Diego took a dirty handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. Sweat poured from his body, drenching his shirt and pants, giving the appearance that they were stuck to his body rather than worn. Although the air scrubbers were circulating air adequately, the humid air of the underground bunker tasted stale and acrid, highlighted by the dark mold that seemed to be everywhere. He stood at the entrance to his room and peered down the long concrete hallway that resembled a catacomb. He squinted, trying to see if anyone was lurking in the shadows, but his poor eyesight only made things worse. Reaching into his back pocket, his fingers fumbled for the flashlight until they wrapped around it and pulled it out and shone it around the walls to make sure no one was there. No one was. He kept his eyes on the hallway as he unlocked and opened the door. Looking over his shoulder was a part of his daily life, and he hated it. But people wanted things that were in his room, and he would not let them jump him and take his property without a fight. He’d faced that before; it had ended badly for both him and the attempted robbers. He stepped into his room, locked the door, and leaned back against it with his palms laid flat on the wood surface, taking deep breaths until his heart stopped racing.
Knee pain reminded him of his age as he moved to the bed where he sat and stared at the floor until his eyesight became as unfocused as his thoughts. He was breathing easier now. Beside his bed, on a small table, were a glass of lukewarm water and a sleeping pill. He threw the pill into the back of his throat and brought the glass to his lips and drank, swallowing hard to get the pill down. Only the pill calmed his nerves enough for him to sleep. He settled into bed when there was a knock at his door that startled him, causing him to clutch the covers he was pulling over his body. His mouth let out a weird gawking sound that was somewhere between a chicken’s bakaw and a dog’s whimper.
“Who is it?” Diego shouted.
“I want to buy something.” The muffled voice came through the door.
Diego made his way over, pushed a small curtain to the side, and looked out the tiny window on his door, but could only see a silhouetted head of a person with thick hair. “Stand back in the light. I can’t see you,” Diego said.
“You paranoid old fool. It’s Fritz.” The man’s accent came through thick and German with a hint of Polish.
“All the same. Anyone with you?”
“Just me.” Fritz sighed and took a step back; the overhead light spilled over his blond hair, casting shadows below his brow that gave his face a ghoulish appearance. He held up a lighter and shook it between his fingers. “I need some fuel for my lighter.”
“Buy or barter?”
“I said buy.”
Diego paused. “Two dollars.”
“That’s too much.”
“You want it or not?”
Fritz reached into a pocket and retrieved some cash. He wrapped his zip lighter in paper bills and stuffed it under the door, pushing it through with his long, bony finger that was misshapen from years as a boxer.
Diego retrieved the lighter and dismantled it. “Hold on,” he muttered, shuffling his feet to where he kept a tin of lighter fluid. He filled the lighter and reassembled it, then flicked the wheel until a flame erupted. The fire burned off the excess fluid and he closed the snap top on the lighter. He stuffed the lighter back under the door.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
Fritz picked up the lighter and flipped the lid open and closed, then flicked the wheel until a flame jutted out. He stared at the door as he pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and rolled the end into the flame, puffing on it until it was fully lit. He spoke through the door. “You know, Diego, the war will be over one day. And all these people here will remember you for this. What are you going to do then?”
“A man has a right to make a living.” Anger tinged Diego’s voice.
“In here? With no way for people to work to make money. It’s not like anyone can go to their job. They only have what they could grab when the soldiers chased us in here.”
“Not my fault a war is going on.”
Fritz sighed and shook his head then turned away from the door. He headed down the hall, puffing on his cigar; his hard-soled boots echoed off the concrete walls with each step.
Diego went back to his bed and lay down. People knocking on his door meant business, which was good, but it always gave him heartburn. He rubbed his face and his finger slid across the scar on his eye, a gift from two men who jumped him to take his possessions when they were first chased into the bunker. He had fought them off, but the deep scar and partial blindness were a reminder of that day. He wasn’t about to give up what he had worked so hard to acquire just because a war had trapped all of them in the bunker with him. Diego put his head on the pillow. The pill made him drowsy, and his eyes sagged. He rolled on his side and pulled his blanket over him, and went to sleep.
Morning came, but you couldn’t tell it from inside the bunker, much less from Diego’s room. The lights were always on; he slept better that way. He opened his eyes and sat up. In the dim light, ten wooden crates, stenciled with military letters, stood side by side, making his simple metal frame and cotton mattress look like actual furniture. Diego prized his bed. He won it in a lucky hand of poker. It was the only one in the bunker. Most people slept on the floor or on old army cots. His room was claustrophobic but luxurious compared to others’ accommodations, and that added to people’s disdain for him. Still, people bought his wares, even if he had to listen to what they thought of him while they did it.
