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"Hilda? Do you have
a minute? I have a package for you."
Startled, Hilda looked
up from the stylus she was fiddling with toward the vague
shape in her doorway.
"John, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Your
glasses are over to your left, above your hand."
Touching the frames, she
averted her eyes from her reflection in the computer screen
and focused on John.
"Dr. Blethusa sent
us something interesting from the Old Phoenix site. Do you
want to look at it now?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, of course.
We'll take a look at it right away." She stood up. "I
wanted a diversion anyway. I am really stuck on this new paper
and I was trying to keep my mind off it."
John headed for the cluttered
workbench. It looked like chaos until you noticed the plastics,
metals and other materials were meticulously labeled. Arms
straining, John set the package in a clear spot facing two
tall, high-backed chairs.
"Do you have any
idea what it is?" Hilda switched on a couple of lamps.
"Yes, but I didn't open it. I think
you'll want to sit down."
He thrust a badly wrinkled paper into
her hand. "That good, is it?" Leaning forward, she
smoothed it out on the table.
University of New Phoenix
Archaeology Department
Date Found- June 12, 1653 NE
Artifact number- 1260-36-b
Description- safe, rectangular shape, suspected
fireproof metal
Artifact number-1261-36-b
Description- camera picture of one man,
one woman, three children (2 girls, 1 boy)
Artifact number-1262-36-b
Description- two gold rings, one set with
a diamond
Artifact number-1263-36-b
Description- pen
Artifact number- 1264-36-b
Description- small river rock
Artifact Number- 1265-36-b
Description- journal, written on paper,
author unknown at this time.
Site- Old Phoenix (possibly a suburb, Glendale),
Grid 36-b
Director of site- Dr. Dan Blethusa
Found by- Tammy Lintma
"A journal. My god, this is extraordinary."
"I knew you would
like it," John said
Hilda glanced at the
clock hanging on the opposite wall. "It's 1730 hours.
Why don't you go get us an early dinner while I start on this?"
"Ok, I'll get us
something. Would you like anything in particular?"
"A sandwich would
be good. Maybe roast beef? I don't want anything heavy."
"Sure, no problem.
Have fun with the journal." Instinctively, John reached
over to pat her arm but as soon as his palm made contact with
her skin, he jerked it back.
Hilda watched him leave,
trying not to blame him for his reaction. She knew he received
a lot of ridicule from other staff members for working with
her, let alone being her friend. Sometimes she could even
forget what she looked like when he was around, but every
once in awhile, little situations would flare up that hurt
no matter how she tried to deny it.
"Saturday, June 15,
1653, 1732 hours. Start dictation," she began. "Because
of the third world war, personal information on civilization
in pre-New Era America remains difficult to find. What information
we have of pre New Era America people comes from interviews
conducted by a Charles Holton who died in a house fire, burning
most of his notes. Some survived, but not enough to draw a
complete picture."
Grunting slightly, Hilda tipped the
safe over to better reach the seam underneath. The plastic
came away easily and she flipped it back over. She could see
where the lock on the safe had been jimmied. It was covered
in scratches and rust, but was overall in good condition.
Lifting the lid, she caught the first glimpse of what was
inside. She sat back and continued recording.
"The possibility that we can learn
how the pre New Era American people thought and lived their
everyday lives from this journal is high and makes it an exciting
find. The first item to be studied is artifact 1265-36-b,
a journal, author unknown, found at grid 36-b at the Old Phoenix
site. End dictation."
Picking up the picture,
Hilda looked into the faces of two adults and three children.
Their smiling faces beamed out at her, the lines of happiness
drawn freely in their expressions. They were huddled closely
together, arms wrapped around each other with lovely green
pine trees framing them.
She pulled out the rings.
One was a wide gold band with a soft filigree around the edges.
For an instant, Hilda felt a pang at the sight of her tiny
reflection glittering back at her. The small replica was more
distorted than usual, with the lumps and cracked skin of her
face exaggerated.
She put the rings aside
and lifted out the notebook. The paper crinkled in her hands
and a musty smell wafted up from the rustling pages.
The first entry was dated
February 2, 2010.
