I gasp deeply as my eyes pry themselves open. I’m in bed, wrapped tightly under my wool blanket. A thick, pulsing alarm rings from the hallway. My head, foggy and distant, proves that I’ve been sleeping for quite a while. I try to clumsily throw back the bedding, perplexed by the sound I’ve never heard before. At least, I can’t remember a time this blaring alarm has gone off before. My bare feet brush against the cold metal floor as Jeremy opens my door.

He’s pulling a sweater over his head, shoving both arms into the sleeves. “Something’s wrong,” he says quickly. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” I want to call out, question what’s happening, but my mind fumbles over itself and he’s gone before I can spit an intelligible string of words out.

The alarm intensifying as Jeremy opens the door from our living quarters to the hallway. He pulls it closed tightly behind him and I make my way towards my stack of clothes. None of us own more than a few shirts and a few pairs of pants, but we don’t need many. I pull my sweater over my shoulders, extending my neck until my hair flops out the top. Hopping on one foot, I slide one sock up to each ankle as I bounce towards the front room of our living quarters. I peak into Cruthers’ room as I pass the entryway. His blankets sit in a messy heap on the floor, pillows strewn to either side of the bed, and the few items normally placed in neat order on the shelf above his bed look like they’ve been tossed randomly. A small metal trinket lays on it’s side next to a stack of papers shuffled unevenly on the shelf. Small gold pieces of cylindrical brass cover the tops of the pages. Jeremy was in a hurry when he left, spilling bullets along the majority of the shelf.

He told me that when he entered the Colony, he had nothing but a small backpack filled with bottled water, the clothes on his back, and two pearl-handled revolvers on his hips. I’ve held the pistols once, one in each hand. He told me I looked like a cowboy. Or cowgirl. They were given to him by his grandfather, a man named Art. Probably a real cowboy. He tells me they’re used for protection but I’ve never seen him use them. Regardless, they’re gone.

Footsteps trample the hallway outside of my door as people hurry past. Some shout, others pass silently, but they all move with purpose. My fingers grip the cool metal door handle loosely and I pause for just a moment before opening the door. Red, piercing beacons shine flashing down from the tops of the ceiling, filling the room behind me with deep red shadows. The hallways, normally lit by dim overhead light bulbs, are filled with the same shades of dark red flashing on and off with the throbbing alarm. An older man rushes past without acknowledging me, but he’s the last person to pass by for some time. I stand in the doorway confused and concerned for what seems like hours, waiting for Jeremy to turn the corner. After a while the alarm turns off, but the red lights continue to flash.

Time creeps, but Jeremy doesn’t return. I surrender my position at the door as his words - “Stay here” - echo through my mind. I fall back onto my bed, resting my back against the wall, arm propping my chin up to look through my doorway out to the main entrance. My eyes stay fixed on the metal door frame. Waiting for Jeremy to return, to explain the alarm. I want to know, want to stay awake for him, want to hear…

My eyes flutter open as I hear the front door click shut. He’s back. “What happened?” I ask, rising from my bed quickly while rubbing the corners of my sleepy eyes.

“We don’t know,” he says. He removes his gun belt and tidies up the stack of bullet-papers without making eye contact.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We think it must have been a malfunction of the alarm system. It went off over three hours ago but no one could find a single thing that might have triggered it.” Three hours? I slept for longer than I thought.

“So… everything is fine?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Dunno what happened but hopefully it won’t wake us up again.” Jeremy runs his fingers through his hair towards the back of his neck, itching as he reaches bare skin again. “Are you still planning to come with to the younger students session of Instruction tomorrow? I know you like the surface topics, and we’ll be covering the basics starting tomorrow. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“If there’s space, I’d like to come. They don’t need me in the Med Ward tomorrow.”

“There’s space, but if you’re coming along I’d suggest you get to sleep now.”

“You’ve got Instruction too, doesn’t mean I get to tell you when to go to bed,” I smile.

“You’re not the Instructor. Thankfully.” He grins as he sets the pearl-handled pistols back on the shelf. “I’ll wake you when it’s time. Sleep tight.”

