Chapter Six

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The pic above, is of Tokyo...

I tread behind Noe as I eye foreign environment, foreign interior, foreign people. My curiosity is stirred, piqued to levels unfathomable. The bunker is lit in LED lights, bright illuminations of varying hues and shades and tints in every corner I turn to scrutinize. This is what padding down streets, brushing past and occasionally bumping into persons feels like? It is an exhilarating feeling to be part of a community -small as this one may seem.

At the furthest end is stood a pulsing queue, one of persons who chatter lowly amongst themselves and bicker about one thing or the other, one of persons being served fruits, vegetables and grain in baskets and hampers. The people here -despite the horrors unveiled on the surface- seem content, seem to hold onto some semblance of gladness and hope.

And yes, the bunker is indeed a large place, a home made of dense walls of tungsten metal it seems. Inside, each individual holds their own enclosed little space -much like the chamber I once knew.
"Noe, this bunker, what was it before becoming a shelter?" I query as I jog to match man's strides.
"It was a shelter for soldiers hence the size, tungsten walls and titanium doors."

I can only nod head in comprehension, my eyes turning to rake and travel and unravel more secrets. Then, another query pops inside my brain, one that itches my ears for some sort of response.
"And your cousin, Tokyo. What is she?"
"Human," comes man's shallow response.

"No, I know that. But her arm..."
My inquiries are cut short by the woman with whom I accidentally collide. Her fruits and vegetables, supplies and garment scatter and spill all over the floors, and I am hasty to squat and aid her in picking and filling them back into her nicely-woven basket. And as I do all these things, I mumble my apologies.

I lift eyes to gaze upon her and my heart thrums mightily inside my ears. How did she...how could she have possibly survived? She looks to me and breaks into a sweetly smile, one that I reciprocate with a subtle one of my own.
"Nurse?" The name tumbles past my mouth as we both rise to our feet.
"How are you, subject 3..."
"Harlow. Call me Harlow. Thank you so much for helping me find my freedom. I owe you my life," I speak, still-unbelieving.

"You owe me nothing. You'd been kept in confinement for far too long. I had to do something. Well, I'd love to stay back and chat but I have my little niece to feed. That right there is my chamber. Come visit us anytime and we shall talk for long hours, yes?"
"Yes, yes, I will. Again, I am...I am truly so grateful," my voice cracks a little.

She will never truly and fully comprehend the gravity of what she did for me. Her smile widens as she nods head and makes her way past me, disappearing amidst the throng of persons who still intermingle and tread towards their own chamber doors.

"Tallulah, come," Noe's baritone calls out to me, urges me on, so I tread lightly behind him.
We come upon yet another door, one that is a little secluded and further from the rest of the others. Noe swipes a card -white with golden vertical strips- through the lock and the doors open with a click.

Inside, I take in the glorious decor, a harmonious blend of a blackly, a bronze, and a pearly white upon the walls and the seats and upon the draperies that dangle by false windows and upon carpet grounds and on pretty chandelier lights and upon stained ceiling walls.
"Noe, did you live in this place even before the release of the virus?" I query as he glides shut then locks dense doors.

"Mhmm, I did. I held a prominent position before it all. I was captain of the Global Forces and was ordered by my superior to stay behind in the company of a handful of other soldiers some few months ago for security reasons. I didn't know this place would quickly become a shelter to many others and not just us," he speaks, turns to face upon me as I nod to his words.

"And how many people live here now?"
"Only thirty seven people."
The response shatters my spirit, it does. How so easily one man can ruin the lives of so many. How so easily one man can change the trajectory of another's life. I will find you Siobhan. Blood for blood. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life. You have my word.

I discard all plunging thoughts, all darkly ugly memories. Instead, I look to the glimmering ornaments and medallions and the proud trophies perched upon shelves. I touch, I feel, I  memorize everything and anything. I take even more time to grab a book from a bookcase and peruse through old pages.
"Would you like something to eat, Tallulah?"

I turn to face upon speaker, book still clutched in palm, nod head.
"Alright. Make yourself comfortable."
And with those few words, he proceeds into a different arena, leaves me to continue from where I left off. And I immerse myself wholly, fully inside tattered pages, eyes fleeting from left to right, up and down.

Test tube babies the book speaks of, their creation it also speaks of - that the procedure was regarded as morally suspect and that varying theologians and columnists were strongly against the very thought of such creation. The opposition took place a century ago and now, according to science, the world has continued to progress, to evolve.

A new kind of scent diffuses across the chamber. It replaces the lovely scent of Noe's home. So, I follow it and find my way into the kitchen arena. Noe's back is towards me, his formerly loose strands of hairs now tied in a bun as he whisks thick batter in a bowl. I tread up to where he remains glued and unaware, drag stool and sit myself by the breakfast bar. There, I continue to read, continue to absorb as much as can.

"What are you reading, Tallulah?"
I spare man a glance, hold his gaze till he averts his vision and carries on with his whipping.
"The evolution of test tube babies. The procedure employed in the creation is slightly different from the cloning process."
"How so?" He inquires, his tone smooth, serene, so tender that I cannot help the smile that curves upon my face.

"You see with clones, the sperm and egg are donated, the egg is fertilized in a petri dish, allowed to mature into a blastocyst and implanted into the host's uterus allowing nature to take its course. Of course, this is with the assistance of science. However, it is not as easy as I may make it out to be seeing as many cloning procedures have been carried out but only a few foetuses survive."

"Because of weak immunity?"
"Exactly. Weak immunity. So even the flu could easily terminate them," I finalize before I resume back to my reading.
Occasionally, I nod head at one thing or the other, nod head at newly acquired knowledge. More minutes of comfortable quietness fleet with each one lost in their own trail of thoughts and revelations.

"You should be careful not to move around too much, Tallulah. You might pop a stitch," comes the suddenness of Noe's voice.
"The wound will heal. Don't worry yourself, Noe," I speak, smile a little, hold man's gaze.
"Well, there's the fresh wound on your side, then there's the multiple cuts on the skin of your back," he finalizes, works to serve the pancakes onto two platters.

In all truth, aside from my darling mother and recently the nurse, not many have exhibited any sort of amiability, any manner of genuine affability or tenderness. So, when Noe just did a few seconds ago and Tokyo some many hours back, my heart clenched a tad bit.

"Noe, thank you for hosting me."
He keeps shut only for short seconds, looks upon me with head titled ever so slightly, smiles a subtle yet sympathetic smile.
"You're welcome, Tallulah," he speaks his response, pours syrup over the pancakes and hands me a platter...

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