I had a dream last night. Time and distance had fallen
away into dark, hateful place that didn't allow me to swim
to the surface. The sky was purple overhead, shades of lavender
and puce that blended together in a swirling mass. The vegetation
was sparse. Small bushes with twigs for branches, their dead
leaves drooping under the weight of the desolation surrounding
us. We were all running, our breaths gasping, straining for
hot, thin oxygen. The air was gritty with turned up dust from
our pounding feet. My mouth and nose were clogged, unable
to filter clean air to my lungs.
Who are we? I don't
know. I knew who I was and I knew the hand clasped in mine
was my daughter's, but the rest of the people were a mystery
to me. All I know is that we needed to get away from the violence
behind us. It hung low over the horizon, a blackness boiling
and churning in the distance.
I tripped, dragging
my daughter to the ground with me. Then they were upon us,
an army of darkness, swarming and waving their guns. One man
came up behind me, placed his rifle on my back and pulled
the trigger.
That is when I woke
up. The whole right side of my body was tingling in remembrance
of that rifle barrel.
I don't have to guess
what that dream meant. War is coming and I am not sure what
can be done to stop it.
I look at my children
at night and my heart breaks. I can't help but ask, what right
do these power-hungry men believe they have to kill my children
in storm and fire?
The cold war ended when I was young. I can remember watching
as the wall came down, seeing the joy as those people broke
it away chip by chip. I also remember the savage determination
on some faces. The determination to end a tired regime. The
threat of nuclear war was over. We could sleep easily again.
When the millennium
passed, we danced in the streets with joy that we proved had
the dooms-dayers wrong. It was a time of such optimism. The
world had been at peace for almost two years. Nothing but
very minor conflicts from time to time. Crime was declining
and tolerance for each other was high. We could see the end
of war and suffering, just beyond the reach of our fingertips.
Why couldn't we have
taken the next step to peace and prosperity?
I don't know.
And my children will
die because of it.
February 5, 2010
The government announced
today that the peace talks had broken down. The president
said in his speech that "the last, best chance we had
to avoid this war ended today when they closed the talks and
prepared to send their diplomats home…."
The last best chance.
Do they really think that we are so stupid that we can't see
through their inability to act in any way except in their
own best interests? They are so afraid to give up one concession,
one thing that would help break the ice and save us. Do they
not care they are dooming the world?
I can't stand to watch
the news anymore. CNN reported that the President ordered
the military to DEFCON 4. One number away from war.
The shelter was finished
last week. We can move in any time. The people who built it
assure us that it can withstand just about any attack. I am
glad that I have been stockpiling food and water. The prices
on everything have gone way up.
February 6, 2010
Alex brought me a rock
today. Her eyes were bright with the excitement of her surprise.
She held her hands behind her back as she twisted around.
Her smile was wide and sweet.
"Close your eyes,
mommy." she said. So I played along, caught up in her
enthusiasm. I closed my eyes and held out my hand. I felt
something smooth and hard drop into my palm.
"Open your eyes,
mommy!" she said.
I opened them to find
a river rock in my hand. The surface was soft and hard all
at the same time. It was streaked with green and black and
glittered under the light.
"I found it just
for you, because I love you very much!" she said while
she clapped her hands.
I could feel my face
harden, trying to hold back the tears as I looked into her
eyes and shriveled inside. Such trust and hope I would love
her gift just because she gave it to me, that I would never
let anything bad happen to her. She was secure in her world,
as small as it was, and knew that she would find acceptance
from me always.
I couldn't have stopped
what happened next no matter how hard I tried. I burst into
tears and sat on the couch. Her little face fell, not understanding
what was wrong. She put her arms around me and said "I
am sorry, mommy, I'll find you a different one. Don't worry,
I am not angry."
I am so ashamed. I
have never been this ashamed in my life. I sat there and cried
and cried while she patted my back and tried to comfort me.
I was tearing her world apart by losing control and knew I
was doing it, yet couldn't stop.
May God forgive me;
I couldn't even find the words to tell her everything was
ok.
March 23, 2010
War broke out on February
7. It started in the Atlantic and quickly spread around the
world. The Middle East seems to be keeping out of it for now,
all except Saudi Arabia. They helped us deflect some of the
attack in the Gulf. As far as we know, the Eastern Seaboard
was hit with a combination of nuclear and chemical weapons.