“You too. Love you.”

“Love you too, Albany.”

Normally, young adults my age have phased out of the Instruction program. Being older, we use the time to sharpen our skills and work in other programs. However, the younger Colony members are required to attend much more frequently. They learn history, geography, politics, and about the governments of the past. I learned all of this stuff years ago, but it’s fascinating to me. I’ve heard all of these stories a hundred times but it’s hard to pass up an opportunity to hear Jeremy retell them again.

I’m seated near the back while Jeremy stands outside the door greeting all of his younger students. The bright overhead lights of Instruction Room Six split through my sleepy eyes.

“Good morning, everyone.” Jeremy enters the room, setting his cup of coffee onto the table. He’s met by a chorus of sleepy responses. Jeremy yawns himself as he continues with the usual daily tasks: attendance, setting up a few maps and charts, and taking a few long sips of his drink. His face tightens as he swallows. I glance to my own cup, sitting on my desk. After uncharacteristically decided to order a mug this morning, I’m wishing I hadn’t. The gritty sludge tastes like warm dishwater as it slides down the back of my throat. It’ll keep me awake, but I feel my stomach churn, threatening to reject the mixture.

“Today we begin our discussion on surface events. We’re going to look at how past events might be shaping the surface today, as well as how today’s surface might effect the future. I’m sure some of you have heard bits and pieces around, but it’s best if we thoroughly cover this topic now so you’ll understand as you move forward. Sound good?” The class nods, but the majority of them are still in a dream state.

“If I asked one of you to show me where St. Louis is on this map, could all of you?” Jeremy points at the 50 States spread across the map over his shoulder. Most of his students nod, but I see a few out of the corners of my eyes that remain motionless.

“Jessie, come on up and show the class where St. Louis is.” The doodling girl raises her head slowly. She drops her pencil onto her notebook and stands from her seat. Taking a few seconds in front of the map, she raises a skeletal finger towards Eastern Missouri. Jeremy nods and sends the girl back to her seat. I watch her take her pencil from the crook of the notebook and continues her drawings.

“This Colony, Colony RO3TC7, is about 25 miles Northeast of St. Louis,” Jeremy says.

One of the students sitting a few seats from me raises his hand. Jeremy points to him. “Why is our Colony called RO… whatever you called it? What does that mean?”

“Good question, Bruce. The short answer is that all of the Colonies around the United States were categorized by the Government using a standardized serial number. Even though it does contain letters, that’s our Colony’s serial number. It helped our government know which Colonies are which.”

Bruce’s eyes are wide now and his hand is raised towards the ceiling again. “You mean, there are more Colonies?” he asks. Many of his classmates, the twins Huey and Max especially, laugh. Jeremy shushes them, nodding to Bruce.

“That’s a great question. Yes, there are many more Colonies spread across the United States. Not all of them are around us, but there are quite a few that are spread throughout mainland America. Or what’s left of it. They were built without the publics knowledge as safe spots in case of war or disease. Lucky for everyone here, we were all located near this Colony when the attacks took place.” Jeremy pauses to take another sip of coffee. “Lets backtrack quickly to the point I made about America. We’re going to dive into a mini-geography lesson.”

He turns to the map again, gripping a yardstick in his left hand, and proceeds to draw light lines in pencil on the map.

“This is mainland America. The United States used to be made up of 50 states, as seen on this map. When the war between the Eastern and Western hemispheres, which can be seen here,” he circles the large chunk of land to the east, and then to the west, “began in 2008, the continental United States was destroyed.” Jeremy stops, and cups one hand to his ear. “If you listen from time to time you can hear the bombs falling far off in the distance. Most of the bombs fell relatively far away, but every once in a while one will drop somewhere near here.” A chill runs up my spine as I think of the faint tremor caused by the bombs on occasion.

Bruce raises his hand again. “What would happen if a bomb dropped right on top of us? Would we be alright?”

