Underground

It’d been eighteen years since nuclear warfare had decimated planet Earth’s atmosphere.

Eighteen years since gas masks and hazmat suits became day to day fashion.

Eighteen years since she’d fallen asleep above ground.

Eighteen years since she’d lived without constant fear.

Most people were housebound, tucked safely away in underground shelters with their families. Those who were lucky had the luxury of windows to allow in precious sunlight.

But then, those who had those luxuries didn’t carry highly classified files that were stolen from the C.I.A. shortly before the United States government completely imploded. Literally. Every building containing government headquarters was essentially vaporized by nuclear warfare. One could spend weeks trying to decipher which country struck first, but truly it was a collective effort on a global scale to do away with the States. Those countries simply hadn’t expected their nuclear bombs to enact as much destruction as they truly had. They’d succeeded in what they’d set out to do—to destroy the United States government. That mess was long gone. However, their use of nuclear bombs to achieve this had destroyed much more than buildings containing one of the oldest governing bodies in the world. These bombs damaged the Earth’s atmosphere on a level almost no one could fathom.

Her mother had been a lead environmental engineer on the crew tasked with repairing Earth’s atmosphere. She had worked alongside renowned scientists around the globe, but the task force she joined in the late 30’s—that is, the 2030’s—had been largely comprised of NASA engineers. They managed a single space exploration mission; a small craft sent up to attempt to retrieve data and assess the severity of the damage done, but the two engineers who made the journey never made it back down to the ground.

Her father had been one of the two who had sacrificed their life to give the human population a chance. The change in atmosphere was so much more drastic than they ever could have anticipated, their craft exploded minutes after they reached their chosen vantage point.

It hadn’t been for nothing, though; he hadn’t died in vain. They’d been able to transmit invaluable data down to her mother moments before their demise.

No one could have anticipated the revolt that occurred after the fall of the government, though. Crime was to be expected, as was violence, but a coup formed in the weeks following America’s fall, and their sole intent was to keep Earth in its sick and weary state. A weakened population made for malleable personalities and easy to grab power.

And thus, very quickly, Wilbur Jonathan Reid became the leader of the Nucleareans, a violent group opposed to the repairment of the atmosphere. He’d abandoned his home country in the United Kingdom when he realized the damage from the Third World War left an entire country up for the taking, and he’d fully intended on using Earth’s illness to hold onto his power.

Lillian had only been eight years old when the Third World War destroyed the world as she’d known it. Her unique position, being the child of lead scientists on the task force to essentially save the world, had resulted in her being thrown into the pool of war orphans and homeless children who were sent across the country to a safe underground shelter. Her parents had feared if she stayed with them her life would be in danger, and it still made her heart ache to know they’d been right.

Her gas mask felt particularly heavy on her face that day. The slow, almost melodic sound of her inhales and exhales through the bulky, outdated mask were all that kept her company as she journeyed down the dark, wet sewer below what was once Chicago, Illinois. Reid and the Nucleareans had slowly rewritten the United States map to territories sized and named to their liking, but she held the old States tucked safely in her heart.

Her oversized black rubber boots splashed through puddles and muck, disrupting a massive group of severely deformed rats. All the animal population had been affected by the Blast, as she so affectionately referred to the 2035 Bombing of America. Left to their own defenses, most of the animal population experienced rapid evolution that resulted in common animals becoming something else entirely. She’d been on her own for so long, she wasn’t sure what present-day scientists had named the creatures, if anyone had come up with new species names at all. She wasn’t sure who was left, what kind of scientists or professionals were left. She simply knew she had to make her way to what had once been Washington D.C.

Her mother, professor Lenora Grace Baker, Ph.D., had known her taskforce was being hunted. It began with random vandalism of their labs, but quickly escalated to lethal violence, and she’d made the decision to ship Lillian away soon after her third colleague had been murdered in cold blood.

Lillian had only ever received one singular letter in the mail from her mother and had never heard from her again.

Though she had never been given an official confirmation, she was an astute girl even at her tender age of eight and had deduced that her mother was likely deceased.

She pulled her arm out of her bright yellow hazmat suit’s sleeve and into the oversized body of it and shoved her hand into the pocket of her pants. She knew it’d still be in her pocket, but for her peace of mind, she needed to touch it.

The letter, that had since yellowed overtime, the corners and edges of the paper having become cracked and worn, had contained a heart-shaped locket and clear instructions on what to do with it: keep it safe, keep it hidden, and if after a decade or so she hadn’t received correspondence from her mother, journey to Washington D.C. with it. Find Professor Frido Miguel Lopez and give it to him.