Picking up a broken bayonet, Diego pried off the lids to three different crates. He rifled through the contents, grabbing candles, batteries, a small oil lamp, a canteen with a built-in metal cup, and flashlights. Laying his blanket on the floor, Diego set his items in the center and then gathered up the ends of the blanket in one hand before picking everything up. The items clanked and fell together into the sack as he threw it over his shoulder, giving him the appearance of some dreadful version of Santa Claus. Diego left his room in the same careful way he had entered and headed towards the community room to sell his wares as he did every day.
Walking down the dingy hallway, Diego passed a woman in a gray dress leaning back against the wall with her arms folded. She bristled when she saw it was Diego. She stood up straight, watched him as he passed, and sneered at him before uttering a vulgar word in a language that Diego didn’t recognize, but could understand well enough from the tone. He swallowed hard and kept walking. After stepping up his pace, he felt better as he got farther away from her. She didn’t follow him.
Diego rounded a corner. There were several people standing around the entrance to the commons room. Two men stopped talking and looked at Diego. An uneasiness seemed to fill and linger in the air, making the hairs on Diego’s neck stand on end.
“Morning, Diego, got a light?” one man said as he moved towards him. Diego lost focus for a moment. It was a mistake. A boy ran up from across the hall and got down on his hands and knees behind him as the man shoved him backward over the boy. Diego’s skull cracked against the wall, rendering him unconscious. His body slumped to the ground, spilling the bag of items out around him. The man and boy grabbed the items and stuffed them into their pockets. The larger items they simply ran away with in their open hands. It was several minutes before Diego regained consciousness. No one helped him. And those who had seen what happened left. He sat up and cursed as he saw all of his items were gone. A deep throbbing and sharp pain made him place his hand over a lump on his head the size of an egg. He winced at the touch and bit his lip. There was no infirmary to go to, at least not one where anyone was going to help him. He got to his feet and headed back to his room, holding his head and walking with an uncontrollable stagger. He passed the lady in the hallway again. She laughed and said a few more things in her native language. Then she said, “You deserve it. Pig.” Diego was angry. He wanted to give the lady a piece of his mind, but thought better of it. Besides, what good was it going to do? He simply shrugged it off and kept moving. When he got back to his room, he lay on his bed and, for the first time in a while, he cried.
A radiating pain shot through his head, neck, and shoulders as he wondered how badly he was hurt. Movement was difficult, so he lay there looking at the ceiling, hoping the aching would end. Then he noticed something. An air vent in the ceiling caught his attention. He stared at it for a good amount of time before he noticed something peculiar. It was slightly askew and there were no screws holding it in place. The vent wasn’t large, maybe eighteen inches by eighteen inches. Intrigued, he stood up, but immediately had to sit back down and hold his head. “Sunovabitch!” he exclaimed as the pain seemed to shoot through his body like a lightning bolt that was entering his head and exiting through his toes. He got up again and pushed through the pain as he reached for the vent. It was too high. He stepped up on his bed and reached high over his head, splaying out his arms and fingers like a bird’s wing. He pushed the vent cover with his fingertips. It moved slightly upward and seemed to be held in place by friction. Diego grabbed a crate by the wall and stacked it on top of his bed. He stepped onto the bed and then onto the crate. It was rocking a bit as he stood up, so he held his arms out, trying to stabilize himself. The crate was sturdy enough that he could stand all the way up without falling. He could easily reach the vent now, and he lifted it up and moved it to the side where he held on to the opening to steady himself. He grabbed a flashlight from his pocket and shined it into the dark square hole above him as he squinted his eyes. There was something in there. He grabbed it and pulled it down. It was an olive-drab canvas bag tied together with a thin rope. He untied the rope and unrolled the bag. The contents slid halfway out and he pulled it the rest of the way. Diego raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “No way,” he muttered out loud even though no one was in the room to hear. He reached back into the hole to see if there was anything else. There was. Another canvas bag came down from the hole, tied up in the same fashion. He dropped the items on his bed and reached back up to run his hands around all the sides of the vent opening to see if anything else was there. All that came back was dust. He put the vent back in place and stepped down off the box and onto the floor. A grin spread across his face, showing his craggy teeth. He picked up the items and held them close to his body and looked up at the ceiling and praised God for his good fortune. In his possession were two gas masks. He had hope now, and that was something he had almost lost.
