Day One

I woke up today. Was it today? Or was it yesterday? I’m not sure. It’s not easy to keep track of such things here. Pretty sure it was today. So, I woke up today.

I’m not sure how else to describe it. “I was born today”? Nope. I’m quite obviously a fully grown woman so I wasn’t “born” today, but the phrase “woke up” implies there was a before, a time when I fell asleep.

Obviously, there must have been a before; I’m not Athena, springing fully formed from the head of Zeus. The problem with the concept of a before is that I can’t remember one. I can’t remember anything…except for random snippets of ancient Greek mythology.

As far as memories are concerned, I might as well have been born today. Whatever past I had no longer exists in the only place that matters: my head. Essentially, my life – this version of it at least – began today; therefore, I was born today. Except that is so glaringly factually incorrect that I can’t make the thought settle in my adult-sized brain, no matter how many big words I use to say it.

So, I woke up today.

I woke up on a bed, which seemed normal, but then I sat up. Well, I tried to sit up but my forehead smacked into something very hard and very transparent. That was my first clue that the bed wasn’t just a bed.

It turned out I was lying on a padded tray inside of a giant tube, more of a cylinder really, which had a thick, round cap at one end, and a great big boxy thing at the other end.

Discovering that I was sealed inside an unknown device was a tiny bit panic inducing. Ok, no point in lying to myself…there was a lot of panic (and some screaming and banging my fists ineffectually on the sides of the tube) before I finally figured out there was a lever on the inside of the round cap. Whoever put me in there really should have left instructions, maybe printed on the inside of the tube, right at my eye line. It would have been really helpful. And nice. And helpful!

Ooh, just had a thought…maybe I put myself in there and I was the one who neglected to leave instructions. If that’s the case, I’m an idiot. Was an idiot. Whatever.

So, the cap unsealed – with a sound reminiscent of opening a new jar of jam – and started to slowly swing open. I had just managed, with elbows and toes, to drag myself halfway out of the tube when the cap finally finished opening and the tray slid out; at which point I lost my balance and got dumped out, arse over teakettle.

I lay on my back, scolding myself for my lack of patience and rubbing my twice-thumped forehead, until finally I sighed, reflected once again that instructions would have been really helpful, and sat up.

By that time, the tray had slid back in, the cap had closed, and the quiet hum of the machine had died. The sound had been so faint I only noticed it when it stopped, which of course drew my gaze to the cylinder, where I saw the only bit of signage in the small room.

“01” was printed on the cap in big, black, block lettering. Great, I’m Number One. Whoo! Yeah! Number One! Would it have been too much trouble to put my name on there??

That’s interesting…I’m angry. Or is it just frustration? Hmm…well, emotions aside, at that moment I was cold. And naked. Did I mention that? No? Well, not that it matters ‘cause there was no one else there, so it’s not like I was being immodest or anything, but there’s something about being naked in a strange place that makes one feel…vulnerable.

Oh, and I was hungry. Wow, was I hungry!! It felt as if I hadn’t eaten in days but my body didn’t realize that until I thought of it, then, the moment the idea hit my brain, wham, my stomach woke up and started screaming.

Thankfully, the strange little room had a door. I went through that door so fast I didn’t even stop to think about the fact that I was in my birthday suit and there might be someone on the other side. There wasn’t. Good for my sense of modesty, bad for my sense of loneliness.

On the other side of the door was a room…no, not a room, more like an entire two-story building with no inner walls to divide it up. The space was huge! A warehouse, maybe? Yeah, a warehouse. Full – floor to ceiling, wall to wall – with massive shelving units, all stuffed full with crates, barrels, boxes, and bins, and surrounded by a framework of catwalks and ladders. Everything was clearly labeled, indicating contents ranging from construction hardware and farming implements, to school supplies and laundry soap.

I looked down one of the aisles and realized I couldn’t see the far wall. It might just have been a case of insufficient light but even so, the sheer size of the space made me pause. And then I saw it, painted on the floor beneath my feet: instructions!

Bless their hearts, someone had left instructions, in the form of a simple arrow. Needing no more, I followed the arrow to the left and came up against a wall with a door, labeled “Residential Area.” Inside that door, I found myself in a small entryway. To my left was a stairwell leading up, and straight ahead was a long hallway. At my feet was a large crate labeled, “Day One Supplies.”

