SciFriday Challenges (Anthology)

Challenge 15 - Contraband

Fire light flickered around the old man's face as the wood logs crackled in the pit in front of him. He wiped the mucous away from his beard, which had come up from his cough and then casually wiped it on his worn out trousers. He smelled terrible like curdled milk and underarms. It had been at least a month since his last shower, but the priority of cleanliness was long gone, along with people's morals. They tried to control the sick with doses of rare oil but the more people got sick, the more that people died at the hands of the sick. The CDC named it, psychocarcinoma, because the sickness took over people's minds like cancer causing them to kill and have no idea they were doing it. Only the oil helped suppress the sick but now it was harder than ever to come by.

A small group that sat around the old man, stared with marvel. He knew what was happening beyond the walls, even if he did stumble upon their shelter by accident while scavenging for more oil. A woman with freshly washed hair handed him a warm loaf of bread and slices of cold cuts. He breathed heavy like an animal feasting on prey, yet the group just watched him. Waiting for him to tell them about the outside. Another woman brought him a clean set of clothing, setting it down on the ground next to him and the old man instinctively pulled his backpack closer to him. He finally looked up and landed his eyes on a middle aged man who was most likely the group leader.

"Before I say anything I want a bath and I want my hair washed with whatever soap she used." The old man pointed to the woman with freshly washed hair.

"Her name is Mara, she's my sister and I'm Meric." The middle aged man pointed to himself and then pointed to the woman who handed the old man clean clothing. "And that's my wife, Izzy."

After that, Izzy showed him to the area where everyone took baths. It was further down in the bunker, with pipes that hugged the ceiling, guiding the way there. There was the occasional dripping sound and whooshing indicating the plumbing being used somewhere else in the bunker. Once there, Izzy reached into a cabinet and handed him a set of shampoo and conditioner which had been collected from hotels. Then she disappeared but returned with a five gallon bucket of water which sloshed out a couple of times as she hauled it over.

"Use it wisely." She said as she set it down. "We only gather water once a day and only one gallon of water per person for their baths. You're an exception since you've been out there for a long time."

With that, the old man closed the shower curtain. He saw showers like these before in prison, except they didn't have curtains. It was obviously an addition in order to create privacy. He dipped a hand-towel into the bucket of water and rubbed a small bar of soap against it to create a lather. As he ran the towel across his naked limbs, he could see the brownish soapy water, dribble down his body. He splashed water over his head, working the shampoo into his scalp and then dumped the remainder of the water over him, letting it run off of his body until he just stood there cold and drippy but clean.

He slipped his clean limbs into the pair of sweats and t-shirt that were given to him and in the bundle were mis-matched socks and thong-sandals. He grunted at how silly it was to give him socks to wear with sandals but then he realized how grotesque his toenails had become. So he slipped on the socks and shoved his toes into the sandals, separating his big toes from the rest. Just when he was starting to feel at peace, Meric appeared again.

"Looking brand-new."

"Not quite." The old man grunted. "I need a shave, a haircut and nail clippers if you got them."

"Sure, but we can take care of that once we're done getting you acquainted with the group. They're all very eager to know what's going on." Meric replied.

"If they want to know so badly, why don't they go see for themselves."

"This group is my family and so far I've only been able to tell them what I hear on the radio. There's a lot of static but I know more or less what's going on." Meric paused, looked the old man over again, "besides, that was the deal for letting you in so I think its best we get to know you better. Why don't we start with your name. You still haven't answered what it is."

"Buckley."

"First or last?" Meric asked.

"Buckley for now." The old man replied. "If I decide I like it here then I'll tell you my full name."

Meric nodded and they began walking back through the dimly lit hallway. The lights above them flickered twice so Buckley searched the ceiling and followed the pipes with his eyes. Most of the bulbs from the light fixtures were burned out and the ones remaining were barely hanging on. Most likely the people living in the bunker were barely hanging on too. The lights flickered again, this time it stayed dark for five seconds between each flicker.

"We believe in honesty here so I just want you to know that I searched your backpack while you were showering." Meric said as he looked over his shoulder.

"You didn't have the right." Buckley replied.

"Just being safe. You're still a stranger." Meric answered calmly. "Are the vials in your pack filled with the oil I keep hearing about on the radio?...Buckley?"

Meric turned around and saw that the old man wasn't there. He traced his steps back and he saw nothing but the dim hallway. The lights flickered again and Meric felt a hand muffle his mouth. Meric strugged to get free, however his attempts were useless as Buckley quickly jerked his head left and then right, making Meric go lifeless.

Buckley continued down the hallway and made it back into the main room where the small group was gathered, and finishing up with dinner. He looked around at them and despised their obliviousness to what was going on out there. He could feel his arms beginning to tingle, a cold shiver running through him and his heart rate picking up. It had been twelve hours since he last had a vial of oil. With his supply running low, he had no choice but to ration them out that way.

Truthfully he liked the thrill of coming down from the oil. The loss of control while having control over someone's life in his hands, the way he did with Meric, was a euphoria only the sick could understand. Which is why Buckley didn't feel remorse as one by one he eliminated the people in the bunker, leaving Mara last.

"Waiiiiit!" She begged. "You're making a grave mistake!"

"You people wouldn't last out there anyway."

Buckley bit into her neck like an animal, leaving her to bleed out but with her last breaths she said,

"You'll never figure out the code."

"What code?"

"For... Oil Press... Wing B... we've been making more."

The life went out in Mara's eyes and Buckley stood confused but curious so he walked to Wing B. Sure enough, a huge oil pressing machine sat in the center and there were piles of ingredients, waiting to be extracted but now there was no one to opperate the machine...

And Buckley was back to square one, searching for oil.