There had been few gas masks found in the bunker. When they were first forced into their hiding place, they were only able to find a total of five after scouring all of the areas they could access. In the beginning, some of the braver people had used them to run for help. They were never seen again. All had wondered if they had made it to safety. Maybe it was too dangerous to come back. Maybe they were working on a plan to get through the gas, but it was taking time. Maybe their bodies were lying somewhere in those gas fields. No one knew. Diego tried to shake off the thoughts of what-ifs. Maybe he should make a run for it. It was a risk, and he knew that. Either way, really. Run away and maybe die by gas inhalation, or get beaten to death slowly by people getting more desperate as time went on. As a businessman, Diego was familiar with taking risks, just never one this big. Not one that actually put his life in jeopardy. Still, he didn’t need to weigh the pros and cons; he needed to leave. The feeling of leaving struck him all the way to his marrow. He had a method; he needed a plan. Diego thought through the night until he had formed one. All the next day, he thought through the details and prepared. That night, he gathered items from his crates, put them in the blanket, and threw them over his back to carry them to the commons room.
Diego left his room and locked the door. He ambled down the hallway. The air quality was getting worse. A sulfurous odor was more prominent, and it scared him. Air scrubbers only work well when properly serviced, and the filters had outlived their acceptable use a month ago. Lord knows why they hadn’t all died already. They cleaned the filters as often as they could, but eventually, they would fail and the poisonous air outside from the burning oil rigs and chemical weapons would seep in and fill all the spaces until everyone choked to death. Food was another consideration. The food supply was dwindling rapidly, and no resupply was possible. They knew they were waiting to die, but clung to hope that the soldiers had moved on or been pushed back, and that they might be rescued.
Diego cursed under his breath as he walked down the corridor, still angry at the soldiers who chased the townspeople of Maramure into the bunker he had claimed for himself. He was even angrier that a bombing run had badly damaged the chemical plant next to them. Poisonous gases kept pouring out of the building and there were hundreds of canisters in and around the bombed-out factory or lying on the grounds all in the area, and they were rupturing and slowly releasing their contents as they baked in the sun. It didn’t help that where they were located was in a basin that kept the winds from blowing the gas away quickly.
The gas masks concerned Diego. They must be forty years old, maybe older. Did their canisters still work? Had they dried out over time? He wished he knew more about how they operated, but he didn’t. When he had looked them over, they seemed like new. Just like the ones they found only months before. But the thought that they were expired gnawed at him and made him sick. The self-preservation part of his brain was always suspicious. Normally a mask was good for several hours, but what about old ones? Someone who used the ones they found guessed they were probably good for ten or fifteen minutes because of age and the type of gas he thought might be out there. He remembered the man saying maybe. Maybe? God, were they lying to themselves? Did they run out there knowing they were running to their deaths simply to have this entire ordeal over with? It was like a person stuck in a burning building that had the choice of burning to death or jumping to their death, and they chose the latter. The thought made him shudder. Was he about to do the same and did he even care anymore?
Everyone in the bunker would soon know what he held in the bag of goods on his back. It was the last mask. At least to the people in the bunker, this was the last mask; no one knew he had another stashed in his room. Still, this mask had value, and tonight, Diego planned to find out just how much it was worth in his plan to put it up for grabs in a poker tournament. He knew a lot of money would come out, and he might lose a bit too, but he had plenty stashed away, enough to get him started on the outside again in a different city and possibly under a new name.
Diego made his way to the commons room. It was cavernous with wooden tables, chairs, benches, a stage with a wooden podium, and sizeable areas of painted floor signifying where particular machines should be placed for storage. Those machines had been in service during the first war but were no longer made. Now people used the room to relax, including an area someone had set up as a bar. The beer and alcohol had run out a month ago, and now they were using prunes and whatever canned fruit they had available to make hooch. A couple of men had gone blind during the process of making it when they drank some of the foreshots, but eventually, they got it figured out enough to have a safe way for those that needed it to get drunk.
Fritz and two men stood at the bar, drinking. Fritz eyed Diego heading to a table and he turned his back to the bar and rested his elbows on the counter as he watched Diego and the bag he was carrying. Diego wiped off the table and set his bag on top. The table was a long piece of mahogany taken from a room that was intended for an officer to use. Now it served Diego to sell his goods and play poker tournaments. He pulled up three chairs on each side and set one at the end for the dealer. He opened the blanket, revealing the merchandise he planned for the evening game. Fritz walked over and got a good look at everything. He whistled and waved his friends over. They walked over with looks of curiosity and inebriation adorning their dirty faces and stood shoulder to shoulder with Fritz making a wall.
“That a gas mask, Diego?” Fritz asked.
“It is.”
“I thought they were all gone. You’ve been holding out on us. No?”
