The Shelter (Survivors Book 1) (2 page)

“Healed? While I’m in agony? I’ve a headache, I’m constantly dizzy, I’m tired when I get up in the morning, I lose my hair by big tufts...”

Doctor Leone agreed.

“You look bad indeed. And you are definitely too thin. Do you eat enough food, Mr. Lenfant?”

“How could I eat enough even though food we’re served is radioactive?”

Dr. Leone had a pensive air then said with a still calmer voice than she used to. “All the symptoms you describe could be explained by malnutrition, you know: headache, weariness, dizziness, hair loss... That is usually what happens when you do not feed properly. There is no need to conjure up radioactivity. Do you really believe that food we serve you is radioactive? For what purpose would we do such a thing?”

“I also eat these foods and I’m not sick” I added to cut short Lenfant’s delirium. “The foods they serve us are of good quality. Moreover, I’m well placed to know it because I’m a kind of cook here, as no one else seems to care.”

The irascible fellow deliberately ignored me while staring at the fair woman with small eyes burning as ice.

“Then you refuse to treat me?” he stubbornly said.

“On the contrary, Mr. Lenfant, I’m here for that.”

“So, do your job: give me drugs, something to relieve me.”

“But you have just said that it was snake oil,” she replied with a hint of mischief.

“Then give me something else”.

Dr. Leone shook her head.

“No”, she answered with a calm but clear voice. “I’m afraid all we can do will be useless to you. You’re not sick, not physically at least, and drugs are too precious to distribute them in order to satisfy your whims.”

The angry man was standing gaping, fixing her with a look of being lost.

“There’s something going amiss here, for sure,” he mumbled, rubbing his beard which was rough. “Or something else escapes me... An important thing... You’re a physician but you can’t do anything for me,” he said, nodding with an almost funny look as if he was trying to convince himself of the logic there was in these words.

“Really sorry, Mr. Lenfant. If you suffered a psychological block that prevented you from eating as usual, perhaps I could help you since my specialty is psyche. But since you tell me you are contaminated with radioactive food, I can’t do anything: this is not my area of expertise. You will have to wait for doctor Krug if you want another medical opinion, but I am not sure you’ll like it more.”

Dr. Leone’s argument had to hit the bull’s eye because the man appeared to be stopped in his tracks and he let himself fall onto the seat which was to my left, as he was sickened by life. I could not help but admire the calm and the slyness with what she had solved the problem, even though her argument was not entirely devoid of sophism (far from me to judge her because reasoning with madmen is like walking on thin ice with a sack of cement on shoulders). I thought that I should do well to remember this when I happen to meet him again, prowling through the corridors of the shelter. Sometimes he made me think about this old movie where I saw a human monster wandering corridors of a hotel with an ax in his hand.

Finally, Dr. Krug arrived. We were so focused on the lunatic that we have not seen him enter. Perhaps it is still an effect of my imagination but I felt his presence even before seeing him. Dr. Krug makes part of these beings whose the presence is so intense that it seems to result from physical causes. It was as if the room were suddenly charged with electricity. I felt in his manner of talking, of moving, of observing us, or not observing, not talking, not moving, the same feeling as in the spectacle of some forces of nature. His eyes in particular have a rare magnetism. They are wide and warm gray that recall me those of a cougar that I would contemplate at Barcelona’s zoo.

However, you should not believe that Dr. Krug has something wild or threatening. Far from it, he is a man of great civility, courteous, always self-controlled, with a deadpan sense of humor. He wore the usual uniform of his colleagues: a fine tight-fitting sweater with a crew neck and soft woolen pants, unfortunately both in always grayish tones, probably to remind us of the seriousness of his profession.

I guess he also
seemed
a very attractive man to most women (as long as they ignored what he really was). By the way, it was more than a guess if I judged by doctor Leone’s reactions when he entered a room. She was blushing and begging for his look as an act of charity. I should have been jealous of him but I could not, as if I had understood without even thinking that it was no use fighting against such a rival. Nevertheless, I comforted myself on thinking it was very doubtful that they had a real affair. Because I was pretty sure of one thing: Dr. Leone was a being human, she.

Dr. Krug always gave me the impression of being in a hurry. But now, thinking again about this, my impression was perhaps the same that a turtle could have on seeing a cheetah. Anyway, it first seemed to me that he wanted to redouble his efforts to catch up. So he made introductions as a host would make, what was not useless, even if we cohabited for several days, even several months for some of us.

“Here’s Brethren Hilaire Lussius of the Church of the Faithful Messengers”, he said looking at the big black man with white skin. He’s thirty years old, native from Haiti, and then, due to his illness, lived the rest of his life in France where he found God—”

“It’s the only one so” Lenfant snapped.