We don't know much more, communications from that region have
broken down. The President escaped in Air Force One. Most
of the House, Senate, and Supreme Court got out too.
The President moved
the government somewhere, but they aren't telling where it
is. All we can do is live day to day in our shelter and hope
nuclear bombs don't hit us. We have gas masks to use incase
of chemical weapons, but my husband isn't sure if the shelter
will hold up if we get a direct hit.
We are part of the
few who stayed behind. Most people evacuated to the northern
part of the state two weeks ago. I am not sure why they thought
that would keep them safe; a bomb can hit there as well as
here. Maybe they thought that up there wouldn't be hit because
there isn't a major population. I don't know, maybe they are
right.
I doubt it though.
I don't know what the date is anymore. I lost track. I haven't
had the heart to attempt to figure it out and I won't listen
to the sporadic news reports. I keep forgetting to ask my
husband. He still has to go out most days to work. He refuses
to leave, knowing that it would mean death for a lot of people.
The electric companies are trying to keep the power going
and all of the crews are on call day and night, so he isn't
home a lot. The company is paying our bills, plus a salary
to my husband because he continues working. It helps keep
us stocked in food, though the major corporations run the
only five grocery stores still open in the Valley. They do
this hoping to keep as many workers in the city as they can.
When you go outside, everything looks deserted until you have
to buy food or other necessities. Then you realize how many
people have hung on. The lines for supplies are long and the
likelihood of getting what you want isn't great.
Everyone is apprehensive,
eager to return to some form of shelter. No one wants to get
caught in the open if an air raid begins, although the fighters
from Luke and Williams have been able to keep the Valley safe.
Tucson, which is near the Mexican border, was hit hard.
More than one fight
in the lines has ended in tragedy and the police hardly bother
to come when called anymore. Most have been pressed into service
to protect the greater Phoenix area from invasion.
The children are having
a hard time. The littlest ones don't understand why I won't
let them go out and play. Brianna is old enough to understand
what is going on. She tries to keep busy playing video games,
but I can see her get more depressed every day.
We don't have TV anymore,
just the radio. The TV stations stopped a while ago, no one
really knows why. I heard rumors it was because the government
can more easily control radio stations than TV, but I don't
see how this could be true.
Last night, a horrible thing happened. Well, actually a good
thing happened that proceeded the bad news.
A neighbor stopped
by to check on us. He had heard we were staying behind and
wanted to know how we were doing. His wife had panicked and
left with his children during the night two days ago. He didn't
know where they were going. She didn't even leave a note.
He thinks she spiked his food or drink with sleeping pills
because he didn't wake up when they left. Anyway, he saw that
we had three children and offered us some of his bottled water.
That was possibly the
kindest thing anyone has ever done for us. Water is hoarded
like gold and for him to give it to us for free, well, I can't
imagine I would be that kind.
The things that used
to give us comfort have vanished. No more television and the
radio doesn't play anything but news. The books we could read
in the night are all gone, taken from us and placed in a cold
hard computer. A year ago, the government began a program
to recycle all of the books in the libraries, moving to put
everything on computers. I am sure they thought they were
doing the right thing. Paper prices had become outrageous
since they put tighter restrictions on logging and everyday
people were having a hard time affording books. Not to mention
what it was doing to the schools' budgets. They took all the
books away and turned them into pulp to make the new insulation
they developed to help houses be more energy efficient. It
was supposed to be a win-win situation. Lower income people
would still have access to books and information at a cheap
price while the environment would be helped by less logging
and better energy use.
Now, that dear sweet
man who stopped by with the water told us he heard a pretty
reliable rumor that the security system for the computers
had been breached, that all the information was wiped out.
The thought is almost
incomprehensible to me. This must be how the Egyptians felt
when Alexandria fell into the sea (I think it is ironic that
I named my middle daughter Alexandria). All of that knowledge
of who and what we are, is gone forever. The price of technology
maybe higher than we ever believed.
If all of our history
is gone, who will remember that us, the people, were capable
of great acts of kindness? Who will remember we didn't want
a war?
I haven't written in months. Things have been really desperate.
