Habitat, page 2
part #1 of The End Series
“No, I’m fine,” I lied. “I…have my release session,” I added. Why did he contradict every sweet story he’d ever told me?
“Well okay, if you’re gonna be all right. Stop by and see me again.” He looked around before leaning closer and whispered, “I’ll make us lemonade with mint and crushed ice. We can sneak and talk about stories from the old days.” He took one more look around with his eyes narrowed and his brow creased. His voice lowered just enough for me to hear. “I’ll tell them stories to you before they take ’em,” he said before standing upright again. His expression changed, and he smiled the same sweet Mr. Hap smile as always. He took a step backward and raised a hand to wave goodbye.
Confused by his complete change in demeanor, I wasn’t altogether sure I even said goodbye. I may have ridden away with no acknowledgment whatsoever. My mind raced through possible explanations. Weird chills traveled down my spine, and I was, for the first time, glad to be leaving my old friend.
In health class, we studied several memory ailments that affected the older generation. I didn’t recall these illnesses took effect within such a short time span. Last week, he shared the memory of celebrating his fortieth wedding anniversary. Mr. Hap said he took their entire family on a cruise ship (a giant recreational boat that sailed on the ocean and took people to different places around the world).
Dad would solve the mystery of Mr. Hap’s odd behavior when I told him later today. Farther away from my neighbor now, I comforted myself by concluding Mr. Hap had been in the sun too long and needed shade. I re-focused and biked toward downtown.
I came to Park Center—the heart of Horizon. In the middle of the park was a fountain where kids loved to play on hot days. Today was quiet except for the two children who squealed splashing each other.
The unknown Horizon architect loved symmetry. Every aspect was laid out in perfect balance. The black iron park clock showed me I was still five minutes from being late to my session. The street surrounding the circle-shaped park was Main. Off Main, branched six streets, also symmetrical, leading to the other parts of town. From high above, I imagined Horizon’s park must have resembled the shape of a sun with the streets being rays stretching in every direction.
Today, two workers made repairs on the solar-paneled lampposts, and a few people strolled along the shop walk. This part of Horizon, a replica of downtowns existing in the 1940s, contained many shops. The Barbershop shared space with Cuts & Curls and operated by appointment only. Décor & More employed six of the best artisans in Horizon who designed and built decorative pieces for homes such as art and furniture. Recycled items donated to Second Time Around next door provided work materials for the decorators. Mr. Fix-it took your broken items and repaired them. Many other tiny shops filled the town, but Horizon didn’t use money. I had never seen dollars except in pictures. Citizens used cards that tracked Gives and Takes. Instead of measuring value in dollars, we measured value in time. We gave our talents and time equal to what we took. A person who stayed at home without contributing didn’t deserve to take all of his living necessities. By performing required volunteer work every week, even the youth earned Give credits. Seniors, who were physically capable, volunteered or worked. Twenty years after The End, our system operated smoothly. Mr. Hap said it wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the old world because of greed. He volunteered at the Hobby Center teaching classes on gardening and landscaping. When Horizon was new, and he was twenty years younger, he worked at Horizon Farms raising newly-cloned farm animals.
Dad and Mom tried to abide by the “let memories stay in the past” rule, but I yearned for stories describing how the world before looked and worked. Mom said we should be grateful we weren’t living the way cavemen did thousands of years ago. She said the government was more generous than we deserved, and I shouldn’t question our condition, but be thankful someone had the forethought to provide us with so many luxuries. Dad called our life utopic because we were safe, healthy, and had people to love.
Outside the Orchard building, my bike took the last available slot in the rack. Horizon had racks everywhere. Solar-powered carts replaced bikes when graduates got job assignments. When I get my placement, I’ll be eligible for a cart. Riding my bike was still an option; many people did. But why bike when I could drive?
