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The closer we got to town the more nervous I became. As we drove down North Main Street, there was no sign of life. It looked like a war zone, with the streets lined with burned out buildings and vehicles. I kept my jaw clamped, except to tell Danny where to turn right on Fifth, and left on Michigan Avenue. I lost it when we reached 407, my mom’s place. Her red Honda was in the drive, burned out, just like the house and the garage. She was gone, and I was cast adrift.
Danny asked if I wanted him to recover and bury her body. I told him thanks, but it wasn’t necessary. The town is a graveyard. The dead will take care of the dead.
Danny said, "We need to move on, I have a place we need reach before dark."
I got back in the van thinking I would never get the smell out of my soul.
We drove south on Main Street and turned right by the ruins of Wyles drive-in. The destruction continued as we pulled into the airport complex. Buildings, airplanes, and even the control tower were all burned, ash-covered hulks.
Danny pulled up to a seemingly undamaged large concrete and steel building. It had a big roll-up door, and a single conventional door in front. The only sign was scorched, but readable, Building 227.
Danny walked to the front door. He took out a key, opened it, and said, “Stay in the van, I’ll be right back.”
Two minutes later, the big door rolled up and Danny motioned for me to drive the van inside.
Danny went to a panel, and the lights became illuminated.
He opened the van door and said, “We’re home for a while. After I get the door closed, we’ll take our stuff upstairs.”
Danny had told me about his job at the Regional Homeland Security Center, but this was not the typical government office building I was expecting.
We were in a huge warehouse, with rows and rows of full storage racks. There were also several vehicles parked along one wall, including what looked like an armored car.
We grabbed our bags and went upstairs to what appeared to be a large office complex.
Danny opened one door and said, “Since we’re the only ones here, we get to pick, and I bet the Director’s office is the most comfortable.” He stepped inside and said, “Your tax dollars at work.”
The room was immense, with a sitting area, big screen TV, a small kitchen, a monster desk and credenza. A door led to a full bathroom. There was thick carpet on the floor and several large paintings and prints adorned the walls. The outside walls had large, thick windows facing west. Danny said the view of Capitan would be excellent if the visibility permitted it. He added, that the windows were bulletproof polycarbonate.
We spent the next two days getting settled. I found out the couch in the setting room made into a queen-sized bed that was very comfortable. There was a large dormitory, with 20 beds at the opposite end of the upper floor, and a big kitchen, It was well stocked, but we had to throw out the contents of the walk-in refer and freezer, which had spoiled when the power went down.
Danny said he had only turned on the small 5KW backup generator, which took a lot less fuel, and was big enough to power lights, the well pump, and the security system.
From either the computer room, or the terminal on the Director’s desk, any of the 32 security cameras could be displayed. Automatic movement detection would trigger an audio alarm and select the camera where it occurred.
Danny found a series of emails sent from the Denver Presidential Bunker that came in over a backup fiber optic net.
The first one stated that communications were disrupted, and that the surface sensors had all failed. They requested that any facility receiving the message respond with status.
The next message, several hours later, reported no responses to the first request had been received. It also stated that the exits were blocked by volcanic ash. It also stated that the temperature in the upper levels was rising, and could not be controlled. It closed with a request for any station receiving this transmission to immediately dispatch heavy equipment to clear access to the emergency exits.
The last one, 36 hours later, was tragic. “The outside vents are blocked. Oxygen level is falling and Co2 scrubbers are no longer working. Generators stopped to save oxygen. Top six levels are too hot to survive. Attempt to blast Emergency Exit open failed. Batteries almost gone. We are doomed.”
I was watching Danny as he read the messages. His face paled, and he spoke. “There were over 25,000 people in that bunker. The President and his family, most of the Federal Government and a lot of the State Governments are all gone. This is the end of our world.”
On the third day after our arrival, the audio intruder alarm sounded. Hector Garza was pulling a small wagon, looking for food for his expanded family.
They were running low on food and he was very reluctant to start eating their store of seed stock. The storm had killed most of his garden, and they had been living on dug potatoes, onions, and carrots. Winter was coming, and he was worried about starvation. He was surprised and pleased to see the door to Building 227 open and a young couple step out. They were both armed, but appeared friendly.
Over the next hour we established a bond with this humble man. Danny invited him inside and offered to give him a load of food and a ride back to his place. We loaded up one of the two armored SUV’s, and drove out to the Garza farm. Mrs. Garza insisted that we stay for dinner, and we all enjoyed the meal she and Maria prepared.
After dinner, Danny discussed what we knew about the current situation. He strongly suggested that the Garza family move into Building 227 for the winter, since they had very limited power and supplies on the farm.
Hector wanted to sleep on it, even though Maria and Robert were agreeable to the idea.
Danny said he understood, but we would all increase our chances for survival if we stick together. He did not mention his plans to depart for California in the spring. We left a hand held radio with them, and they promised to call with their decision in the morning.
The next morning Hector called and agreed to the move. He still wanted to be able to work his fields when the weather permitted. Around noon, I drove a pickup and Danny drove the bus out to the Garza farm. It was hard for the Garzas to leave their long-term home, even though they both knew it was for the best. They didn’t need to bring their furniture, and by the end of the afternoon, we had everything packed. Hector made a sign that he put on the front door. It read:
This Property is NOT Abandoned!
It belongs to the Garza family.
We Will Return Soon and Trespassers
Will Be Shot!
That night I made pasta and a canned meatball dinner. It was not great, but it was hot and filling. The Garza and Wilson families moved into office spaces and settled down for the night.
When Danny joined me after his shower, I asked, “Just what are your plans for here? Are you going to leave these people high and dry in the spring?”
He looked at me and said, “ Before we can leave, I have to build a community that’s sustainable. There has to be more survivors in the area, but they won’t make it if the winter’s bad. I’ll just have to find them.”
We spent two hours planning how to do that.
The next morning we started a search effort that finally stopped when the first snow storm hit. We collected 30 more survivors who included men, women, and children. Some were in bad shape, both mentally and physically.
Dr. Victoria Hanson had ridden out the storm in her Hagerman family home and clinic. The brick building had partially collapsed, but the basement clinic was not damaged. She only agreed to come after we agreed to bring all the equipment and supplies from the clinic.
There were only five couples, eight unattached men, twelve women, and seven children. Two of the kids were new orphans. We put a tarp up in the dorm to separate the unattached adults, and Mrs. Garza took over the orphans like an old mother hen. Her cookies made her a rock star for all the kids.
The first snowfall left a foot on the ground, but a warm rain the following day melted it all.
