The first thing I heard was the release of air, followed by a mechanical hum; it felt like an attack on my senses, not loud, but still jarring. I felt almost as if I had a fever, shivering in the cold but covered in sweat and dizzy. I had a light headache, and my legs felt weak and shaky. After finally opening my eyes, I could still barely see due to the darkness. I looked around at the small chamber I was in, a lightly colored padding lining the inside, and a dark steel along the outside. I tried to move, but was instantly jerked back by the mask covering my mouth and nose. It was connected by tubes to the inside of the chamber; I quickly ripped it from my face, leaving a faint sting around my jaw. I finally took my first step out of the chamber and instantly fell to my knees. landing in about an inch of gross water. My smell finally returned, and I was shocked by the dry, earthy odor. There were supposed to be people here when I came out. What happened to this place?
I regained my composure, and my strength returned quickly. I tried to recall what I was told it would be like to reawaken. I saw the military doctors, white coats, and clipboards, and I remembered the layout of the base. I stood up from the gross, cold water. I remembered putting my stuff away in a locker across from my chamber.
After splashing through the shallow water in my bare feet, I found my locker by memory, second from the right; it was difficult to see in the dark. I gripped the cold, steel handle and pulled it open with more resistance than I expected. Inside, I felt around to find my uniform; the cold air was harsh against my nearly bare body. I found my coat to have a light mold on it, but my shirt and pants were only a little damp; my socks and boots seemed to remain dry. I quickly donned my clothes, a well-fitting, grey t-shirt, with a US Air Force logo and the year I joined, 2083, on the left breast, covering my lean body, tucked into looser, light-greyish camo pants, held by a black, leather belt with a silver buckle. I held my short, black leather combat boots and my socks while I found a dry place to put them on in the corner of the room. Only now did I remember that I wasn't the only one in the chambers.
I stepped back through the dark water to check on the others in their large steel pods. I could barely see through the fogged windows on the chamber doors; they still seemed to be in stasis. I hoped they weren't dead, but I knew better; these chambers were supposed to open simultaneously, either I was early, or their chambers didn't keep them alive as mine had. I realized I was likely the only living member of the third division stasis team; the other seven died in stasis. I hoped that the other teams were still with us. I wasn't religious, but I made a silent prayer that I wasn't the only one to come out of stasis. It was obvious to me that something had gone wrong.
Finally, leaving the dark room and entering the equally dark hallway, I look left to pitch darkness, then right to see a dim light at the end when the hall curved left toward the first division chamber room. I made a short jog down the dark hall; my boots beat loudly against the solid concrete floor. As I approached the turn and got closer to the light, I heard footsteps coming toward me from around the corner; my prayer was answered. I stepped around the bend to see the silhouette of a large man standing across from me, and we locked eyes in the dim light. "Name?" He shouted at me in a commanding but polite tone, "Noah Edwards, third division!" I shouted back, "Yours?" I asked. He stepped closer to the light in the hall, which I then noticed was a large, cracked bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling, lighting the cold, concrete walls and floor. I stepped out into the light, "My name is Adam Payne, from the first division." Says the muscular, dark-skinned man, I saw his close-cut, tapered hair, light sideburns, and neat goatee on a decently handsome face. He looks at me with a furrowed brow and a curious expression. I shook his hand. He wore a similar outfit to mine, "Navy SEAL" written on his pale green shirt. "Where are the other third division team members?" He asks, "Unfortunately, I think I'm the only one." I informed him, "Damn," exclaimed Adam, "only three of us woke up in the first division; the other two went to check the second; we should go catch up." He gestured back the way he came, "Are there working lights this way?" I asked, half joking, half hoping I wouldn't have to walk through the dark anymore, "Yeah, I think most are still working over here." He answered to my satisfaction. I walked with him for a moment before he asked a question he seemed to be thinking about for a while, "Aren't you a bit young?" "Does it matter? You don't seem to be much older than me." I reply, "I guess not, who knows how old we are now anyway." He jokes. The age limit for the stasis program was only 25, but having been only 19, I knew I'd be the youngest. Hundreds volunteered for the stasis program, but most of us were picked because we were all orphans, like me, chosen because we had nothing to go home to, nobody waiting for us back in 2085. For most of us, the military was our lives.
After about a minute, we arrived at the second division chamber room, where I saw a tall, blonde woman, a dark-haired man wearing a cowboy hat, and a dark-skinned woman sitting down in her open chamber. She seemed to still be feverish from stasis. The blonde woman addressed Adam, "We have three survivors from the second division, one went with Jon to check the armory." She spoke to Adam with the kind of tone one would use to speak to a superior. His presence commanded the room. "You three go catch up, I'll stay here until she is ready to go." Adam nods his head toward the feverish woman.
