And so the hours and the days progress. I find myself becoming used to the dark and the silence. My work is monotonous, which leaves me time to think. Thinking can be dangerous, especially when those thoughts run to the people above, those drones who are oblivious to the goings-on under their feet. Part of our assignment is to remain inconspicuous. What I find is that being somewhat unremarkable provides me with the ability to notice things that I may otherwise need to ignore for fear of someone perceiving my stare.
But what I notice is that things are not right, not normal. Beyond the prodigious amount of resources that I noted on my first glimpse of Renascence, there is an underlying unease that I feel flowing through its streets, as though the face of the city masks something ugly.
It is startling when it finally clicks. Springer and I emerge from a ten-hour day in the sewers to enjoy the last rays of the sun as they sink below the horizon. As we sit on a bench in the outskirts of the commons, I see it. They are all young. It takes me a while for this to sink in, but once it does, I can’t understand how I missed it. It is a sea of youthful faces, free of the signs of age and experience. No wrinkles here, nor signs of worry, no thin skin and chapped knuckles. I see no aging bodies stooped with aching backs and gnarled hands.
Looking at the residents themselves, I note that the hair color and skin tones show subtle differences, but overall, they are all so similar, like the drones. They are stocky and muscular, healthy, filled with vitality, not scraping by each day trying to fill a hollow stomach. As Springer and I get up and unobtrusively pass through the city, I let my eyes wander discretely, noting the details that are so glaringly apparent now. There seem to be a relatively equal number of men and women with a rather prodigious number of children, in fact, when I begin to focus on the youngest souls, I find that their population seems to exceed those of the adults. Clearly, the one-child policy does not apply here. It’s just another inequity to add to the list. There is little difference in how they behave from the many kids I knew at home. The energy and squeals of laughter seem normal to me, but that is where the similarity ends. The children of Renascence possess physical traits that are too similar, too specific.
What kind of place is this? My mind spins with possibilities as it becomes glaringly apparent that Renascence is some façade.
It has become more challenging to go below ground. The stillness and gloom are no longer comfortable. I feel like the dark is closing in on me each time we do lately. I have never been susceptible to claustrophobia, but this pushes my limits so far that I can feel it setting in. It makes me anxious and weepy. I am finding myself wiping my eyes of tears that stem from nothing but the darkness and the grueling hours. I don’t know how much more I can take.
The relentless hours in the tunnels have crossed into countless days when I find myself in a new pipeline that resides under the city center. I find more dips and curves than prior tunnels as we make our way through the darkness. I am standing under yet another maintenance hole when I notice that under my feet is a circular opening, sealed shut with a type of wheel on the hatch. I step back, and motion to Springer, who shines the flashlight on the hatch then looks at me questioningly. Being directly under the medical center in the heart of Renascence makes us cautious, and while I want to know what lies beyond the hatch, I am wary of creating too much noise that could lead to our discovery, as we have been tasked to be inconspicuous.
Springer motions for me to step to the opposite side of the hatch and we lower ourselves onto our knees. Hands on both sides of the wheel apparatus, Springer mouths a countdown from three, and then we attempt to turn the wheel. Our first efforts are for naught. The wheel feels immovable, as though it has been sealed by years of neglect, but then a low groan escapes the inner gears, and we feel it slowly turn. Sweat pops out on my forehead, and my arms begin to shake with exertion as we turn the wheel by steady degrees until it finally releases its hold with a rusty sigh.
Springer pulls the hatch open, and a pungent stench assails us. I cover my nose while he shines the light into what appears to be a large room, though the depth makes it impossible to see if the space is truly enclosed or is simply another access point to more pipelines. As he slowly runs the flashlight through the darkness, I can see a short ladder leading from the hatch to a metal landing which I assume extends to another ladder to the base of the chamber. The space is unlike anything we have seen up to this point and as my eyes lock onto his, I know we are both wondering if we have found the heart of the breach and the purpose for the system hack.
I am the first to descend. As I step into the room, I am enveloped in darkness and a musty smell that fills my nostrils and makes me gag. Ugh, I think to myself. Am I about to step into a nest of rats? I imagine that I can hear squeaking and the scraping of tiny nails against the cement. But, in the end, I see no evidence of little furry creatures scurrying about, and I continue on. As I assumed, the landing does lead to another, longer ladder, and I make my way to it. The climb to the floor of the room takes me longer than I had anticipated. The beam from Springer’s flashlight is too weak to penetrate the darkness.
Panic sets in as I am enveloped in smothering blackness. My brain conjures thoughts of the roof caving in, leaving me trapped in the dark, buried under layers of rock. I have to force myself to breathe evenly and spend a couple of minutes talking myself out of a full-blown panic attack. I’m getting worse. These episodes are becoming more frequent and debilitating. When I have reigned in some control, I try to take stock of my surroundings. The room has a completely unexpected depth, and I wonder about its past purpose.