Lillian had forgotten about her mother’s letter and the locket for a long span of time even though she carried both on her person always. It became second nature, though, and she had become desensitized to the true weight and importance that both items held.

She’d been released from the children’s shelter, Underlings Camp, around age eighteen, left to fend for herself and figure it out. Her partner, Hanna, had been a year older than Lillian, so she’d been released during Lillian’s final year at Underlings Camp. When that year was up, Lillian ventured out, looking for both Hanna and for community and shelter. Six weeks later she’d found Hanna, and a month after that they found and established a small community in an underground shelter outside of Olympic National Park in the former state of Washington. They found peace, for a time. But the Universe’s will always came knocking.

Their camp was struck with tragedy after an earthquake destroyed their underground shelter and wiped out nearly their entire community. Lillian and a man named Grayson had been the sole survivors, as they had been on a supply run two days’ journey away. She had never been able to retrieve Hanna.

Satisfied with having made contact with the weathered surface of the envelope, she reached into her other pocket to run her fingers over the smooth surface of the heart-shaped locket. She let out a deep breath through her gas mask, tucked her arm back into the obnoxiously yellow arm of her hazmat suit, and continued her trek.

Her stomach growled with two-day hunger, and it’d been nearly thirty-six hours since she’d slept. She was so close, though.

She had been traveling on foot for nearly six weeks, and she was about two weeks out from D.C. Less if she chose not to stop for food or rest. So, she hadn’t. She was hoping to make it there in ten days or less.

Grayson had managed to repair a couple of old bicycles at the start of her journey but had parted ways with Lillian weeks back. And a week after that, her bike had broken beyond repair. Her journey had since been taken on foot.

Mutated rodents scurried around her boots as she made her way down the damp, dark sewer. She’d grown accustomed to the dark after all these years, so she traveled primarily without light at all in an attempt to conserve the battery life of her solar-charged flashlight. She had not been above ground in over a week.

Her stomach growled again in agony, the hunger pains getting more difficult to ignore. She had a can of beans and dried meat in the bulky, heavy pack she carried on her back, but she didn’t want to spend the time unpacking. Especially not in the middle of the sewer. She’d continue her trek until she found a dry spot.

About an hour later she tripped like a fool, but it’d been a blessing in disguise as it’d led her to a dry alcove in the sewer system. She held her breath, reached for her flashlight and clicked it on. It was a small concrete alcove that was clean and clear, surprisingly so for being so deep into the sewer system, though at the same time it was likely because it was so deep into the system. Not many creatures or humans would venture in this deep.

She let out a couple slow, deep breaths, and began to unfasten her suit. Eighteen years later and this still gave her anxiety unlike anything else. The atmosphere wasn’t so destroyed that the air would vaporize her, it was simply lethal. One could survive being exposed to the air—though, the further underground you were, the safer you were—but the longer you were exposed the more at risk you were of developing… illnesses. Complications. Mutations. Things just got weird and damaging, many people got cancers unlike any seen before. Some people went clinically insane and were psychologically broken beyond repair. Research on the effects the Blast had on the human population was scarce and hard to find because so many scientists were gone or in hiding because of the Nucleareans.

She eased out of her suit, did some quick stretches that resulted in some delicious cracks through her spine, and quickly gobbled down the jerky she had. She’d save the beans for tomorrow or the day after. She rifled through her pack for the small blanket she carried with her and drank some water from her canteen, then hopped out of the alcove and wandered down a ways to relieve her aching bladder. She tried to make a game out of it—how quickly could she take care of all of her needs and get back into her suit? Her record was just shy of three minutes to eat, brush her teeth and toilet. She didn’t beat her record that time, but she’d come close.

After getting sealed back into her bright yellow hazmat suit, she eased herself down to the concrete floor and curled up on her side to sleep.

Every day was more of the same, really. She kept to old subway and sewer systems as much as possible, avoiding the surface at all costs unless absolutely unavoidable. She stayed steady and true on her course, her keen sense of direction and old school compass guiding her way until a sunny spring morning when she crested over a hill and saw the remains of what had once been Washington, D.C.

She had no idea how to find Professor Frido Miguel Lopez since cellphones no longer worked, but her heart flooded with hope for the first time in nearly two decades. Her body ached and her soul was weary and tired, she’d experienced nightmares and losses, but still she found herself smiling as the sunrise kissed her face through her hazmat suit, clutched the heart-shaped locket in her hand, and marched on.