The corporations moved out and, typically, neglected to take
the workers with them. We haven't been able to renew our food
or water supplies in three weeks. We have enough to last a
couple more months, but that is it. My husband and I have
been talking about trying to go up north. We hear there is
a refugee camp run by the government up there.
I had my husband bring
the safe from the house into the shelter yesterday. I don't
know why. We sold our valuables a long time ago. But, an idea
has been buzzing around in my head all day. I want to put
a picture of us in the safe, so something of what we were
will survive. It's silly, I know, but I just can't get it
out of my head. So, I will put it in the safe, along with
this journal.
All of my other writings
and journals were in the computer and now that the electricity
is out (thank goodness it is fall, or we would be roasting),
I can't get to them. I found this notebook in an old box about
three months before the war and had intended to give it to
the recycling program, but for some reason I didn't. I just
had this need to take a pen in my hand again and not a keyboard.
I am alone. I sit here, the last of the candles burning around
me as I write this final entry, for this will be my last day
on earth. Dramatic? Yes, but true enough.
About two weeks ago,
a truck full of airforce personnel came around announcing
on a bull horn for anyone still left in the neighborhood to
come out so they could speak to them. We went out, not knowing
what to expect.
They told us that they
were anticipating a full force attack to come across the border
in a few days, but intelligence wasn't sure when. They wanted
to evacuate anyone still left in Phoenix and had only limited
space on the planes to take us out. We would have to leave
all of our possessions and bring only what was on our backs.
Not even food or water could be taken.
The next day, they
came to pick us up. There were ten of us left, my children
and husband, Mr. George, who brought us the water, two couples
who didn't have children and me.
They only had room
on the roster for six more people. Four of us would have to
stay. A sergeant said he would try to send trucks back to
gather the people left behind, but we had to make a decision
who was going to go now. His eyes shifted in a way that made
me believe he didn't think that was going to happen.
We were stunned. All
we could do was stand there and look at each other, knowing
this would be the last we were together. The men in the group
immediately volunteered to stay, giving the spaces to the
women and children.
I couldn't take my
eyes off my husband as the children clung to me. Marc started
to cry and Alex was whimpering. Brianna was trying to be brave,
but her face was red and her cheeks were streaked with tears.
I'll never forget the look on Todd's face. He was trying to
let me know how much he loved the children and me. He couldn't
get any words out, but he didn't have to. We hugged and cried
and promised the children that daddy would follow soon.
We were the last to
load up. As we were about to get on the truck, a young sergeant
put his hand on my shoulder. In a very low voice that barely
reached my ears, he said, "You may want to have your
husband with the children." while he gave Brianna a significant
glance. I turned to look at Bri and saw her with a young man's
eyes. "We try to keep the camps as safe as possible,"
he murmured, "but rapes and stealing are common. If they
have their father, it will likely deter any but the most determined."
I know that he was
trying to give my children the best chance at survival. I
know, in my heart, he had their best interest in mind, but
I hate him more than anyone I have ever known. Because of
him, I have lost my family.
I sat Marc down and
asked Bri to hold his hand so he couldn't follow me. I told
my husband what the sergeant had said. I knew before I even
went over there what Todd would say. He wasn't going to let
me stay behind. I tried to argue with him, to let him know
how bad it had to be in the camp for the sergeant to even
say anything. That he was their best chance to live. He told
me that there was no way in hell he was going to go and leave
me behind.
I walked back to the sergeant and picked up Marc. As I passed
the sergeant, I whispered, "Make him go, I'll get out
of the truck after you get him in." A shocked look passed
over his face and I didn't think he would do it. But the lines
in his frown smoothed out and he said, "Yes ma'am."
The children and I
climbed into the back while the sergeant motioned to his men.
Before Todd knew what was happening, they grabbed him and
wrestled him down. They handcuffed him (what they were doing
with handcuffs, I have no idea, I am just grateful they had
them) and dragged him to the truck. He struggled, but the
men were determined. Todd isn't stupid; he knew what I had
done. I handed Marc over to Bri and told her she had to take
care of the little ones now. I think it was only at that moment
that the children really understood what was going on. Bri
started to cry and Alex screamed. Marc wouldn't let me go
as I tried to step out on to the bumper. He had hold of my
shirt and I couldn't pry his fingers off.