Springer is on the landing and making his way to the ladder when my foot slips, and I find myself falling. I yelp in fright but hit the ground with a crunch much sooner than I had expected.
Springer’s panicked whisper bounces off the walls. “Enora? Enora? Are you okay?”
It takes me a second to start breathing again and answer him. “Yeah,” I whisper back. “I didn’t fall too far.”
I put my hands out to lift myself up and then jerk them back in surprise and momentary fright. I’m not sitting on a floor, or rather I am on the floor, but the floor is covered in something, and it is that something that has broken my fall. I feel my heart racing, and my breathing takes on a panicked panting. I fumble for the mapping device that slipped from my hand as I fell, cringing as I encounter God-knows-what in my attempt to grasp the familiar object. I am to the point of hyperventilating when my fingers find it, and with a sob of relief, I switch it on, and the dim illumination pushes back the darkness. As my eyes wander from the glow around the device to the surface below the feeble light, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from releasing a horrified scream.
Oh god…oh god…oh god…I can’t move! I’m not seeing this, I tell myself. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up, Enora!
It’s a tomb. This entire room is a tomb!
When Springer’s hand touches my shoulder, my heart nearly leaps from my chest. If his other hand hadn’t covered my mouth, my scream would have reverberated throughout the room and beyond.
“Enora, it’s me,” he whispers harshly. His hand remains clamped over my mouth. “Don’t scream.” All I can do is nod as he releases me.
Springer helps me to my feet, and I find myself standing on a mountain of bones. I hear a sickening crunch as I shift my weight, and a whimper of abhorrence escapes my lips.
They’re babies, all of them, the charred remains of their tiny skulls and bones littering the floor in layers upon layers.
I tell myself that this can’t be real, but the truth is irrefutable.
Springer is silent as he scans the awfulness buried beneath the city. What does it mean? What would cause so many babies to die, and why would they be entombed in this place, this mass grave? The idea of an insidious virus floats through my mind. This would not be unheard of as viral outbreaks are a very real problem around the world. But I quickly discard this idea. I have never heard of an outbreak that targeted only a select group of people, which makes me circle back to the knowledge that this is no accident. I can feel myself shaking, cold to the marrow of my bones.
Springer’s voice is startling in the deathly silence when he chokes out, “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t recall ascending the ladder nor stumbling through the maze of pipelines. Springer must have dragged me along behind him because I suddenly find myself sprawled on the floor of a tunnel, just beyond the access point we had used in the morning. My mind is fuzzy. I feel myself trying to shut out what I saw and deny the images burned into my brain. But I can’t.
The Company killed them, hundreds of them. Are there other tombs like this one, hidden under the city in a maze of tunnels? I don’t want to be here anymore. I rub my palms against my eyes and feel a gritty substance leave smudges on my cheeks. I jerk my hands away and begin to frantically wipe them on my pants, desperate to get the grit of bones off, but I can’t seem to wipe it clean and feel myself slam my back against the passageway in a desperate attempt to get away from it.
Springer pulls himself out of his trance and crouches down in front of me to grab my hands and keep me still. It takes me a minute to register his presence, but I stop fighting and look into his eyes in the shadowy darkness.
“What does it mean?” I whisper.
His head turns to the side, staring off into nothing. “I don’t know.”
I’m not sure how long we have been sitting. I only know it has been an extended time, as my muscles have begun to cramp, and my feet, tucked under me, have long since gone numb. I’m not sure if Springer is sleeping, so I gently nudge him with my elbow, unable to remain in the darkness any longer. He turns bleary eyes to me, nods, and slowly rises with a groan from aching muscles. I stagger as I haul myself up, using the wall of the tunnel as leverage. The sensation of pins and needles assaults my legs as I get the blood flowing not only through my limbs but also my foggy mind.
We exit the pipeline and furtively make our way back to the headquarters, closing the door to our room with overcautious silence. I immediately grab a clean uniform and make my way to the showers. As the spray of water washes over me, I see trails of ashes swirling toward the drain to disappear into the bowels of the city, like all of those bodies. As I exit the warmth of the shower and towel myself off, I imagine that I can still feel the fragments of bone under my fingertips and the grit covering my cheeks. It is grime that I can’t wash away as this awful knowledge is not something I can erase.
It is not safe to talk here, and so we lie in our separate beds in darkness, each with our terrible thoughts, wrestling our nightmares and shying away from uncovering the truth.
When morning comes, I try to drag myself from a haze of awful dreams. Although I am eager to leave the nightmares behind me, they are like sticky webs that snare my consciousness and plague me with images I desperately want to forget. It is the muted sounds of Springer moving about that finally allow me to pull free of the torment and force my eyes open into the light of a new day. I lie in my bed, reluctant to get up and face the task ahead of me. Just the thought of heading underground causes my heart to begin racing. I need to pull myself together, but all I see is the tomb and myself trapped in it.