The dratted thing (oh, so I cuss, do I?) had an air-tight seal. I was fairly crying with desperation by the time it opened. The first thing I found was a packet of prunes. Yuck. They went down so fast I barely remember chewing. The first bottle of water emptied out just as quickly. I was able to slow down on the second bottle of water and packet of dehydrated meat, after which I decided to stop. My stomach was feeling uncomfortably full and my jaw ached from the effort of so much chewing.

There was more food and water in the crate and I carefully moved it aside to find – Hallelujah! – a complete set of clothes and sturdy leather boots. All of the clothes were soft and warm and oh so comfortable, though the pants were made of a thicker and stiffer material than the shirts; probably to support the weight of whatever might be placed in the pockets.

Yes, that’s right, women’s pants with pockets! And none of those ridiculous little flaps only big enough to hold a quarter either, these were proper pockets, the kind you could stick your whole fist into. Hip pockets, butt pockets, thigh pockets; so many pockets! I did a little happy dance when I discovered them, though I was slightly disappointed that none of them had any lint. Pockets should have lint.

Finally, I was warm and my stomach was full. A wave of exhaustion swept through me like grease through a goose. (Pretty sure there are more appropriate idioms but I kinda like that one. Besides, there’s no one around to correct me so I can say what I like, right? Hmm, that thought is not nearly as cheery as I expected.)

With a huge yawn, I staggered down the hall to the first doorway, which thankfully led into a bedroom. There were no linens on the bed, no pillow, and no blankets, but the mattress was firm and its cover was soft; my last thought before I fell asleep was to wonder what kind of world I used to live in if pockets in my pants could make me so giddy.

When I woke, I felt fully refreshed, though I’d no idea how long I slept. So far I haven’t found any means to mark the time so I couldn't tell if a full day had passed. I didn't think so.

A visit to the lavatory relieved my only physical discomfort and I proceeded to explore the rest of the residence. There were over a dozen rooms. Some were clearly for specific uses – bedrooms, lavatories, and a kitchen – but the rest stood empty. When I finally returned to the familiar entryway and my open supply crate, I felt relieved. The residence area creeped me out a bit. It wasn’t just empty of stuff. It was empty of life.

I shivered and went back to examining the supplies that some unknown person or persons had considered necessary for my first day in this equally unknown place. Aside from bottles of water and packets of preserved food, I found two more changes of clothes, some toiletry items (soap, toothpaste, etc), bed linens, and a pillow and poofy quilt. Well, it was poofy once I freed it from its vacuum-sealed packaging.

At the very bottom of the crate, securely wedged between tins of potted meat and a row of canned peaches, was a computer tablet. That got my attention. For a moment, I just held it in my hands, staring at it.

There’s no way of knowing how long I spent in that cylindrical machine. This is pure speculation of course, but I think it was some kind of metabolic stasis device, something that could keep a person alive but in suspended animation for decades, maybe even centuries. I probably read a lot of science fiction in my old life to come up with that theory. (Really though, the whole warehouse and residential area set-up supports the idea.) My long, rambling point is, I had surely been asleep for – at the very least – a number of years; would the tablet’s battery still have juice? There was only one way to find out. With a trembling finger, I pressed down on the button.

It worked. The tablet turned on, the screen lit up, and I was presented with a bunch of files and folders. Instructions, I finally had instructions!!! Even better, one icon in the very middle of the screen was a little bigger than the rest and bore the enticing label, “Welcome Message”. This was it; I was finally going to get some answers, to find out what happened to my memories and to learn why I was all alone. At least, that’s what I hoped. So I tapped the center icon.

"Hello," the message began, "and welcome to your new life. There’s a lot of information to go through so you should probably sit down."

I found that mildly amusing but good naturedly did as the message suggested, using the quilt and pillow to create a cozy little nest against the wall.

"The other files on this tablet contain many details you will eventually want, but for this initial message, we have tried to be concise." How very sporting of them.

"First, we know you have memory loss, though we're not sure how bad it will be. The worst case scenario is that you have lost both your past and your identity. We're sorry for that but it couldn't be avoided. We'll explain more later but for now know this: your name is Vera."

At that moment, I badly wanted to curse, and I don’t mean do some mild cussing but really let loose with a string of especially foul invective. All my memories, my past, my very identity, all of it gone and it wasn’t even an accident; they knew it was going to happen. They made it happen!