“No, gentlemen, I haven’t been holding out. This is the last mask. I found it stashed in one of the closets in the flooded areas.”
“You were searching the flooded areas? When?”
“Yesterday.”
“No, you didn’t. We’ve all looked through them. Just trash and paperwork.”
“Maybe you needed to look a little deeper.”
Fritz scoffed, visibly irritated. “Yeah, maybe.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand and wiped the sweat on his pants. “You selling it then?”
“No, the only way to get this one is to win it in tonight’s poker tournament.”
Fritz’s expression turned sour, then he grinned. “Does it work?”
“Of course it works. You know I would never carry merchandise that doesn’t work. It is of military-grade quality. I’ve looked it over myself. It’s as good as the ones that the others used to get to safety. But I would dare say that this one is in even better shape than the others. I took it out of the packaging before coming here tonight.”
“Sell it to me. I want it.” Fritz puffed his chest forward and the alcohol on his breath burned Diego’s nostrils.
Diego’s eyes remained calm as he brushed off Fritz’s attempt to bully him. “Sorry, Fritz, if you want it, you’ve gotta win it. And I don’t think you can, you being drunk and all.”
Fritz’s chest expanded, and he made his body appear larger. “You challenging me?”
“No, I’m saying you’re drunk. You’re welcome to try if you think you can.”
“Who’s the dealer?”
“Whoever you want.”
Fritz’s eyes lit up, and a grin stretched across his face.
“Well, I had planned to get drunk tonight, but now, I will be going home with a gas mask, and by this time tomorrow, I’ll be drinking with the regular folks out past the gas fields.”
“We’ll see.” Diego grabbed a stack of poker chips and a deck of cards before sitting down in his usual place.
“Boys, spread the word that Diego’s got a mask. That should bring some money.” Fritz slapped his hands together and rubbed them before heading over to the bar to get another drink. His friends left the room to spread the news. After several minutes, the room started buzzing with people who had money, and those who were simply interested in watching the game. Fritz stood at the bar when his friend, Stanislav, walked up to get a drink.
“Stanislav. You’re dealing,” Fritz called out.
“But I wanted to…”
“I said you’re dealing.” Fritz patted a gun that was wedged into his waistline and held in place by his black leather belt. Not that he needed it; his days as a boxer sufficed for handling anyone in the bunker.
“Okay,” Stanislav said as he conceded. He limped over to the table end and sat down.
“Here you go,” Diego said as he handed him a deck of cards. Stanislav inspected them before shuffling them thoroughly.
People gathered around the table. There were easily thirty people standing around, as a few people who still had money took a seat for the game. As players bought in, they received poker chips, and the dealer dealt the first hand. A couple of the players lit their cigarettes, and a plume of smoke choked the area around the table.
The mask lay on the table next to Diego.
The first few rounds were confidence builders, and Diego dispensed with many of the items that he had brought to the table to help get people’s wallets loosened up. Batteries went to Bruno, lighters to Fritz, the candles were up for grabs next. Hooch was flowing, and the men were getting comfortable. After a few hours, the minor items were gone and the number of players was slowly dwindling. They continued to play until only three remained. Diego, Bruno, and Fritz.
“Enough of this,” Fritz blurted. “Let’s play for what we all came here for. It’s time for the mask. Let’s play for the damned mask.” The people in the room who had lost interest got closer and huddled around the table.
Diego cut his eyes around the room. He took the handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, then folded it again and wiped his head. He put it back in his pocket.
“Quit playing games, Diego,” Fritz fired off as he drummed his fingers on the table.
Diego picked up the mask and put it in the center of the table. “Feel free to inspect it if you’d like, gentlemen.”
Bruno and Fritz both left the mask sitting on the table where it lay, shaking their heads in reply that inspection wouldn’t be necessary.
“One hand. Winner gets the mask and all the money still in play. Deal?”
Bruno nodded his head in agreement and pushed an ante into the center of the table.
“Deal,” Fritz replied, adding his ante. Diego matched them.
Stanislav called out the rules. He then dealt each man one card face down. Then one card face up. The men took a look at their hidden cards and then looked at one another and nodded. Bruno had a 2 of spades, Diego had an 8 of hearts, and Fritz had an ace of diamonds showing.
Fritz pushed several chips into the pot. Bruno and Diego matched the bet.
“Next card.” Stanislav placed the cards carefully in front of each player.
Bruno showed a 6 of spades, Diego got a jack of hearts, and Fritz got an ace of hearts.
“Pair of aces, Fritz. High hand,” Stanislav announced.
Fritz smiled widely and winked at Diego. “Not looking so good for you, fellas.”