Finally, I was able
to shake free. The airforce men literally threw Todd into
the back of the truck. Bri had a death grip on Marc; he was
trying to climb out to get to me. He had always been a mommy's
boy, preferring my company to Todd's. I could see the faces
of the other people in the truck, they didn't understand what
was happening, but one woman put Alex on to her lap to comfort
her. That was good, it made me feel better to know she would
help them.
The last of the airmen
climbed into the truck, it started up and began to pull away.
I could still hear Marc over the sound of the engine; the
echoes of his cries pulsed against the empty street.
I was able to stand
until they left. I didn't want the last sight of their mother
to be a pitiful heap on the ground. As they turned the corner,
my legs collapsed under me. The sobs that I had been desperately
holding in broke free.
I felt a touch on my
shoulder. The men who had stayed behind gathered around me.
They didn't say anything, just touched my shoulders or back
as I sobbed. There was nothing they could have said anyway.
So, that's how I came
to be here. The picture is in my hand, ready to go into the
safe. I have the rock Alex gave me before the war started
and I will put that in there too. It is a beautiful rock and
precious to me.
I wish I had written
more in this journal, about the children and my husband. I
wish I could have captured Alex's smile on paper. Or the sweet
smell of Marc's hair after a bath and Bri's subtle attempts
to be a young lady. Now, I am glad I didn't, I don't think
I could endure to go back and read it. I have no hope to see
them again and I have lived for as long as I can without them.
I wish someone would
remember us.
Hilda sat back and closed
the notebook. She set it down and sighed, wondering if she
could have done what that mother did.
The jangle of the veiwscreen
made her jump. She limped to the machine as fast as she could
and hit the receiver button. John's face popped into view.
"The line over here
is really long." She could see him huddle into his jacket
against the cold. "I'll be at least another half an hour.
Do you want me to see if I can get a hamburger faster?"
he asked.
"Whatever is easiest
for you."
"Was there anything
good in the journal?"
"Ha, I knew there
was another reason you called. Long lines have never put you
off before when your stomach is involved."
"Yeah, well, so
what? Really, did you find something?"
Hilda hesitated, "There
wasn't a whole lot of hard information there. Only eight entries
at in all, but yes, there was one thing of significance. I
confirmed what happened to the libraries. It was the recycling
program."
"You're joking,
right? There is no way we could be that lucky."
Frowning, she said. "No,
I am not joking."
"Hey, don't get upset, I wasn't doubting you."
"I am sorry. I apologize.
It's wonderful that we have confirmation of the recycling
program, and yet…"
"Yet, what?"
John asked.
"I feel like I've
missed something." she said.
"Do I get to look at it when I get back?" he asked.
"Maybe I can find something."
"Yes, you can. Like
I would stop you, silly boy. But you'll get the computer version.
I am going to scan it and package it in the 'sealer."
"You get to have
all the fun. I'll be back in about a half an hour." The
screen went blank.
Hobbling around to ease
the last of the tingling sensation in her legs, she noticed
the rock in the safe. She cradled it in her cupped hand and
the warm smoothness seeped into her fingers. Rolling it around
in the palm of her hand, she marveled at the perfect surface.
The sun was setting outside,
brilliant oranges and purples hanging heavy in the sky, smothering
the mountains in the distance. Holding the rock up, she could
see it glitter faintly in the light. She closed her eyes and
wrapped her fingers around it more tightly.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped
open. "Brianna!"
Trembling, she made her
way to her desk and sat down. "Computer, bring up Charles
Holton's notes on the survivors of the third world war."
The computer clicked
and hummed as it flashed the information in front of her eyes.
"Search for the name Brianna."
"There are audio
recordings that fit your search specifications. Would you
like to play them?" the computer asked.
"Yes. Start with
the first one in chronological order."
A mechanical voice came through the speakers. "The
date is approximately November 4, 2048 AD. This interview
is with subject 37, a Mr. Howard Smith. Are you ready, Mr.
Smith?"
"Yes." an
older voice replied.
"Fine, we will
begin then. You were in the refugee camp named Camp Prescott,
weren't you?"
