The Life That Remains

The world ended three years ago.

It began slowly at first, with whispers of a revolution and murmurings of corrupt governments. When that had run its course, the unraveling of entire nations began, fueled by the rage of people whose pain and suffering others had deemed as necessary for the advancement of society. The physical systems that humans had built and relied upon for hundreds of years came crashing down, completely obliterated in the wake of the new world. It was all over within a year. For those who saw it coming it seemed like divine retribution and, well, for those who didn’t, it was complete devastation.

I don’t believe in one supreme being calling down judgement for the sins of humanity but on that day, seemingly a lifetime ago, hot tongues of fire and heavy debris rained down from the sky, as if heaven had finally let the weight of the lost world fall into the waiting depths of hell. Disease ran rampant through the unlucky numbers who survived the first couple months on the surface. Pathogens that had not been seen for millenia were invigorated by the polluted atmosphere and contaminated bodies of water across the globe. Towering mountains were blown completely apart and once beautiful and admired landscapes descended into ruin; mere glimpses of the wondrous beauty that the Earth had once been, awaiting the arrival of the people who would betray all that she would offer them and leave her in depleted chaos.

As the world battled itself on the surface, refuge was found underground for those who discovered its existence. I am one of those who found this sanctuary. My name is Akila and, until the bombings began, I had been living a standard life. I returned to my small northern hometown after I graduated with a combined degree in Atomic/ Molecular Physics and Water Resources Engineering, and enfolded myself within my research. From here inside Net77, I’m aware of how lucky I was to have chosen a home in which nature surrounded me on all sides in the form of thick and seemingly impenetrable forest. From such a place I had watched, as the world slowly but surely regained it’s natural order. All this to say, I was able to secure my future.

This is my home now, something born straight out of one of those sci-fi thriller novels I used to read late at night; my eyes heavy as they fought to take in the exciting words dancing across the pages. The name is quite ingenious really, considering the structure of the Nets. Earthen tunnels spread out from a central unit, creating a network of veins before connecting to the next Net via one main thread. Like the root system of a towering Pando tree, we are widespread yet situated shallow enough to access necessary resources such as water, oxygen and other nutrients from the surrounding soil. This is how all of the habitats are powered. Yet, while life underground is different from the one we have all known, some things have not changed.

A deafening alarm sounds through the small receiver situated on the top of my pod door, high-pitched and on a loop. It’s the alert to prepare for a direct hit on the surface and resulting shock waves that can be felt through the walls. It’s a daily occurrence and reminder that all is not well. I move quickly around the small space, preparing myself for the long day ahead; ignoring the low rumbling that, without fail, has accompanied me every morning here. Simultaneously grabbing the tool pack containing my safety gear and surveying the neat and tidy space one last time, I let the door silently swish closed behind me. As I make my way down the tunnel that leads away from the pod area to the CCD (Central Communal Dome), I marvel at the slightly undulating, luminescent substance that shields the walls of all the habitats. How did it come to be? Could it simply be a strange phenomenon occurring on a submicroscopic level? In all my years of study I had never come across something quite like it, something that appears to negate fundamental physical laws.

“Morning Kila,” saids fellow technician Set, disrupting my ritualistic pondering as I sit down at one of the round tables, in the large open space. The nickname reminds me of my mother. I reach up to my collarbone, lightly lifting the heart-shaped locket resting there that she had gifted me on my twenty-first birthday. Tears prick my eyes at the fond memory, sadness and loss welling up within my chest. Set peers at me inquiringly but I brush his worry away as I meet his light hazel eyes with a wide genuine smile. I met him on my 397th day here in Net77 and we’ve been together pretty much ever since. I’m not sure why I keep track of the days but I haven’t stopped since I began counting on the very first day.

“Any news to report today?” I try to say through a mouthful of eggs but it comes out as a garbled mess.

“You should talk more often, seems as if you need the practice,” Set chortles as I struggle to swallow my food.

“Haha, very funny,” I say good-naturedly, laughing along with the other people seated with us as I take a sip of my orange juice. The head technician Sobek, who sits a few spots to my left, turns to answer my question and I see a fleeting glimpse of expression in his eyes. Is it worry or fear? Perhaps a mixture of both.

“We’ve got some activity down at WT2 (Water Table number two). We’ll be heading down there after everyone’s done eating,” he announces to the six of us.

That’s my role here. I help to monitor and fix the system that provides Net77 with fresh water. With my background in physics and engineering, it took me less than a month to figure out how I could be of most use. After breakfast, our group falls in line behind Sobek as he leads us through a series of tunnels that lead to Net77’s access shaft which consists of a simple cable drive system that will bring us hundreds of metres down to WT2.

“Safety check please,” calls Kesi once we’re situated inside the cage. She is a few years older than me, with expertise within the medical field. Then there’s Layla and Min, a young couple who have dedicated their lives to science and whose specialization is in thermodynamics. They stand just in front of me, checking each other’s harnesses. I admire their companionship fondly as I quickly tie my long dark hair into a low bun to fit under my helmet. How did we all come together here? It appears as though fortune left us those who would be of most use within this world.

“You look like you’re miles away,” Set says as he leans in to adjust my harness. “I’m thinking that there must be something wrong,” I respond, and he nods slightly in agreement.

With final equipment checks done, Sobek pulls the cage door shut and reaches up to release the overhead brake. We begin the long, controlled descent, switching flashlights on as we reach the first hundred metre mark, rough hewn earth cocooning us as we sink further. The dynamics of hydrostatics which we applied to WT2 are very simple. Through our calculations we were able to derive the exact amount of pressure the subterranean water source is under, as well as its mass and quantity. Twenty minutes have passed and I see light glowing below my feet; I know we are close. With a slight hitch we reach the bottom and spread out along the narrow research space, each of us conducting our individual tests or collecting samples, quietly and efficiently. Once we return to the CCD, we will discuss each of our findings.

“Notice anything amiss?” Sobek has come to stand beside me as I carefully survey my calculations from our last descent just a few days prior.

“It’s interesting,” I respond slowly, “these figures should not have fluctuated within such a short period of time. Why would that be?”

“What we have failed to take into account is the constant and rapidly evolving atmospheric pressure affecting us from above,” he responds.

“Meaning the water has begun to shift and consequently flow deeper underground,” I finish for him. I understand exactly what he is saying; our water source has begun to drain away. So this was what I had seen in Sobek’s eyes during breakfast. As a fellow physicist he himself had arrived at the same conclusion, and it was a frightening one. There is no way to know exactly when the water will run out, but my best guess would be within the next year and a half.

As the group begins the ascent about thirty minutes later, I feel the weight of hopelessness wrap around my mind. We didn’t have a bountiful source of healthy and durable soil where we could build a fully functioning Net to begin with and having to be close to the surface has also made us susceptible to the poison being absorbed from the outside. I believe this is it; one last chance for us….for all of us. How can we fix this? There is nowhere else to go.

Is there?