“His disease led us to avoid all powerful lighting advices for this meeting, as you can see,” Krug went on. “It’s indeed dangerous for our friend to expose himself to the sun or any other bright light—”

“Well, at least his problem’s set now”, Lenfant fiercely interrupted Krug on pointing at the window that faced him. “Jah had to answer his prayer, I guess”.

“I never prayed for that, you’re wrong” Lussius replied in a shrill voice. I almost startled so that I felt certain that I heard him speaking for the first time.

“He’s married, or at least he was, and he’d had two children. In addition to the Holy Scriptures, he loves general ledgers but hates calligraphy tattoos, whether they’re holy or not: I think that’s just about all for you,” Krug imperturbably said and turned to the irascible refugee on my left hand. “As for you, your name’s Pierre Lenfant. You were unmarried, childless. You’re fifty. You were gamekeeper in Pompeane’s area, in fact—”

“Not exactly,” the man corrected, “I was hunting guide. But my core business was forest ranger.”

Krug nodded as if the other man has taken the words right out of his mouth.

“You like trees indeed, as well as big dogs and weapons. I think that’s just about all for you.”

Logically, it was my turn now and I began to be wary of his “and that’s just about all for you”.

“Ramόn Estéban”, the doctor put, looking at me. “Spanish origin by both parents, had to go through the Pyrenees when he was a child because of the great depression. However, living was not much easier in France. Ramόn had then to travel from one city to another while his dad was going from one job to another. His mom—”

“I would prefer we skip this section”, I told him.

Dr. Krug was silent for a split second, fixing me with skepticism only visible by his suddenly stiff face.

“As you want. So the little Ramόn has become big, very big. He continued to travel and looked for work without much success. Ramόn then felt he was not very good for life, unless it was the other way around; He even wondered if it was worthwhile to go on like this... But he continued anyway, supported by a taste for life stronger than he thought then he met the most important person in his life. This person became his wife and they had a boy. Then his wife died along with their son. After that, Ramόn became writer and his book met with success, telling how his wife and his son were dead, or rather missing, and how much he suffered. Ramόn is now forty-five. He likes science-fiction, poetry, Spanish wine, beautiful naked women, the color orange...

“Pooh...” the woodman sniffed, “almost everybody likes beautiful naked women. Me too, I’d like beautiful naked women if I had the means to put some in my bed.”

I almost was grateful to him for having interrupted the doctor and thus avoided me the terrible and icy “and that’s just about all for you “.

I thought that he had completed introductions when he added: “And finally, here’s my collaborator, Dr. Francesca Leone, whom I designated as my substitute at the head of this shelter. Don’t trust her youth or her sweet face—you would be surprised if she tells you how old she is—Dr. Leone’s a very good in her field. She’s also and above all a person with a great sense of duty. She used to put general interest above her own interests when necessary. She always does what it needs to be done, even if it cost her. In the beginning, she did not want to take such a responsibility but I managed to convince her that she was the right person in the right place and she eventually agreed: I thank her very much.”

While Krug listed the qualities of his collaborator, I was looking at the blonde’s face which showed a slight disbelief. I felt her relief when Dr. Krug stopped talking.

“And as for you?” I asked him, partly to divert general attention from the sad woman.

“Me, I’m doctor Krug”, he replied with a smile (he was of course lying: no smile could express it better and I knew why—what an idea to take such a foolish name!). But you can call me Ariane. I’m not as formalistic as Dr. Leone. And as you can see, I haven’t lab coat.”

“You teach us a great deal,” I said, ironically. “But we already knew that your name is Arian Krug.”

“Call me Ariane, please. With a final e.”

I had to stare at him with eyes as round as Lussius’ golden cufflinks. Was he also telepathic? Could he read in my mind how I spell his first name? Well, who knows? The words produce colored pictures in our heads. I knew that. And these pictures differ not only from their sound but also from the used vowels, such as the
e
would be associated with white and
a
with black according to a famous guy. Thus, my
Arian
seemed to him painted with excessively dark colors.

However, Dr. Krug—I mean Ariane—had a more prosaic explanation.

“Don’t pull this face, Ramόn: it turns out that I could take a look on your story”, he said tapping the sheaf of paper which faced Dr. Leone... And yes, my name is part of the small factual mistakes you can find in there.”

“Unless you didn’t know the spelling which is correct for male,” I replied in a tone of voice full of innuendos.

“How curious’s your manner of speaking: it sounds like I was a self-named-man!” he said, pretending to trifle with my comment.

The man on my left hand, who was seething for a while, had to find unbearable to control himself more and poured out his wrath. I give you here a very light and cleaned-up version.