Diego smiled and wiped sweat from his brow. “Maybe.”
Fritz tossed more chips into the pot. Diego matched him, followed by Bruno.
“Next card.” Stanislav doled the cards. Bruno received a 10 of diamonds, Diego received a 7 of hearts, and Fritz received a 10 of clubs.
“Pair of aces still the high hand,” Stanislav announced.
Fritz bet again. Bruno hesitated before matching it. Diego pushed his chips forward without taking his eyes off Fritz.
Each of the men sat there sweating and staring at the cards and then at each other. Fritz’s face was gleaming.
Bruno received a 3 of clubs, Diego received a 10 of hearts, and Fritz received an ace of clubs.
“Three of a kind for Fritz. Possible flush for Diego, and bupkis for Bruno,” Stanislav announced.
“Dammit, I’m out.” Bruno slid his chair back from the table, stood up, and brushed his pants and shirt off. He tipped his hat as he stepped away.
“Gentlemen, good luck.” Bruno went to the bar to get a fresh drink.
The people watching inched closer, salivating as they waited for the result. The room became quiet, other than the echoes coming from the hallways.
Diego gathered the rest of his chips and pushed them into the middle.
“All in.”
“Just us now, and whatever we have hiding. You care to quit?” Fritz asked Diego.
Diego looked back in silence.
Fritz stared at Diego’s four hearts.
“There’s no way that last card is a heart.”
“You sure?” Diego grinned.
“Positive.”
“That’s a lot of money you stand to lose. You can still fold. There’s no shame in it, you know,” Diego replied.
Fritz’s face reddened, and his anger boiled just below the surface. He shoved the remainder of his chips into the pot.
“I promise you, you don’t have it. Show it to me.”
Fritz flopped his card up for everyone to see. Aces full of tens.
The crowd gasped.
“Turn it over, Diego!” came a loud voice in the crowd.
Diego turned over his card to show a 5 of spades.
The crowd erupted and Fritz yawped as he stood and beat his chest and pounded the table. People patted him on his shoulders and back and hollered along with him. It was the most exciting thing to happen in the bunker in some time, perhaps ever. Fritz reached over and grabbed the gas mask and shook it over his head for everyone to see.
Fritz stared at Diego and pointed his finger furiously. “I got you, Diego. You knew this day had to come. I hope you enjoy your time here while I am out in civilization drinking real liquor and smoking fresh cigarettes, and with the money I won, I will have sex with as many girls as I can, and you’re paying for it! Come see me in the morning when I leave. I want to make sure that you say goodbye to me, and you can kiss my ass as I run off over those hills to paradise.” Fritz walked off with his group of friends and took a bottle of hooch with him.
Diego stood up, collected his blanket, and headed back to his room. Once inside, he threw the empty blanket on the floor, shuffled his feet to the bed, and lay down, pulling his cover over him. He let out an enormous sigh, and a smile snuck across his lips as he laughed. He covered his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Not that anyone could hear anything through the thick walls. That was too easy, he thought as he admired his ability to manipulate Fritz into becoming a guinea pig for him. Poor bastard didn’t suspect a thing.
Tomorrow would give Diego an opportunity to see if the gas masks were still good. When Fritz left and ran through the poison gas to the hills, Diego would be there watching, counting his steps and waiting to see if he made it or not. Diego went to sleep with a grin and was soon snoring comfortably.
Morning came unceremoniously. Diego didn’t even use his alarm clock to wake up. He had always been an early riser. There was no reason to rush to get up and out of his room. Fritz would still be sleeping and likely suffering from a tremendous hangover from the prune hooch he had been drinking all night. The kind of hangover that felt like a donkey was kicking your skull from the inside. Diego was happy that he never developed a taste for alcohol. Oh, he’d had his share when he was a younger man, but the habit didn’t stick.
Diego’s stomach grumbled and urged him out of bed. Though he happily shunned alcohol, food was another matter. He loved to eat. But that hobby was on hold as of late. He got up, washed his face in the basin, and did a quick shave, only nicking his chin one time. A styptic pencil stopped the blood from running down his neck. He put on the same clothes he had worn the night before. No one noticed this type of thing anymore. Most people only had one or maybe a few sets of clothes they could change into. He wandered to the mess hall and got a plate of food. Powdered eggs, crackers, a bit of butter, and a glass of water were being served today. Nothing to get excited about, but it was at least moderately hot. A small crew of people kept the food going, and Diego was grateful for that. He didn’t mind giving the kitchen crew some free items so he wouldn’t go hungry nor would poison end up in his food. He had lots of small things that the crew was happy to get: premium cigarettes, chocolates, a few bottles of excellent wine, and they were things he had gotten deals on before the war, so why not? Diego had his own small stash of food, but why waste it if he didn’t need to? The kitchen crew volunteered for the task. Some people did it simply to have something to do each day. Some likely did it because they didn’t trust anyone to not take more than they needed. That had only been a problem a handful of times, and those people were now skeletons stacked in a pile outside near the door where they could remind people of what could happen if they didn’t behave. It was amazing what neighbors could do to one another. That was something Diego thought about a lot. Those same people were his neighbors before, too. He was thankful he had a way to bargain for his safety. At least for now.
