The once-beautiful horizon is now a grit-filled field of darkness and dust. Digory squeezes my hand.
“This lead to a widespread panic and mass food shortages,” Straton continues.
Holos of massive crowds and mass chaos surround us. Suffering, dirty faces, all filled with hunger and fear. Even after all the horrors I’ve witnessed firsthand, none comes close to capturing the utter devastation filling my eyes at this moment.
Cassius sighs. “Due to the raised levels of methane and derivative carbon dioxide flooding the atmosphere, alternating seasons of intense heat and cold rocked the population. Crop production was devastated, and weather patterns were forever thrown into chaos. Back when the city above us was a thriving metropolis, it was blanketed in winter this time of year, while it was warmer the Parish.”
Next, it’s like we’re in the middle of an intense snow storm where I can barely see an inch in front of me. Then the screens shift to images of arid, cracked earth and withered plant-life.
“The less industrialized nations perished first,” Straton explains. “But those countries considered super powers in the day fought to horde what was left of the precious resources. Allies turned on each other. There were military strikes. In some cases, there were governments who destroyed their own meager resources rather than see them fall into the hands of another. A series of wars ensued, wars fought in darkness and fire—”
“The Ash Wars,” I whisper.
Cassius’s eyes meet mine. “Yes. The few who survived came to call it that.” He shrugs. “It was a conflict that nobody won. After much bloodshed, the planet settled into quiet, the few pockets of survivors taking refuge underground.”
The images fade and the lights come back up. I look around me, then back at Straton. “This place. Sanctum is—was—a refuge against the cataclysm.”
“Yes. Our ancestors built it generations ago, one of a nexus of underground bunkers to preserve society. But over the generations, it’s become so much more.” Straton leads the way out of the observatory and into the elevator. “Scientists, and those deemed to have the technological and agricultural skills necessary to rebuild a society, were chosen to operate these underground installations. They were constructed across what was once known as the United States of America.”
“Usofa,” I whisper to myself. Digory and I exchange surprised glances.
The elevator begins its rapid descent. “You mean there are other hidden facilities like this one still around?” I ask.
Straton shakes his head. “No. At least not to our knowledge. According to the data that survived from those early days, it seems the nexus maintained communications in the beginning. But after the atmospheric conditions became more intense and the satellites began to fail, many of the installations were either breached during the ensuing wars or destroyed by natural forces. The only documentation we’ve been able to recover points to a complete loss of communication that was never re-established again.”
“But still, there could be other installations, isolated, wondering if others survived…” I mutter.
The elevator doors open, interrupting the possibilities swimming through my mind.
Straton beckons with a wave of his hand. “Come.” We’re marched out of the archive building and back into the transport.
My mind is swirling with all these revelations. Life Extinction Events. Wars. Hidden pockets of survivors. Except for what I’d learned from those fragments of books in the Parish library, I never knew there was any other life but the Parish and the Establishment. All this time, we’ve been rotting in our own little world completely oblivious of all this.
My eyes dart to Cassius. At least most of us were oblivious. This new information could change everything.
“What about the rest of the world?” I ask. “Did any other countries have survivors after the wars?”
The vehicle begins to glide forward at high velocity. Straton looks back at us from the front seat. “None that we know of. It’s possible that some survived in shelters such as this one. If so, they’ve never made any attempt to contact us, or at least none that I’m aware of.”
I grip Digory’s hand tightly. Despite my amazement at this place, there’s something about all this that just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t get it,” I say. “If people have survived in Sanctum all of this time, how is it that most of us in the Parish”—I glance at Cassius—“have never heard of you before? How could we have survived without any bunkers, and why have you never come to our aid?”
It’s not only curiosity that fuels my question. It’s anger, too. All this time, the people under the Establishment’s thrall have endured such inhumane and deplorable conditions while Straton and his crew have apparently been living it up down here, with plenty of resources that could have made all our lives so much easier.
It’s Cassius who answers me. “It’s not like that. The people of Sanctum have had their eyes on us from the very beginning.”
My gaze flicks between them. “Tell me everything.”
Cassius and Straton exchange a look and the older man nods. He turns to me. “Centuries ago, once the worst of the carnage was over and the atmosphere had become manageable again, much talk occurred here about our eventual return to the surface. The feelings both for and against were quite passionate—and volatile. A compromise was made. It was decided that a small group of one hundred settlers would be permitted to leave the safety of Sanctum with supplies and provisions in an effort to re-establish a society above ground.”
The sky above turns from darkness to soft shades of pink and purple as we zoom into the Dawn quadrant.
Straton clears his throat before continuing. “It was a risky mission, fraught with danger and fear. Those first pioneers had the unenviable task of braving the elements and setting up a new home.”
He takes a deep breath. “Because of the dangers, it was decided by the ruling council that each member of the expedition could choose only one of their family members to accompany them. The rest had to stay behind. It was a dark time. Families were torn apart. But it was vital to the continued survival of Sanctum that the others remain behind. Of course, the explorers were given as many supplies as could be spared—food, medical provisions—and even were accompanied by a scientist, an agricultural specialist, a tech expert, and a cleric—but it was still a huge gambit. Not all of them survived that first year, but soon they set up a small township and slowly began to thrive under the guidance of their leader, Queran Embers.”
“Queran Embers?” My heart rate accelerates. “Small township.” I catch Cassius’s eye. “The Parish. These re-establishers became the Establishment, didn’t they?”
Cassius nods. “Yes. All of us—you, me—everyone we know back home—we’re all descendants of those first settlers from Sanctum.”
The words gridlock in my throat. I can’t stop staring at our Flesher escort, sitting stoic, the soft hues of the newly born sky incongruous against its repulsive features. All that time, fleeing from their touch, I had no idea I was running from our very own past.
And this place, Sanctum—with its Fleshers, four different skies, giant telescopes, and archives filled with information I’ve always dreamed about—it’s not just a wondrous discovery.
It’s where we all come from. Our true birthplace.
“I can tell you’re as surprised as I was when I learned the truth,” Cassius says. There’s something in his voice that’s tinged with empathy, a harsh reminder of someone that doesn’t exist anymore—that maybe never did. I huddle against Digory, who puts his arm around me, pulling me close against him.