But then I realized something, as I sat there on the floor, clenching my fists and gritting my teeth: no matter how angry and betrayed I felt, I wasn’t going to let those foul curses slip past my lips.

You see, I know so very little about myself. I know that I’m an adult female, old enough to be physically mature, young enough to not have wrinkles; I have some knowledge of ancient mythology, at least of the Greek variety; I know the sound of a jam jar being unsealed; I have a very friendly relationship with the concept of sarcasm; I’m a big fan of pockets in pants; and, while I’m fine with using the occasional “drat” or “darn”, I have a strong aversion to foul language of the darker variety.

That’s it. That’s all I really know about myself. Not much, is it? Maybe if I had all my memories I wouldn’t mind cussing a blue streak “just this once.” Maybe somewhere down the line in this new life of mine, I’ll decide that it’s ok to emulate the stereotypical sailor. Maybe. But right then, at that moment, as I stared furiously at the innocent little computer tablet, I realized that I had to protect what little I had.

They, whoever “they” were, had taken away my memories, my past, everything but a few little snippets; those fragments of the old me – including, it seems, an aversion to foul language – were all that remained and I was not about to let “them” take anything else. So I swallowed the verbal bile that had risen in my mind and focused on the one gift they had given me; my name. Vera. I rolled it in my mouth, feeling it on my teeth and tongue and lips, and in the way it angled my jaw. It felt good. It felt right. Bolstered by that core piece of my identity, I calmly returned to the message.

"Things are very bad in the world, in our time. We have been so busy trying to fix mistakes we thought we made that we have blundered right into another one, of disastrous proportions."

Such wonderfully vague language; makes one wonder what they actually did, eh? Set off Nuclear Armageddon? Create a super virus that took out all life? Incite a revolution of neo-Luddites who returned civilization to the Stone Age? Ok, maybe not that. Although, you never know...hmm.

"A few of us saw the proverbial pit that was being dug beneath our very feet but no one would believe us. We realized we could not change the course of events so we decided instead to prepare for the future. You are the result.

"If all went as planned, you have awoken into a new life, several centuries after our lives ended. As you may have guessed by now, your task is to rebuild what our generation destroyed: the human race."

And just how was I supposed to guess that? Or do that? Rebuild the human race? All by my lonesome? Sure, sure, no problem, I’ll put it on my to-do list. I wanted to cry, but all I could do was keep reading and pray there would be an actual plan somewhere amongst the hubris and self-congratulatory phrases.

"The technology that allowed us to place you in stasis is not nearly as well developed as we would have liked. We simply ran out of time. As it is, only adults with a rare genetic marker can survive the process."

Oh, lucky me.

"Prepubescent children don’t seem to have any problems but one cannot restart civilization with only children, though we did consider it."

Really? They considered it? What kind of egghead idiots were these people?

"We scoured the world for as many of these special adults as we could find in the time we had. There were so very few of you! We spread you out into many different 'town seed' locations around the world. It is our hope that even if some seeds fail, the others will sprout and grow. If you are reading this, then you have survived the greatest uncertainty – the enormous passage of time. It will be up to you to ensure your town seed grows and flourishes.

"We can provide very little guidance now that you are awake. We implanted a great deal of knowledge into your mind when you first entered stasis. It was this process that wiped out most, or perhaps all, of your own memories.

"Hate us if you like for taking away your past," (yup, I do) "but understand that this knowledge will help you survive." (Oh, really?) "You have to realize that there was no time to train you. Some of you had basic outdoor skills but most of you had been city dwellers for generations. You had no idea how to start a fire, grow food, or do any of the things necessary to life in a world without electricity and modern technology. We have provided you some technology to get started with, but it will only last for so long."

Ok, I had to admit to myself that they gave a fairly reasonable explanation for wiping out my memories. I guess. Still, I didn’t see anything in the message about whether or not I had volunteered to participate in this little time capsule, nor if I’d even had a choice. Somehow I didn’t think I had. So, no, I don’t suppose I’ll be forgiving them any time soon. Still, maybe they saved me from something worse. And it’s not like I can do anything about it now, right? Can’t go back, have to go forward.

"The second level of this facility contains an extensive library. We strongly recommend that the first generation of settlers begin at once to learn such skills as carpentry and blacksmithing, for it will be precious few generations before the storehouse is empty.