I held my hand out to greet the other two, "Noah, third division." The man wearing the cowboy hat looked at me with a curious expression briefly before shaking my hand with a firm grip, "Scott, second. Are you really in the third division? I wasn't expectin' someone so young, where're the others?" He asked quickly, in a light, southern accent. Scott was close in height to me, maybe an inch or two shorter; his blue eyes shone from under his hat. Its wide, brown, felt-brim shadowed his pale face. A crooked, broken nose sat out of place between his high-set cheekbones. "The other stasis chambers didn't open. I'm the only one." I told him. "Well damn." He exclaimed.
"Elizabeth Patterson, sir." Said the tall, freckled-skinned, blonde woman, she looked at me with light, blue eyes, "You don't need to call me sir." I explained, smiling at her, and she nodded before we turned and started walking through the long hallway towards the stairs. Our boots produced a cacophony of thuds as we stepped through the concrete hall.
The lower level, where the chambers were held, was shaped like a diamond. The stairs were at the end of two halls leading from the first and second division chambers, which also led into two halls toward the third division at the opposite end from the stairs.
We quickly ascended the concrete steps; the upper level held the offices across from the stairs, the armory to the left, and the vehicle bay by the exit tunnel on the right. Before reaching the final steps, we heard the distinct, loud bang of a firearm discharging. I looked to my right and saw worried expressions on my companions faces. We rushed left from the stairs to get to the poorly lit armory. We rounded the corner to see two men standing by the lockers on the right wall of the armory. A tall, white man stood holding the metaphorical and literal smoking gun, a look of shock and wincing on both men's faces. "Holy crap!" Shouted the shorter of the two men, he had darker skin than I, short, dark, curly hair hung just above his thick brows, he had dark eyes, and a kind face. I stepped closer to the man holding the recently fired handgun. I looked up at him; he was a decent four inches above me, "Safety on, no loaded firearms in the base." He looked back at me, pulling his head back and staring at me with dark eyes and an expression of annoyance. He had short, crew-cut hair, a tall head, and a square jaw. "Back off, kid," he demanded. "Watch your tone, Jon," ordered Elizabeth, "alright fine," said Jon exasperatedly as he waved his hands in frustration, carelessly still holding the gun in his hand. I grabbed his handgun by the top of the barrel with my left hand, his wrist with my right, and took the firearm, clicked the safety on the gun with my thumb, and ejected the magazine, catching it with my left hand. I turned my body to look at the others and saw Adam and the woman from the second division come around the corner, "What is going on in here?" Asked a concerned Adam, "weapon malfunction." I said matter-of-factly.
Adam stepped into the center of the armory, "We should make proper introductions, starting with the first division," he said, "I'll go first, Adam Payne, Navy SEAL." The rest of the first introduced themselves, "Elizabeth Patterson, Green Beret." "Jon Bailey, Marine Corps." Then the second division, "Anthony Flores, Army Ranger." "Scott Walker, Army Ranger." "Julia Ross, Green Beret." And finally, I was left with the other six all looking to me, the sole survivor of the third division, "Noah Edwards, Air Force." We all paused for a moment before Adam spoke again, "While technically, Noah outranks the rest of us as the only survivor of the third division, we are all supposed to wait for orders from our commanders, but obviously, they are not here... and haven't been for a long time." He finishes by pointing up to the wall on our left, showing a clock with unmoving hands, stuck on 7:06. "The second division should have a weapons expert," "that's me," declared Anthony. "Check the equipment and sort it into bags. Jon and I will check the vehicle bay. Two of the rest of you should double-check the stasis chambers, and the other two should try to get into the office." Finished Adam.
We all found our personal weapon lockers along the walls in the large room. After dusting off our gear, we all split quickly. Scott and Elizabeth went back down to the lower level, Jon and Adam headed down the long hall toward the vehicle bay, and Anthony stayed in the armory, packing duffels full of equipment, weapons, and tools. I finally stepped out of the armory with a light holster on my right thigh, carrying a tan M18 pistol and a black sheath above it on my belt to carry my black-handled knife. I also carried a compact, black, tactical backpack, which held my civilian clothes and a couple of extra items.