After breakfast, Diego wandered up to the bunker exit door and stood at one of the narrow but wide plate-glass windows. Those hatches, rather than windows, consisted of multiple pieces of thick glass to keep out munitions. You could see in some areas where the glass had cracked on the outer layers. Diego watched the smoke from the oil rigs billow out, black as pitch, rising high into the sky before dissipating into the late-summer morning sky. Along the barbed wire fences, you could barely make out a sign that said gas, highlighted by the image of a skull and crossbones. The sign hung upside down and leaned against the fence, but the message was easy enough to understand. He looked over the field and studied it, trying to remember the paths others had taken when they were making their runs to safety. He wished he had paid more attention back then. Each step was important out there. No one was sure exactly how far they had to go to get past the gas fields. The assumption was that it was just beyond the eastern hills, but what if it was farther? Did the masks really have the capacity to work for that long? Ten minutes, fifteen? Who knew? And how fast could you run a mile anyway over obstacles and barbed wire? Running would make you breathe harder. Did that affect how the mask cleaned the air you were breathing? That’s why the run of Fritz would be so important. It would give him a guide for how he would plan his own run.
Diego looked on and made mental calculations. He must have stared for an hour or more at the broken scenery. From time to time, he could see smoke, like when a new canister had broken open and was spilling its contents. But most of the gas, he couldn’t see. At some point, the gas had to dissipate and clear up, hadn’t it?
The sound of boots clopping down the hallway startled Diego.
“What are you doing, plotting your escape?” Fritz said as he patted Diego on the back.
Diego stiffened. “Me? Oh, nothing like that, I was looking at the morning light.”
“Well, move out of the way. I need to study the landscape for my run after lunch.” Fritz held up his gas mask and shook it in Diego’s face. His expression turned smug as he pushed Diego aside. Fritz stared out over the landscape.
“You know, I’m going to miss you, Diego. I know I was hard on you, but it wasn’t anything personal. It was how I had to be while in here. But now I’m going home. I would say I’ll see you on the outside, but I am a pragmatist. No one inside here is ever going to make it out alive.”
“You don’t plan on sending back help?”
Fritz made a clicking sound with his tongue as he took in a deep breath and exhaled. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Don’t you think that if someone was coming to help us, they would have come by now? Even if the gas would kill everyone coming across land, they could have tunneled and gotten us in the months we’ve been here. No, I don’t think anyone is coming for us. I don’t know why, but they aren’t.”
“You may be right.”
“I am right. I’m just sorry you aren’t going to make it. I hope your passing is quick. Painless.” Fritz inhaled and then exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He then turned back to the window and studied the landscape before heading back down the hall. He spoke as he continued to walk, not looking back at Diego.
“See you after lunch, Diego.”
Diego waited a few minutes before he walked down to have lunch. He grabbed a tray of food and sat at a table away from most of the people. He didn’t have any friends, but he was okay with it. Unrolling metal utensils, he stared at his food before preparing to eat. Lunch consisted of two slices of hard bread, some canned turnips, and a cup of black tea. He longed for the taste of some fresh beef. The closest he could get were canned meats that were in short supply. They had been eaten heavily during the beginning of their time in the bunker, but were rationed now, and only on Fridays would they get the taste of either chipped beef or corned beef hash with powdered potatoes. He had given up on food that was tasty.
A commotion went on across the room. Fritz was saying goodbye to his friends, and they cheered him on and patted his back. When they walked out of the room, Diego scooped the last bit of food into his mouth and then hurried up after them to get a good spot by the window.
At the exit door from the bunker, people stood and watched Fritz give his speech. Several people hurrahed and wished him luck. A couple of people asked him to hurry and to send help. Fritz stopped at the door as two people grabbed the handles to open and shut it quickly. Running his hands over his clothes, he made sure everything was buttoned and tucked in. The laces of his boots were tight and pushed down inside. Fritz waved and said goodbye to everyone and faced the door. He took several deep breaths and then put on his mask, pulling each of the fasteners snug. You could see the sides of the mask suck tight to his face as he breathed. Then he nodded his head and gave a thumbs up sign. The men opened the door and Fritz ran through. The doors shut quickly, allowing only a few seconds of the poison air into the building. A few people coughed and ran away, but the poisoned air dissipated quickly.
