channel appeared devoted to lightweight action movies.
By midnight I slouched low in an armchair watching an old cop movie. By that time I was too drowsy to follow the plot. While sitting with her bare feet up on the sofa, Michaela flicked through a magazine that must have been the last one to roll off the press before society turned over and coughed out its heart.
Then came the return of The Voice. “My apologies for taking so long to come back to you. We’ve had a busy time down here today. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork government departments still need. Good evening to you both.” I looked at Michaela, who smiled. She felt the same; talking to a disembodied voice was weird. Nevertheless, we chorused, “Good evening,” back at the walls.
“Did you both find everything you needed?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“When you shower run the hot water for a while. It takes time to warm up. But, believe me, it gets there in the end.”
Michaela said, “My name is Michaela and I’m here with Greg.”
“Of course, how ill mannered of me.” The Voice sounded as softly spoken as ever. “I never introduced myself.”
“Things were hectic,” I said. “At the time we were just glad to get inside here in one piece.”
“Of course. We’re happy to help. Well, to begin at the beginning, my name is Phoenix…”
Phoenix? That didn’t help. I still couldn’t tell whether Phoenix was a he or a she. Then again, there was something she-male about the voice.
“… my role here is the emergency services coordinator.” Her (His?) voice padded from the speaker. “The center’s commander is Rachel Peake, but if you need anything just press one of the green buttons that you’ll find set in the wall. That pings me.” Phoenix paused before saying pings, as if it had some double meaning for her (or him). “Help yourself to food, drinks, entertainment. It sounds stuffy of me to have to say this, but I need to mention house rules. Please remember, switch off lights when you’re not in a room so we can conserve fuel; please keep the place tidy and dispose of all refuse in the chutes. Doors that are locked are secure areas for authorized personnel only; please respect that and don’t try to force them open. ..” As the Voice continued the do’s and don’t’s I rolled my eyes at Michaela. She stifled a laugh behind her hands, then wagged her finger with a pretend stern look on her face. She mouthed: “Don’t make me laugh. Please!”
“… no windows, for obvious reasons. External doors are hermetically sealed. The atmosphere is recycled. To all intents and purposes you can imagine we’re living in a submarine at the bottom of the sea. We are completely self-contained. Food and fuel stores are amply sufficient. Any questions, Michaela? Greg?”
“Again, we can’t thank you enough for saving our lives,” I said to the four walls. “But what now? After all, we can’t remain here forever, can we?”
“That’s absolutely correct. In the past visitors like yourselves have stayed here for anything up to three days before moving on.”
“Then we could leave now?” I didn’t particularly want to leave at night, but I wanted to test the water.
“Not advisable, Greg. Look at the TV screen.”
We looked at the screen, which showed a police car bouncing up and down the hills of San Francisco. With a flash the scene changed.
“I think you recognize the location. There’s no color because it’s dark outside-the camera is in infrared mode.”
Hell, yes, I recognized it. The TV revealed a view of the astroturf area where we’d been trapped earlier. I saw the Harley, or what was left of the machine. The hornets must have hacked it to pieces in their frustration after we escaped into the bunker. Out on the lawn lay the bodies mangled by the explosions. As we watched a brown bear ambled out of the forest with a pair of cubs. Mama Bear began tearing at one of the corpses with its jaws, ripping out glistening strings of gut. The cubs joined the feast.
I said, “Phoenix? They were landmines that blew the bad guys sky high, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then why doesn’t the bear detonate them?”
“Good question.” I sensed Phoenix smiled as he/she spoke. “Antipersonnel mines are embedded in the lawn. For safety reasons I can arm them electronically from a keyboard here. In theory you could have a foot-ball team stomping up and down there without tripping one
… but personally I wouldn’t put it to the test. So when you do leave here stick to the pathways and the drive.”
“Don’t worry, we will.”
Michaela looked closely at the screen. “But it’s clear of hornets now.”
“Hornets?”
“Yes. Bees? Bread bandits?”
“Oh, the refugees? It appears clear here, but let me hit Cam Two. Just wait a second while I… there. Not so friendly out there, is it?”
The screen flashed, replacing the scene with another shot at a lower angle. This must have been the view from our bunker. There, standing unmoving in the darkness, their faces expressionless, was a group of hornets. I counted ten of them. But there could have been more off camera.
“It looks as if we need to stay put a little longer,” I said.
“You’re more than welcome.” Phoenix’s voice whispered around the room. “We know life is hard out there now. Treat this as a rest break.”
Michaela turned away from the impassive, somehow alien faces of the hornets and said to me, “Don’t you feel them, Greg?”
I rubbed my stomach. The Twitch had stayed away. Even seeing the monsters on screen hadn’t done any- thing to provoke my gut muscle.
“Nothing,” I said. “
But I thought you felt this Twitch when you were close to them.” She nodded at the people on screen, waiting for us as patiently as vultures beside a dying calf. “You don’t even have to see them, do you?”
“No. But as Phoenix pointed out, this building is air-tight.”
“So you don’t think this is some kind of sixth sense? That you know when someone’s a hornet by telepathy?”
“Telepathy? No.” Irritation spilled into my voice. This Twitch made me a freak. I never enjoyed talking about it. I didn’t want to discuss it now. “I smell them, that’s all. Cows can smell water in a desert twenty miles away. It’s like that. Unconsciously or subconsciously, or whatever the crap it is I can smell their pheromones, or hormones, or even their fucking hornet shit. I don’t know how the hell it works, Michaela.”
Her eyes widened. She looked hurt by the anger in my voice. “I’m sorry, Greg. I thought this might be an interesting-”
“Experiment?”
“But you-”
“OK, OK.” I softened my voice. “Let’s just leave it, shall we?”
After a heavy silence Phoenix spoke. “I’m sorry; if this is a bad time, I can speak to you later, only I guessed you might have some questions for me.” Another pause. “Greg? You don’t feel well? A stomach-ache?”
“No,” I said, keeping my voice under control. “I’m fine, I really am.”
Pause-leaving that kind of silence you feel obligated to fill.
“It’s, well… when I’m close to a hornet or someone who’s infected and incubating the condition I can tell.”
“But how, Greg? Our medical teams are still working on developing a blood test, but nothing shows in blood
