Revival (Debriefed)

By Trynda E. Adair

Abigail Miller is a survivor among survivors, refined by the vicious world left behind by nuclear war. So it came as no surprise when the Conclave called on her team of Wardens to investigate a distorted radio broadcast searching for other people. They had no way of knowing what monsters loomed outside the old city ruins, they just wanted to rebuild society.

Includes all Revival short story installments with an additional note from Serqet Benett.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fallen Queen Press
• Release date: Apr 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781988755397

Trynda E. Adair

Trynda E. Adair grew up in the small town of Clandeboye, Manitoba where she would pass her writing back and forth between her school friends. Since first being published in 2011, Trynda has continued to release ebook editions of the short stories online and is currently working on a series of novels. When she is not writing, Trynda can be found developing websites and software for computers, playing video games or reading about history.

Book preview

We knew the world would not be the same.

A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’

I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.

––––––––

— J. Robert Oppenheimer

Abigail Miller - Report 0

Compiled by: Serqet Benett

Mommy. I pulled at her. Her dress was soft in my hand.

Mommy.

She turned to me, surprised I was standing there. What is it, Sweetie?

I stepped away and looked up at her tanned face. The skin around her eyes crinkled as her cheeks lifted when she smiled.

Can I go play outside?

Her smile was bright and warmed me throughout. She singled out a washed strawberry and placed it in my waiting hand. Not right now, dear. Why don't you go watch T.V. with your grandmother?

I felt the scowl grow over my face. I took an angry bite out of the ripe strawberry. I don't want to watch TV with Grandma. She's watching the bad show.

My mother dried her hands, took my hand and led me into the bright living room. The large room was always warm from the afternoon sun shining through the picture window.

Mom, I thought, I said no news around Abigail. She doesn't need to hear any of this.

Shh, Celeste, something's about to happen. Pay attention. My mother sank down onto the soft couch, my hand fell to my side when her grip released. I watched my mother and grandma sit, listening to the voice on the T.V. In my grandma's hand was her rosary. She clutched it so tight her fingers turned white while she mumbled to herself.

I sat at the window, like always, as the other kids played outside. It wasn't fair. I wanted to go play with them.

In the sky airplanes were flying towards the small house they forced me to stay in.

Outside the United Nations, protesters are rioting regarding the peace talks; where a treaty is being discussed to end ground conflict around the world. Seven casualties have been reported at this time. Twelve arrests have been made by police. In light–

In the distance, planes started dropping things over the city. Looking higher into the sky, I saw long white streaks falling towards the ground.

Look Mommy look! There are streamers in the sky, and air planes are dropping presents. Who's birthday is it, Mommy?

My mother and grandma jumped up and rushed to the window. The airplanes got closer. As they approached, the ground shook more and more.

We interrupt this broadcast to report an incoming attack. Seek shelter immediately. Stay away from all–

Sirens wailed, making me want to cover my ears.

Quickly, into the shelter, my grandma whispered. My mother picked me up in her arms and rushed to the basement. Over my mother's shoulder I could see the horizon growing brighter and brighter with every passing second.

Mommy, why is the sky turning white? My mother did not turn to look. She headed straight downstairs, kicking aside an empty box to uncover a wooden door built into the floor. Lifting the door, she rushed down the set of stairs through an even larger door into a gigantic cement room. My mother pushed me into the room and turned back towards my grandma to help her down the stairs, but she was already waiting at the door. The bright light crept down the stairs as she slammed the door in my mother's face, securing it from the other side.

Mommy, what's going on?

A massive shudder threw us off our feet, into the wall behind us. I fell to the ground, gasping. The lights flickered, went out, and everything became still.

Abigail, get up. I rolled over in my bed, pulling the sheet over my head, keeping the light out. Abigail!

I'm up, I'm up. I growled and threw back the covers before pulling on a sweater sitting beside my bed.

All right, hurry up. There's a lot to do today.

Lots to do? What was there to do that couldn't wait?

I have all the time in the world in this hellhole. What's so important that I have to do it now? I knew as soon as the words left my mouth I would be in for it. My mother's head appeared around the door to my room.

Don't you dare talk like that, young lady. Your grandmother gave everything she had to keep us alive.

How could I forget, you remind me every day.

Yes, because you should be thankful for her sacrifice.

Ha, yeah. I should be thankful my grandmother spent her life being paranoid and making this stupid bomb shelter. So because of her, I've been trapped down here for eleven years, waiting for the day I get to go back; where radioactive zombies will eat my brains, so yeah I'm thankful all right.

Sitting on the kitchen table in the next room was a cupcake topped with the same melted pink and white candle as every year. My mother lit the candle as I collapsed into the chair.

Happy sweet sixteen. My mother kissed my temple as I blew out the candle, burning towards the vanilla icing. She grabbed a box wrapped in reflective silver paper and placed it where the cupcake had been.

A present? I never got presents on my birthday, just a stupid cupcake.

Go on, open it Her smile grew as I peeled the paper away from the cardboard box—my excitement growing with every rip of the paper.

What is it? At the bottom of the dark box was a plastic triangular thing attached to two short cylinders. What kind of birthday present was this? I didn't even know what it was.

It's a respirator mask.

I lifted the contraption out of the box and found that it had two elastic straps attached to the back. I guess it was better than nothing, but I wasn't sure if it was a good gift or not.

What's it for? She took the mask from me to loosen the straps enough to fit over my head.

It's for when we go outside.

I could feel the smile grow over my lips.

Happy birthday, Abigail. She gave me a tight hug and handed the mask back to me.

When are we going?

My mother walked to the kitchen and cleaned up from her breakfast.

Well, after you brush your hair and eat breakfast, we'll go then. How does that sound?

I ran to my room to get ready to go outside the door, outside of this stupid hole in the ground.

The morning passed as I rushed through my routine: taking a quick shower, brushing my hair into a tight pony tail and sitting down to eat. My mother put two pieces of stale toast from last week on a plate with a few pieces of freeze dried bacon she had brought back to life with our reused water. And like always, the disgusting vitamins.

You'll get an upset stomach from eating your food so fast. She said as she watched me swallow my food almost whole.

I don't care, I just want to go. The toast hadn't tasted like anything, but the bacon still had some of its flavour. Even if it was like chewing on wet cardboard.

My mother smiled and placed a backpack in front of me on the table after she took my plate away.

We will, don't worry I pulled the bag closer and rummaged through its contents, ignoring what my mother was doing.

What's all this stuff? I peered down into the bottomless backpack.

Supplies. Some bottles of water, a set of goggles, shotgun shells, pistol rounds and a sweater. So we have everything we might need when we go outside. I dug to the bottom of the backpack to pull out a heavy package of shotgun ammunition, turning it over in my hand trying to figure out why we would need guns.

What do we need guns for?

My mother set a large shotgun along with a pistol that sat in a leather holster on the table. The small gun was surprisingly heavy in my hand when I picked it up from the table.

Not sure. We don't know what's up there, so we're bringing something to defend ourselves with. She said with her motherly teaching tone and took the pistol from its holder,