Diego stood at the window and watched Fritz as he ran. He made it past the first obstacle of the fallen tree and kept running. The next part took him down into a ditch, and he dropped out of sight. It must have been a fairly long ditch as he was gone for almost thirty seconds before his head appeared on the other side as he climbed the hill. He kept running, but he was grabbing at his mask now, and slapping the canister a few times but kept going. Fritz was slowing down. At the barbed wire fence with the broken sign, he leaped to get over it. A barb caught his pants, and he fell down. As he tried to free himself, he flailed and grabbed at his mask, ripping it from his head as he grabbed at his throat. He stood up, facing back towards the bunker, his hands still on his neck. He paused and then fell forward, hanging over the fence, his hands released from his neck and his arms draped over the wire like a rag doll. His body slumped and then stopped moving. A few of the people watching yelled for him to get up, as if anyone outside the bunker could hear them. Fritz was dead. The landscape would claim his body as another marker of the death awaiting anyone daring to leave.
Diego watched Fritz’s body as the others wandered off. He sighed and wiped his face with his hand and put his forehead against the wall. He beat it against it lightly and then turned around and rested his back against the wall and watched the others. They walked away like souls forever caught in purgatory. Diego wanted to hate them, but he couldn’t. The gaunt faces that held hope were now cracked and crumbling and crying. The desperation in their eyes made him uncomfortable, and he wrung his hands and shoved them into his pockets.
His thoughts wandered. Were the masks bad? Was the one he was saving bad too? Was it simply a death wish to go out there on his own? He had some thinking to do.
Most of the next day, Diego lay in bed contemplating. He picked up his gas mask and looked it over, opening up the end of the tube and inspecting every inch. The mask felt smooth considering its age, and he looked for cracks, but there were none. As he rubbed his finger over the canister, he noticed a piece of rubber that he hadn’t seen before. He ran his finger across it a few times until it peeled back and then came off easily. Then he realized something: if Fritz hadn’t removed it from the other gas mask, it would never have worked properly. It would explain why he was slapping at his mask before taking it off. Maybe Fritz had been suffocating inside the mask before he ripped it from his face. Maybe that was what killed him.
Diego sat up. A sense of calm washed over him. If he was right, he had a real chance to make it out. But he still had no way of knowing if the mask would work long enough to make it to safety. He also realized that with a second canister out there that was potentially still good to use, he could run to the one Fritz dropped, and then take off the rubber piece and have an additional ten to fifteen minutes of time before it would fail. Or at least, he hoped. Now Diego had to decide when to make his run. He gave himself a couple of days to think about it, but the next morning, he had decided. In twenty-four hours, he would make his run in the wee hours of the morning.
Diego woke up early. His alarm was under the sheet he used as a pillow to dampen the sound of the bell. He put his pants and boots on first, making sure the laces were tucked in like Fritz had done. He wore his undershirt, then a long-sleeve shirt over it, and stuffed both into his pants. Then he put his wool hat into his pocket as the mask wouldn’t adhere to his skin right if he tried to wear both. He crammed all of his cash and jewelry into an old backpack and cinched the straps tight. He slung the backpack over one shoulder and then picked up the mask and carried it with him. He left his room and left the door closed, but unlocked. It felt odd doing it, but he wouldn’t be coming back to his room again. The least he could do was leave whatever he had left in the crates to those remaining.
This was the first time that Diego had wished the hallways were dark for a change. He had a good way to walk, and he didn’t want to pass anyone who might be up and wandering the hallways early. Diego kept close to the walls and tried to walk softly to keep his footsteps from echoing. No one was up, and he made it to the bunker exit without incident. He looked at his watch. The sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours. He took the backpack off and hid it behind him next to a broken beam that had been used to help bar the door. Diego sat against a corner near the door, where it was darkest, and waited, looking at his watch every couple of minutes. The ticking of his watch seemed so loud today when he hardly ever noticed it. At 6:08 a.m., he stood up and walked to the windows and looked out. The light had changed from pitch black to a lighter shade of midnight and then to a brown. Then, a red-orange glow showed in the sky to the east. The morning colors cast a serene, inviting hue over the field, and he stood there mesmerized. He twitched and looked at his watch, then over his shoulder to the hallways to see if anyone was coming. Still only him and the cold hallway walls. He stared at the sky more and looked out over the fields. They were coming into view, and he could make out finer details now. Something startled him away from his view of the outside. He heard footsteps in the hallway which made his pulse race. He sweated and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. He listened for the footsteps to see if they might change direction. They didn’t. They were slow but moving his way. He had to decide. Leave now, or explain what he was doing to whoever was coming. Panicked, he grabbed his backpack, tightening the cross strap. He then pulled the mask over his head and pulled each strap tight. It was hard to breathe. It felt like sucking air through a wet cloth. He wanted to do a quick once-over, but there was no time. His heart pounded so loud he could feel it in his ears. He could see the shadow of whoever was coming. It was time to go.