“I can’t believe my ears!” he shouted. “The whole world’s upside down, the sun’s out, the sky’s pitch black, my own dog wants to cut my throat and you’re still there to quibble whether Ariane takes an e or not! When are we going to come to the fact?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be so eager,” the white black man then said.

Accustomed to his silence, all of us were a bit surprised by his statement. His expression was not less notable: he stared at Ariane since this one came in the room, with tight jaws, watching the least of his moves as if he had expected that Ariane got a stick out of his pocket and dealt him.

“Monsieur Pierre isn’t wrong in substance, yet,” the doctor admitted with great pleasure, it seemed, to mix up his last and first name. “I must have lost my train of thoughts, I fear, because of our friend Ramόn’s usual digressions.”

“I’d remind you that my question was about your person, not about the spelling of your name,” I protested. “You say that you’re doctor and your name’s Krug, but why should we take your words for it? What’s the real function of this shelter? A nursing home doesn’t seem the ideal building for that role. These are some true questions that we ask ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lenfant snorted. “Only a fool can believe we’re into a fallout shelter or a nursing home. It’s obvious that we came to an insane asylum.”

“Why is this so obvious to you?” Ariane asked him with an expression of deep interest. “So you think that your mental state needs care? Do you think you’re crazy?”

“Of course not. But I’ve to observe that everyone thinks I am, starting with her!” he replied pointing an accusing finger at Dr. Leone.

“Really? Dr. Leone told you that you were crazy?”

“She didn’t have to,” Lenfant answered. “His attitude towards me can’t be explained otherwise. She refused to treat me as if I were a malingerer. She despises me. And I’m even not speaking of your secretary! If I wasn’t stuck here, they’d never dare treat me like that and I’d never let them do!”

“Stuck by what? I remind you that you came to our house of your own free will, Mr. Pierre. And nobody holds you back here.”

“You do believe I’ve got a choice?!”

Dr. Krug kept silent for a moment, studying a sort of pyramid he has built by joining the tips of his fingers.

“The reason why you’re here, you know it, all of you: you’re survivors,” he finally answered. “Accordingly, you’re the last representatives of the human species. Leave this shelter and you will die, as sure as one and one is two. Consider that you’re all invaluable to us even if you aren’t in your self-esteem. Don’t despair. It’s understandable that you’d been deeply affected by the recent events. You’re disturbed—mentally disturbed, all of you, to some extent. I don’t say that you’re crazy, Pierre, because you’re not. But I say that you may become faster than you think. And you must admit that it would be very embarrassing for the last representatives of the human species. In this case, we would be forever unable to know what happened to you.”

“How can you ignore what happened to us?” said the woodman. “It’s by your buddies that we were bombarded, and you just come here and cry after the event. I bet you were quietly sitting in your underground shelters when our good old mother earth blew above your heads.”

“I know your theory,” Krug nodded, not disturbed at all by these charges.

“Even if Mr. Lenfant is wrong about his interpretation, as I think, the fact is that you hide us the true situation,” I said. “Perhaps because it’s worse than anything we can imagine. If we’re really so important to you, why are you so often out of the shelter?”

“You have misunderstood me. Or I misspoke. When I said you were survivors, I didn’t mean that you were the only ones. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of other shelters spread over the Earth’s surface. Furthermore, we receive new survivors every day. That requires a lot of organization and coordination. Let’s say I’m one of these coordinators. Admit, please, it’s a little difficult for me to be everywhere at once.

“I see what kind of organization you’re speaking of,” the woodman sneered. “In my opinion, it begins with a C as Concentration Camp and CIA.”

“You really believe we’re Americans?” Ariane inquired, a little blandly. “Do you really think that the US bombed Europe and the rest of the planet, not to mention its own lands? That would be strange. What would be their interest in the operation?”

“I say they started. Then others followed. It’s always like that it happens.”

“Really? When did it happen like that?” Krug asked, as if he was interested in learning (though I wondered if he did not make fun of him).

“Anyway, do Americans know why they do what they do? Why did they bomb Dresden? Why did they transform Nagasaki and Hiroshima into atomic mushrooms? Why did they invade Iraq? Why did they exterminate Red Men?”

“Not exterminate, but decimate,” I specified, “so that they’re no longer a potent rival for the enjoyment of the territory. Then they herded survivors in reserves and got them better treatments. A bit like us, in short.”

“Oh, you also believe we’re American, now?” Ariane asked me, a bit surprised, but without animosity.

“No, I don’t” I replied. “You know very well what I believe since you read my story.”

“Of course not,” Lussius agreed, without loosening his teeth, his eyes still gazing at doctor Krug. Except for one corner of his mouth, his face seemed paralyzed such was its tense.

“In this case, it must be the chinks,” Lenfant insisted. “Or else the Russians. Never trust those Asian bastards.”