I scurried up the steps of the grand, stone edifice. The Orchard appeared to be a century old but was just slightly older than I was. The massive three-story construction was even larger than the Horizon House of Prayer. As a child, Dad said I rubbed the rough exterior of the Orchard and described how each stone was special.
Inside the vaulted, sunlit lobby, I saw Sarah, who greeted me with a smile and a wink. She answered calls and messages from the dataport at her reception desk. Without a word, I pointed upstairs, and she nodded. She was accustomed to my being consistently on the verge of late.
The aroma of polished wood filled my nostrils as I climbed cherry-stained stairs leading to the second floor. I liked the sound of steps creaking beneath my feet, and every time I came to a particular spot on the grand staircase, I expected a tiny squeak. I often wondered if the builder designed the stairs to make those noises. Shouldn’t a building that looked a hundred years old, sound a hundred years old? Every bit of the Horizon design seemed perfectly orchestrated.
Forty release physicians shared the Orchard for their office space. When I practice therapy, it will be here. If I practice therapy. Dr. Adler assured me although I remembered nothing of life during The End; I might still aid those who did. My goal was to help people become happier and emotionally healthier. Before The End, psychology helped people with those issues. I worried release therapy might become obsolete. Life was perfect now. What could the next generation have to release?
We learned in health class life will get easier for society when our older generation moved forward—once called death. That phrase always sounded silly to me. There was no moving when someone was dead. If therapists frowned on using the term death, I think a better rephrasing would have been stopped. Mrs. Smith stopped moving today.
I laughed way too loudly and caught myself. Acting loopy in the therapy building was probably not a good idea.
For now, doctors used talk therapy to help us maintain emotional stability. Our goal was to release negativity from our lives. A sign at the stair landing read, Release the memory—Release the pain. I had read it every week for as long as I could remember.
As I came closer to the doctor’s office, I passed familiar faces. Horizon now had over seven thousand people, thanks to the brave, military soldiers who rescued so many. Chances of surviving were one in two million. The last time scouts found anyone was ten years ago. One survivor, from a group of three, came to my school, after a period of confinement. She was a teacher’s assistant before The End. She did intervention, helping students who struggled. To me, she acted friendly and not traumatized. Many classmates asked her for details of life beyond the wall, but she’d suffered amnesia and couldn’t give us any information.
I arrived at the doctor’s door, located at the end of a long hall.
“Ellis, you are prompt.” Dr. Adler smiled and welcomed me. Her office always gave me a mental picture of eating summer peaches by our lake. Bizarre.
She looked the same. Today, she wore her sleeveless black dress, medium black heels, and a strand of white pearls around her neck. She was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. Her short, dark hair contrasted against her pale skin. She was tall and thin with a flawless appearance. If she ever had a frizzy-hair, puffy-eye allergy, wrinkled clothes from the bottom-of-the-hamper day, I’d never seen it. She might have been forty-five, but in the fifteen years of memories with her, she never changed. I imagined, before The End War, she could have been one of those people called models. She trained as a psychiatrist, a profession similar to release therapy, which used medicinal intervention. She motioned for me to take a seat, and I chose my usual spot on the brown leather sofa. Sometimes, I laid down or sat in an oversized chair. Today was a kick-your-shoes-off-and-plop-down-for-a-chat kind of therapy. She had an over-stuffed leather chair opposite me. This had been our routine year after year.
“So tell me, how was your biology final assessment?” she asked.
I looked at my faded blue jean shorts and noticed a loose string. “Ninety-one,” I said, wishing I’d scored higher.
“What happy news, congratulations. I’m proud of you, Ellis. What other news do you have?”
“Nothing, much. I slept over at Ana’s house for her birthday. It was good.”
“Just good? It makes me wonder whether the visit was enjoyable. Did you sleep well? Any dreams?”
“No.” What? Why did I lie? I never lie to her. I looked up at the doctor. She sensed what I had done. I opened my mouth to correct my answer, but she spoke.