Diego took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped outside. He closed the door quietly behind him and looked around at the warming earth before him. He froze as he looked out and realized he was standing on the death side of the door. The very path that ended with Fritz’s body leaning on the barbed wire fence somewhere up ahead. He paused. Go on, you dummy, run! he thought to himself as he forced one foot in front of the other in a quick walk that turned into a jog and then into a full-on sprint. His knees ached as he lurched forward, and he breathed erratically. His body was in no shape to run like this, much less for a full mile through obstacle-laden terrain. He slowed his run to a quick walk, only moving faster when he had to. There was time, he hoped. The large tree obstacle came and went, and then he headed down into the ditch. He was surprised Fritz had navigated this area so quickly, but Fritz had kept in shape. Diego hadn’t. And now, he was running for his life. He wanted to laugh at what a sight he must have been to anyone who was looking, but he could laugh later. First, he had to make it through.
Diego slipped on a loose rock and fell. Then he had a hard time coming up the sandy slope on the other side of the ditch. He made it to the top, where he huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath. The mask seemed to work. For how much longer, he didn’t know. He didn’t even know how much farther he had to go. The barbed wire fence was about halfway to the hills, he guessed. He would stop there and grab the other canister off of Fritz’s mask. How many minutes had he been running? It felt like he had been running for an hour. His body was screaming at him. He had meant to look at his watch before he began his run, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t even halfway to the hills yet. He had another hundred, or maybe two hundred meters to the fence where Fritz had died. He had to get to that mask. That thought drove him onwards when his body was ready to quit. While he trod across the field, he noticed a canister that had smoke coming out of it. It made him want to hold his breath as he ran through its billowing smoke. He moved faster as he neared the fence. Fritz’s dead face appeared before him, and Diego stopped midstride. He stared at Fritz and choked up. Tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn’t wipe them away. Get moving, he thought. He made it to the fence and picked up Fritz’s mask that lay on the ground a few feet away. He looked at Fritz’s body as he climbed over the fence next to him. That was when he saw what scared the hell out of him. In Fritz’s back, there were two bullet holes. Fritz hadn’t simply died from the gas. He had been shot.
The sun rose higher into the sky, and along the hills that he couldn’t see very well from the bunker, he could now see guard towers spaced every couple hundred meters. He looked back at the sign that read gas with the skull on it and now understood why the sign had faced the hills and not the bunker. It was a warning for those who might venture into the dead zone by the bunker. He stood there, dumbfounded. All along, he had believed the gas and the ruined chemical plant were what kept them trapped. Now he understood that wasn’t the whole truth. Someone was watching the perimeter. Someone had been making sure no one escaped. They were being left there to die. But we aren’t military. We’re civilians. His hatred of them grew ten times in that moment.
In the distance, he heard something akin to a screaming bird. The sound repeated as sirens from the guard towers came on screaming their oscillating one-note cry. They had spotted him. Diego turned to run, hoping they couldn’t see him very well, but it was too late. Something hit his body before the sound of the shot filled his ears. He tensed his abdomen and then put his hand where it hurt and grunted from the sharp pain. Then he felt several more hits to his body and chest, forcing him to step backward, almost falling. He took several more steps backward as his sight dimmed and a sense of numbness washed over his body. He fell back-first onto the fence next to Fritz. Diego turned his head and looked at him with his failing eyes. “I’m sorry.” He waited for an answer that would never come as he sucked a few more breaths into his gurgling lungs. There was dry blood on Fritz’s ear. Diego laughed softly at the absurdity of it. Of all the things in the world, that would be the last thing he would see. Then he exhaled his last breath and closed his eyes forever.
The End
Archived Edition
Beyond the Eastern Hills is also preserved on the Internet Archive as part of the collected works of Howard S. Cahill. Please visit if you would prefer to print out the PDF version of the story to read.
View Beyond the Eastern Hills on the Internet Archive >>
I hope you enjoyed my dystopian short story. If you liked it, please consider sharing it with a friend. I would appreciate it! Links are below.