“The Colony is a bomb shelter and could withstand the blast damage one of those bombs would give off. Well, that’s what we’ve been told at least,” Jeremy trails off. I wonder what really might happen if a bomb from the East were to drop on top of us. More chills, more thoughts I would rather not think about.

“So that yard stick you’re holding, Mr. Cruthers. How’d you end up with that thing? Because I’m going to guess that stick wasn’t one of your top priorities to save when the bombs fell. We have so many tools and commodities down here, but how? Did everyone bring them along when we were attacked?” an older student named Porter asks.

Jeremy shakes his head. “No. Supposedly the American Government built these types of shelters all across the map. They were designed as safe houses for civilians in case something would go wrong. They were built sometime around the turn of the millennium. The Government made these shelters all across the 50 States as a precautionary measure so the citizens of our country would have a safe place to seek refuge in case of a national emergency. Lucky for us, these were fully stocked by the government before the attacks with the tools and resources necessary for long-term, prolonged survival.”

“So Europe and Asia, the Easterners, they’re basically controlling what we’re doing over here, aren’t they?” Porter asks.

“They control what’s being done on the surface. Not down here. We are free people of the United States, and although it might not feel like it we are as free as we were before the attacks. We choose to stay down here because it’s a safe place to live. It’s the surface that’s no longer free.” Jeremy sets the yard stick down and positions himself against the table, leaving one of his feet stuck to the floor and the other dangling off the edge of the table.

“Is there anyone left up there?” Bruce asks quietly.

Jeremy nods slowly. “That depends what you mean by there. If you’re talking specifically up there,” he points towards the ceiling “then no. No one lives on the surface above us anymore. It’s impossible that anyone could live on American soil. But there are people left, I would assume. The Easterners started this war, and I would assume they haven’t killed themselves off. But they’re far, far away. Thousands of miles.”

The discussion continues ten minutes past the classes allotted time in Instruction Room Six. No one’s looking to use the room but Jeremy’s students start to shift restlessly in their seats. I could listen to him talk about the past and the future for hours, but he releases the rest of the restless crowd after he finishes his tangent on sustainable life underground.

Once the room is empty, I approach Jeremy at the front. He’s packing maps and papers in scattered piles, jamming them deep into his bag. I toss back the rest of my coffee, tensing as the course slime slides down my throat. I lower the cup and coughs once attempting to dislodge the disgusting, sand-like mixture from my tonsils.

“What I would give for a cup of hot, black coffee from the 7-Eleven right about now.” He tilts his white mug towards the garbage can, and the accumulation of course coffee grinds hanging around near the bottom slide towards the trash. I just nod, not sure how to comment about a 7-Eleven. I’m not even sure what that is.

“I used to stop on my way to work at the gas station on the corner of Broadway and 5th. When my friend Anthony was working I only paid half price for the large cups of black magic.

“Do you miss it?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. Of course, he misses the freedom and the possibilities, the life before all of this. Jeremy’s hazel eyes seem distant as he searches for the words to take him forward.

“I miss knowing. Knowing what was happening, what I could trust and what I couldn’t. Knowing where I belonged and what my purpose was. At least I thought I knew. It’s hard teaching down here when I’m tasked with teaching you things I’m not even sure about.” He finishes packing his bag and we start towards the door. “I just wonder how different life would be if I had stayed on the surface just a little longer during the attacks. I wonder if I could have saved those that were closest to me at the time, like Anthony.”

“I’m glad you ended up here…” I say slowly.

“I am too, don’t get me wrong. Regardless of the life I live down here, I’ll always wonder.”

“Again today you mentioned the fact that there’s no one left up there. You say that in every lecture, but how do you know? You’re a great teacher, but it’s been so long since you’ve been up there. How do you know we’re alone down here?”

“I don’t. I have to make my best guesses and teach you all what I believe to be correct. There’s not much else I can do, and there hasn’t been any reason for me to believe otherwise.” He scoops his bag from the table. “I’ll see you when you’re done in the gardens. I hope you liked the lesson today. I always enjoy teaching a little more when you’re here,” Jeremy says with a weak smile as he exits Room Six, leaving me alone.