“I’m glad you slept in a different place and didn’t have your rest interrupted. When you sleep away again, remember to journal any troubling dreams. We can discuss and clarify them. This will help you. Agreed?” Her face changed its expression, and now she looked as if she believed me. “What are your thoughts on the final placement tests you took last week?” she asked.
I asked her to repeat the question. Thoughts were flying through my head like daggers. The immediate guilt was crushing me. She was one of three people I trusted, but now, I had ruined that bond. I scrambled to find the words to answer her question. “I’m…nervous, I mean…I’ve studied and paid attention, but I’m terrified one test will determine my career. What if the results place me in a job I hate?”
“Ellis, I’m familiar with this examination. The questions measure your aptitude for different careers but considers your preferences. If you don’t receive a release therapist apprenticeship, you will be assigned employment to a field in which you’ve shown interest and skill. Our small town needs many talents to keep it running. I’m confident your assignment will suit you, and you will be successful. Remember Ellis, every job is important, and every job depends on every other to hold Horizon together.”
I looked down again at the small, loose thread I’d been playing with on my shorts and wondered if that insignificant string was important enough to hold the other fabric together. I grasped it and yanked. It came loose from its place with no resistance at all.
I looked up and waited for the next question.
CHAPTER 2
This community will be innovative. When the time comes for emergency evacuations to begin, this complex will be operational. The area will serve as a safe zone and ensure the survival of mankind. Every security measure imaginable will protect the inhabitants. Monitored entrances and exits will have double-layered barriers providing extra security. Hidden layers of defense will guarantee a normal, tranquil appearance so leaders can focus on restructuring a world thrown into apocalyptic chaos and ruin. In no way should this haven resemble a military installation. Instead, the architecture will create a small town, USA—a model community evoking feelings of comfort and hospitality. Homes in sectioned neighborhoods will have front porches and sidewalks. The traditional American backyard will no longer exist. Outside gatherings will be in full view of other homes. Interaction and socialization will be the catalyst for success. Eventually, shops, markets, and diners will service the town. Here, society will rebuild itself. Mirrored glasses will…
—Reece Briggs, Architect
Classified Doomsday Project Horizon
2016
HORIZON
MY MIND RACED—I lied to my doctor for no apparent reason. At Ana’s house, I dreamed something strange but had forgotten it until the doctor asked. So why did I lie? For the rest of my session, I was a mess. I stuttered, jumbled my words, and spoke in babbling sentences. She could not have been more aware of my dishonesty unless I had taken a marker and written the words big, fat liar across my face.
Dr. Adler asked questions about my relationship with Mom and Dad and any changes I noticed in their behavior. The subject of reading came up, so I asked her to suggest psychology books relating to release therapy. The visit was positive except for walking away burdened with guilt.
I descended the massive staircase, passing the next group of patients for the day. Once outside, I tried to take cleansing breaths to lighten the weight of my guilt. It wasn’t working. After leaving the Orchard building front steps, I hurried across the square toward a place I loved. After every session, Ana and I met at the Fountain for a snack. She met with Dr. Webster during my same time slot. While crossing the street, I strained to see through the large restaurant windows if Ana sat at the corner booth—our booth. The Fountain looked empty, so I assumed she hadn’t finished her session. While waiting, I soaked up vitamin D. Dad always told me I should get sunshine every day because it made the body stronger, and I believed him. I always felt better when I’d been outside, and in the winter, being indoors more than normal made me sluggish and grumpy.
A black, iron bench outside the restaurant seemed the perfect place to watch life. That’s what I called it, but Mr. Hap said the term was stopping to smell the roses. Whatever the correct phrase, I thought life slipped by us sometimes, and we should attempt to appreciate every moment. I imagined people my age took these little pleasures for granted.
Horizon was astonishing, although the history of its construction wasn’t fully known. The rescue team, stationed here for two years before the war began, shared a few details. State-of-the-art materials used in construction resisted horrific conditions—weather and war. Our power, generated from solar, wind, and water technologies, provided clean energy. When I heard that term, I wondered why anyone used dirty energy.