"Yes, we went
there when I was 17, almost 8 months after the war broke out.
Everything fell apart so quickly, that was the only sure place
to get a steady supply of food. My parents thought that we
would have a better chance there, but we probably would have
done just as well staying where we were."
"What were the
conditions like?"
"It was horrible.
Unimaginable, actually. My mother was raped the first week
we were there while she was trying to get water. The food
wasn't as plentiful as my parents had hoped and we among the
many people who ended up starving."
"What did the
army do about it?"
"Well, it depended
on the individual soldier. Some were honest and made sure
that the food or supplies went where they were supposed to.
Others would hold it back and give it out for favors someone
would do for them."
"Why didn't the
honest soldiers, as you call them, make any attempt to stop
the other ones?"
"There wasn't
much they could do about it. Let's just say that any soldier
who protested too much ended up in the garbage pits, not caring
one way or another."
"So, they were
killed?"
"I thought that
is what I said?"
"Yes, I just
wanted it to be clear. Mr. Smith, the thing I am most interested
is the young girl you knew while you were at the camp. Brianna
was her name?"
"Yes, that was
her name. She was a pretty girl and smart too. I had seen
her around camp from time to time, but it wasn't until about
a year later that I really got to know her."
"The reason I
am interested in her is because it is rumored that she is
the one who led the revolt that dispersed the camp."
"Yep, she was.
Organized it, too."
"Do you know
why she did it?"
"Yes."
Hilda could here a
heavy sigh and a deep silence, then the reluctant voice continued.
"You have to
understand. People blamed her for what happened after. She
didn't know what would be the result, none of us did and we
wanted to be free to survive on our own, without the army's
interference."
"Stop! Stop the
recording!" Taking a deep breath, Hilda steadied herself.
"Brianna might
have been a popular name, you don't know that it was the same
girl. What would be the chances of that?" she said aloud.
She got up and paced restlessly around, finally coming to
stand in front of a window.
"Resume playing
the recording. Up volume."
"Tell me about
her." Charles Holton asked
" She drew the
attention of every man in the camp. Her daddy kept them all
away, he wouldn't even let a man talk to her. But he was killed
about four months after they had arrived. I don't know what
happened to her momma. Bri never would talk about it. Any
time someone would ask her, she got this god-awful look in
her eyes. There was something she was carrying around none
of us wanted to touch."
"What do you
mean?"
"She carried
something inside about her mother. Not one of us really wanted
to ask her for fear she would do something violent. The only
other time I saw her look like that was the day she came back
from the food line to find her brother and sister dead."
There was a long pause
and Hilda heard the man take a couple of quick breaths.
"Some soldier killed them so he could have Bri as his
woman. He wanted her full time, to do his cooking and cleaning
and stuff, you know? I guess he didn't want her to take the
time away from him to care for the little ones."
"So, her brother
and sister dying. That caused her to do what she did?"
"What we all
did. She didn't do it on her own, she just got us organized.
She set a day. We decided there was nothing else we could
do but charge the soldiers all at once. We over ran them and
took over the weapons depo. That is when it happened."
"When the gas
was released?"
"Yes, I don't
even know who did it, someone told me it was her, but I don't
know for sure. All of a sudden, there was a thick, foul-smelling
gas in the air. Everyone started running in every which way.
We didn't understand what would come of it until later, when
we found another army camp. In Utah I believe it was."
"What happened?"
"The army doc said that all the deformities in the new
babies being born were from that gas. It was something the
government had developed to change the genetic make up of
a group of people so their babies would die. What better way
to destroy a population than by killing its unborn children?
Only it didn't really work. The babies were deformed, but
they lived."
"Stop recording." Hilda said softly. Warm, salty
tears flowed over her skin. She leaned forward and stared
at the blurry outline of her face in the window. The lumps
and distortions gazed back from the darkness of all the tomorrows
to come. Hilda could, she knew, get out of the lab altogether
before John got back with their dinner. She could disappear
completely before any of her colleagues knew she had stepped
out of her usual routine. But no, that wouldn't work. They
always found her, no matter where she hid. Unable to look
at herself even by accident, she could never survive in the
outside world.
"Computer. Lights
out."
©1999 Christie
Benson
Writings
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