Julia and I made our way down the hall to the office. She was a dark-skinned woman, of a similar height to me, with tightly braided, dark hair held close behind her head. We found the office, its steel doors on our left side, a metal bar extending across it, to the right of the door, in the concrete wall was a keypad. I tried entering random four-digit codes, but nothing happened, no beeps, nothing to even show that it might work. We were locked out. "The power is barely keeping the lights on; I doubt the keypad works." Mentioned Julia, watching me mash random buttons. "Right, makes sense." I attempted to push the door with one hand, but it wouldn't budge. "Hey!" I hammered my fist on the solid, metal door, "Anyone in there?" I shouted to no response. Julia spoke up, "They probably have some tools in the vehicle bay, might be our best bet at getting in there." She gestured down the hall to where Adam and Jon had gone. "Good idea," I responded before we made our way down the far hall. At the end was a large set of solid metal, double doors, big enough for a large vehicle to pass through. On our left was a large, open room.
There were a few dusty trucks and UTVs lined up, close to the far wall. We saw Adam reaching into the back seat of a dark, compact, military utility truck. We walked through the high-ceilinged, concrete room. It was probably the best-lit room in the base; other than the dust, it looked just about the same as the last time I was here. As we got closer, I saw the truck more clearly, two rows of seats covered by a roof and wind shield, and a short bed in the back. The two rear seats pointed toward the bed. Adam saw us approaching and, while still moving things around in the rear seat, asked, "Did you get into the office yet?" "Not yet, the door won't move," I answered. "We need some tools to get in, thought there might be some in here." Julia continued, Jon spoke up from the other side of the truck, he was kneeling by the left side, cranking a torque wrench back and forth on the front wheel, "right here!" He pulled a black tool bag out from beside him, reached in and fished out a couple of tools before placing them beside him, then he tossed the bag to Julia, who caught it easily, "Hurry up, truck'll be ready to go soon." Jon informed us. "Understood, thanks, Jon," Julia said.
We quickly returned to the office door in the hall; Julia handed me a hacksaw from the bag, and I started cutting the metal bar across the door, sawing back and forth. I had cut about halfway through the bar when I felt a light release, the remaining bar bending as I pushed on it. "Julia, get the other side. I think we can push through." I explained, she took the right door, and I took the left. We pushed hard, the bar bent but wouldn't snap, a gap appeared between the doors, and a vile stench wafted out with a cloud of dust. The smell instantly knocked me back. Julia began coughing, and I turned and held back from throwing up. "Holy... crap, did... You see in?" Asked Julia between coughs, I did see in, "uhh yeah, skeletons, rotted bodies." I gagged. "They must have been stuck in there." Adds Julia, "No use trying to get in now, we should find out what happened outside." She continued. Anthony came around the corner from the armory, carrying a tan bag almost as tall as he is hanging from his back, and a heavy, dark green duffel in his right hand, pinching his nose with his left, "What's that smell?" He asked, a look of disgust across his face, "A couple of guys died... in the office." I answered, still resisting throwing up, "oh god, we should get out of here soon. I'll be in the vehicle bay." Said Anthony before continuing down the hall. We heard footsteps from the stairs behind us. Scott and Elizabeth came up with looks of discontent. Scott saw us and spoke up, "Nothing, no survivors." "Damn... We should leave soon, I think Adam and Jon have a vehicle ready down the hall." I explained, pointing toward the vehicle bay, that a sudden, loud grinding sound, then a mechanical whir, could be heard. We rush toward the sound of the starting car.
In the vehicle bay, we found Jon fiddling with something in the driver's seat of the truck while Adam and Anthony looked through bags and stuffed items in hatches under the floor. Adam shouted out to the rest of us as we approached, "Truck's ready, get in." Elizabeth took her seat in the front next to Jon, and Julia and Adam sat in the back-facing rear seats, several large bags between them. Anthony, Scott, and I sat in the open bed. "Everyone ready?" Asked Jon, "All set, get moving." Answered Adam. The truck started moving forward with a quick jolt. Jon drove us out of the large vehicle bay and out into the big hallway, turning left and stopping at the large blast doors. Scott tapped my arm, and we both hopped out of the back. We rounded the truck and approached the doors. I grabbed one side while he took the other. "Three, two... one." We pulled the large blast doors open only for a blast of hot, humid air to enter the base; the dim lights of the hall couldn't illuminate the darkness of the exit tunnel. Jon quickly lit up the headlights, a wave of bright light flooded the tunnel, though we still couldn't see to the end, but what we could see was the mess of large scratches covering the outside of the doors from top to bottom, they stretched higher than I could ever reach. I looked to Scott, an expression of concern spread across his now even paler face, and the rest in the truck looked on in shock at the massive scratch marks embedded in the large, solid steel blast doors. Something big really wanted to get in.