"We’ve provided samples of the raw resources you’ll need to get started in such occupations, but you will have to venture out to get more. We chose the locations for the town seeds carefully. You should find fertile land, fresh water, good timber, and plentiful mineral resources, all within no more than a few dozen miles."

I blinked at that and wondered if there were any wheeled transport vehicles in the storehouse or if I would be expected to trudge thirty or forty miles to the nearest forest on foot and drag each tree back by hand. That would not be fun, but at least it was a problem for another day.

"The third and lowest level of this facility holds fifty stasis units with your initial generation of settlers."

I couldn’t help but whoop with excitement at that sentence. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t alone! I had to wipe tears of relief from my eyes before I could continue reading.

"Your pod was not placed with theirs for several reasons, not all of which you need to know," (arrogant little so-and-sos) "but mostly because yours was the only pod set with an automatic revival function, designed to wake you at a specified point in the future. It will be your responsibility to manually activate the revival functions of the other pods. You will find instructions for waking the settlers near the first of their stasis units. We recommend waking only a few at a time. You will understand when you get down there." Huh. That's not at all cryptic.

"Finally, we leave you with a warning. It is possible that what we have foreseen won’t be a true extinction-level event. It is possible, however unlikely, that some people outside our town seeds will survive. If that is the case, we cannot even begin to speculate what they will have built or who they will have become in the centuries between our time and yours. All we can do is recommend caution."

I snorted at that little pearl of wisdom. Great…“Be cautious”…Fantastic advice; I’d never have thought of it myself. I shook my head in amused scorn and read the last line of the message.

"Farewell and good luck. May God forgive us our folly and bless your new world."

The final words sobered me. Something bad – really bad – had happened. If the predicted great disaster had been averted, surely someone would have come along and woken me up, right? Since they didn’t…well, that meant my fellow “settlers” and I were among the few hopes for the future of the human race. No pressure.

With a somber sense of heavy responsibility, I navigated through the files on the tablet to find a map of the warehouse. I then tidied away my supplies into the first bedroom – it wouldn’t do to make a poor impression on my new best friends I was about to wake up – and left the residential area.

A few paces beyond the room I’d first woken up in – my “pod room” I guess it could be called – was another door. I opened it to find a stairwell leading down into the earth, just as the map had promised. When I reached the landing for the second level, I paused for a moment, imagining all the books on the other side of the door. I had a suspicion I could quite happily lose myself in there, but in that moment the desire for company was much stronger than the lure of knowledge and stories, and I continued on down the stairs to the third level.

Wait, why did they call it the third level? Wouldn’t it be the first level, since it’s the furthest down, the one on the bottom? Wouldn’t that make the ground floor the third level? Actually, why does it even matter what they called it? They’ve been dead for centuries; I can call it whatever I want. I can call it the Purple Level!

What?!? The Purple Level?!? Seriously, my brain comes up with the weirdest stuff. Sheesh.

When I opened the door onto the purple, I mean third level, I found rows of tubes, just like the one I’d woken up in. Although, I suppose I should call them “stasis pods” not “tubes”. Whatever. There were two pods in front of me, side by side, labeled “02” and “03” respectively. Behind them were six rows of eight units, laid out in evenly spaced columns, each one with a number on its end.

Something about the rows of pods seemed off but I couldn’t immediately see anything wrong so I went and peered into the closest two. The peaceful faces inside were those of a boy and a girl, both of whom looked to be about eleven or twelve years old, just on the cusp of puberty. Their pods seemed smaller than mine had been; not narrower but certainly shorter. Made for their smaller bodies, I supposed.

Oh.

And that’s when that nagging sense of wrongness crystallized in my mind. I stared at the other forty-eight units with mounting horror and remembered the exact wording of the message: “one cannot restart civilization with only children.”

But that is very nearly what they expect me to do, isn’t it? When I read that adults who could survive the stasis process were rare, I thought that meant a few thousand across the world. I didn’t expect…I thought…I mean…Yikes!!

My knees gave out and I slid to the floor.

“No wonder they said to wake only a few of you at a time!”

I hid my face in my hands and fought down a panicked scream. When my breathing finally settled, I pulled myself to my feet and stared for a moment at the two sleeping children.

“I sure hope you two are good with kids,” I muttered to them, turning to gaze blankly at the rows of tiny machines, “because that’s a lot of babies.”