"I see."
"Where's the girl?" I force myself to focus on the moment. "She found me outside, brought me in here." Before abandoning me to these cave dwellers.
"She'll return. Please." He gestures toward large rocks on my left that have been arranged around a flat-topped boulder. Like seats around a table, if I used my imagination. "Join me."
He sits down and sets the glowstick in the middle of the table. He moves with confidence, like a leader. Like Jackson.
Maybe he was the boss man of his bunker, and they all moved up into these caves after All-Clear to avoid the sun. But what sector would they be from? Sector 43 was the only one on the west side of these mountains, the only one for kilometers around. I should know. I walked most of them. Then I ran…
Like I've never run in my life.
"Where are you from?" I take my seat across from him and glance toward the other light, the first one that blinded me in the dark. A massive shadow of a man stands with it mounted on the end of a spear. "What sector?"
"51. You?"
"43. So you were on the other side of these mountains. East of here." Again, I probably appear quite astute. But I don't know what else to say.
"Fifty kilometers due east. So much of this terrain has changed since D-Day."
True enough. An image of the mangled InterSector, my companion for so much of my journey, passes through my mind. "How did you wind up in here?" I gesture toward the earthen ceiling.
He parts his lips to speak, but pauses before saying, "I'd like to hear your story first, Milton. Will you indulge me?"
I contemplate telling him to screw off. But I'm outnumbered, and they did give me this nice new set of duds, so I figure what the heck. It's not like I have anywhere else to be, and he did say the bald girl would be back. I'd like to see her again.
What's her part in all of this? From what I remember, Sector 51 was one of the all-male bunkers full of virile young studs waiting to sow their seed. How did she fall in with them?
"Sure." I shrug. "Where do you want me to start?"
A slight smile plays on the sharp features of his unshaven face. "Start at the beginning, Milton. At your beginning."
My beginning. There isn't a whole lot to tell, but I give it a shot.
"Well, I was born to two members of Sector 43, their only allotted child, before they were both sterilized. I grew up with my mother working the twelve-hour day shift and my father working the night. Trade school started for me when I was four years old, and I progressed well enough through all the requisite levels."
I learned all about the cold wars and other times of peace and conflict in between. It was after the second cold war that half the continent was nuked, leaving it uninhabitable. When the third cold war started to thaw, everybody knew it wouldn't bode well. I was fourteen by then. We heard rumors of bioweapons and other forms of impending doom, but I thought it was just talk. Nobody would intentionally screw over the entire planet. By then, I was on the day shift, and I had more than enough to keep me busy.
"So one day the work bus takes a slight detour, and I end up in a cattle car headed on a one-way trip, straight down." Julia's face fills my mind: her soft blonde hair and green eyes, her warm smile. The way our fingers interlaced, our hands together a perfect fit. "And twenty years later, the bunker door opens. Outside..." I look down with a heavy feeling in my gut. "I found this mess of a world they saved us for."
"It was a long time for all of us." Luther watches me. "How did you cope?"
"Underground?" I feel my face sag. I don't even want to think about that. "Hated every minute."
"How many of you were there?"
I look at the glowstick. How long can it burn? "Fifty, I think."
"Mixed. Male and female?"
I remember Julia's scent as she slept beside me. She smelled sweet, like fresh cut flowers. She tasted even better.
"You were sterilized, then."
Why does he have to bring that up? "We all were."
"Of course. To avoid..." He chooses his words carefully now. "Overpopulation in the bunker, nourishment shortages—"
That was the idea. "Not you, huh? Bursting at the seams with seed, right?" I smirk. "Didn't waste any of it on your bunker buddies?"
He looks a little taken aback. "I didn't mean to offend you."
A little late for that. I glance at the giant with the spear. "Got any food? I was told there would be." Unless that was just part of Bald Girl's ploy to get me to come along.
"Of course." He holds his hand out to the giant. "Samson?"
A protein pack sails through the air, landing in Luther's hand. He offers it to me. With a grunt of appreciation, I take the pack and tear open the plastic seal. Bite off a big tasteless chunk.
"Milton," Luther says, "where are the other survivors from Sector 43?"
"Dead."
"All of them?"
I look him in the eye and nod. Now he'll want the sordid details. But I don't feel like talking about it. None of his business, really.
"How about you?" I say around another mouthful. "How many of you survived?"
"All fifty at All-Clear." He sighs, watching me closely. "But in the weeks that followed..." He leans forward. "How did they die—your companions? Was it on the surface?"
I shake my head, staring into the light on the table. I chew slowly. All I can see is blood, gruesome scenes flashing behind my eyes like an old horror interactive.
"In the bunker, then?"
I nod once, my chin sinking and staying there. I