Had our location taken a direct hit during the war, nothing would have survived, but here we were. The façade of our town had a purpose. The simple, pleasant look promoted tranquility and continuity. A familiar environment lessened our anxiety. Now, Earth was deserted rubble—the leftovers of war. Thankfully, we didn’t have to live on a military base. An army compound would have reminded us normal life wasn’t so normal anymore.
The design for our new (but old-looking) community was an excellent plan. A member of the town council called it a “brilliance of forethought” our government designed such a perfect place for civilization to rebuild. The citizens of Horizon wished our government had the brilliance of forethought not to blow up our world in the first place. However, it reminded me of the Norman Rockwell drawings at the Archives. Ana, who volunteered there, showed me copies after finding them in a dust-covered box. Someone saved these relics and put them in storage. Perhaps with these artifacts, the government assumed we could rebuild a better society. I was happy the town wanted a tranquil existence. Mr. Rockwell thought life should be peaceful and simplistic. In a magazine he illustrated was one of his quotes, “All of us who turn our eyes away from what we have are missing life.” That was my philosophy, or so I intended. This notion aligned with Mr. Hap’s idea of smelling the roses. Even as I worked to attain this harmonious outlook for life, I still had two questions without answers. Both were about The End. Why didn’t Mr. Rockwell’s world stay like that forever? Why would people choose war over peace? How and who didn’t concern me, the whys perplexed me more than anything did.
Now, we lived in peace. War was such an absurd notion I had trouble imagining such an act. Perhaps we learned our lesson. Horizon, for us, was paradise. Sadness rushed over me, reflecting on the billions of people who never lived a life free from war.
The government constructed towns like Horizon in secret areas of the United States. These refuge designs allowed communication with one another, but war likely destroyed most of these sanctuaries. Billions of dollars in taxpayer money gone. Horizon was built in the Chattahoochee National Forest, in the northern part of Georgia—one of the southern states in America. Soldiers said the enemy targeted a city called Atlanta during the war because it was home to a government facility that studied diseases. As far as we knew, the war left little behind except for Horizon and five thousand strangers.
In the distance, Ana walked out of the Orchard. I could tell she had been crying. Her eyes were red, and her pale skin was blotchy. Lately, she left every release that way. She needed a diversion. I stood and walked to meet her halfway.
“I lied,” I said.
“What?”
“I lied to Dr. Adler about not having any dreams the night I slept over at your house.”
“Why?” She wrinkled her nose, which was her mannerism during deep thinking. My plan worked. Mission accomplished.
“I hoped you might have the answer,” I said, with an honest exhale of exasperation. “It fell out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying.”
We walked into the diner, and the familiar tinkling of the silver bell over the doorway caused Mrs. McCoy to come from the kitchen.
“Lookie there. Hello, cutie-pies,” she said. “I was wondering where you two were today. I told Phil you’d be here and here you are. I’m telling you my psychic ability is fine-tuned today.”
I could hear Phil, the cook, howl with laughter in the back. “Then tell me what I’m thinking now, Josie,” he yelled.
We took our regular booth at the window, giggling. Mrs. McCoy, the mother of a friend from school, was the jolliest woman I’d ever met. At Christmas, she always played Mrs. Claus. It was a good fit for her.
Mrs. McCoy never brought us menus because she said we knew what was written on them better than Phil. “So, what’ll it be today? Wait, don’t tell me,” she said, with her hand to her temple, “a nice chocolate milkshake. Is that right, Ellis? Phil isn’t burning those today, are you Phil?” she yelled over her shoulder toward the kitchen.
“Ha, ha, Josie, hilarious,” said Phil, with his thick Spanish accent, sounding much like Ana’s mom.
“You did read my mind, Mrs. McCoy. That is exactly what I want today. I’ve been eating raw vegetables and fruits this week to drop a little weight.”