Unable to delay any longer, I force myself to get up. My hands shake a little as I grab my clothes, but I shake off the tremors and finish getting ready. Springer and I murmur a greeting to each other when I emerge from my room and choke down a few bites of food before leaving for the tunnels, the only place that we will be able to break our silence. I force my mind to focus on this as we walk so I don’t feed my growing anxiety.
As we make our way, I view the populace around us. Their likenesses are not an aberration. There is no mistaking the intentionality of the physical uniformity, but the purpose behind it remains obscured. All around me are muscular Sentinels, capped with blond hair of varying shades. Those eyes that I do note, are either blue or green. I don’t look too closely, though. The civilians are different but equally similar to each other. It’s a bit like looking at a group of people all churned out by some factory. We soon pass through this façade and into the depths under Renascence.
Once darkness envelops us, I breathe a sigh of relief at having avoided the claustrophobic feelings of late and lower myself to the hard, cold surface. Springer joins me, and we sit in silence for a time, mulling over what to say.
My voice invades the quiet first. “That tomb had only one purpose.”
“Yes, so it appears, but why was it needed in the first place?”
I shake my head, unable to formulate a rationale that would explain the intentional disposal of those tiny souls.
“It makes no sense. I mean, why? You know? Why would they just…?” I can’t utter the words. They are too profane.
“Do you think they were all children?” His voice cracks.
“No,” I sigh. “Not children. Babies.”
Springer turns his head, blindly gazing into the darkness beyond the glow of the flashlight. “This place is not what it seems.”
I have been waiting for him to speak my thoughts about what I have noticed since we first arrived. “I know.”
“So, care to clue me in to what you’ve already worked out?”
My shoulders sag in relief. I have wanted to share my suspicions but was reluctant to, though I’m not sure why. I spend the next few minutes sharing all of the things I’ve noted as we’ve lurked in the shadows of the city. Springer listens, never interrupting, only nodding now and then as if to confirm that he, too, had noted the same anomaly. By the time I’ve purged myself of all of my misgivings, I feel drained.
“I guess I haven’t really looked at things the way you do.” Springer’s voice is soft. “Or maybe I just haven’t wanted to see, you know?”
I nod. “So, can you make any sense out of any of it?”
I’m so hopeful that as he’s listened to my observations, he has been able to puzzle out what seems to be right in front of me and yet miles away.
He takes a breath as if to start talking, then pauses before saying, “I think that multiple things are going on here. You mentioned that the Sentinels show similar traits, but you also implied that those traits are not like the civilians. Is that right?”
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying. Maybe they have been messing with different growth stimulators or something because the Sentinels are like no one I know back home. These people are like some strange carbon copy of each other, all blond and beefy.” As I think on that, I realize that’s not entirely true. The kids I call drones are remarkably similar.
“Hmm, growth stimulation makes a lot of sense. I mean, those guys are big as hell.”
“Still doesn’t explain everyone else, though,” I mumble because that’s the piece that I find most perplexing and disturbing.
As I concentrate on the many civilians I’ve seen in Renascence, I begin to catalog their characteristics. Compiling information is a skill that’s become so ingrained in my daily routine that it seems like second nature to apply it to this new conundrum. That they are young was established early on in my observations, but I now realize other blatant characteristics that I previously ignored.
“Have you noticed that the majority of the civilians are probably my height or smaller? I mean, even the men are relatively short from what I’ve seen.”
Springer grunts as he mulls that over. “I guess they do seem rather small. But I wouldn’t call them skinny. It’s like their bodies are kind of compact or something.”
My brows wrinkle as I try to picture what he means. “Huh.” I say before adding, “So, what do you think it is that makes them different?”
He shrugs. “I can’t say, Enora. It’s like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit together.”
“Maybe we just haven’t found enough pieces yet,” I grumble.
He chuckles before adding, “I, for one, am going to get a better look when we head back.”
“Me too.”
Springer nods, and we slowly get up and wander through the dark tunnels until we find where we left off. I’m so eager to get this assignment done. This place isn’t natural, and I just want to get out of here.
As we leave this subterranean world later in the day, a feeling of paranoia is prominent in my mind. A crawling sensation is radiating up my spine as though multiple eyes are tracking my progress despite how discreet I am trying to be. Do they know what we found? Are they tracking us? As usual, I keep my head lowered and furtively look around, hyper-focusing on the inhabitants that are going about their lives in this cancerous utopia.
As my eyes dart from one individual to another, I layer my observations with that of Springer and see that the civilians appear ‘compact’, as he put it. They are somewhat small and muscular but not in the way the Sentinels are, with bulging muscles. Rather they have a sort of lean muscular structure that makes them appear strong without the typical physiological features of strength. As we near headquarters, I take one last look and confirm what I had observed early on regarding age and height before heading inside.
I can’t share my impressions with Springer, not in this place of constant surveillance, so I tuck them away, knowing they will be in the forefront of my mind as I lay in my bed. We eat a sparse dinner, neither of us feeling much of an appetite before heading to our quarters for a respite for the night.