Submitted for the July 2024 prompt: This Mortal Coil

When Yashida Corp called me, I knew they’d stumbled onto something huge. Big towers like theirs need deep foundations. Deep foundations exposed the past.

 

“It’s a fallout shelter,” said a Yashida site manager.

 

“Scavenged?”

 

“Would we call if it were empty, Archeo-san?” He barked orders in Japanese, dispersing his crew.

 

The Unistates were littered with shelters, if you could call these lead-lined coffins that. Russkies were pissed we got to the moon first. Most of the seventies were a psychedelic haze of mushroom clouds and glowing radiation fields. Those subterranean bunkers never stood a chance.

 

* * *

 

“Mike, you’re not serious. Spend a decade underground with strangers?” Julie slammed the pot roast down in between her husband and son.

 

“You’d rather swallow a pill and turn into a robot?” Michael picked up the carving knife. “Buzz did us no favors by coming back with that moon magic. I’d sooner drink Tang.”

 

“I like Tang!” said their son, Timmy. Michael reached out, tousling his soft brown hair.

 

“I know you do, son.” He served him a thick slice of meat while Julie served mashed potatoes.

 

“We’ll discuss this later.”

 

* * *

 

The dig site elevator shaft hummed softly as I descended. Yashida had exposed a military-grade shelter, Bunker 511. It had been decades since one had been discovered intact. People paid good money for artifacts, reminders of a simpler time. I became an Archeo to rediscover who we were and what we’d lost… what I’d lost.

 

My headlamp dispersed the subterranean gloom. I approached the doorway, whose keypad glowed dimly when activated. I took a deep breath. If anyone was still alive, we’d have known by now. Attaching the override, I unlocked the door. It opened with a hiss. The air was stale and medicinal. Nano nose filters blocked further scents. I tapped my lip and brow to begin filming.

 

* * *

 

“It’s deluxe, Julie baby. Hydroponic gardens and a freshwater source from below the projected radiation field. We’ll have our own apartment. What do you say?” asked Michael as they prepared for bed.

 

“I’m claustrophobic just thinking about it. Living like moles? What if we run out of food?” asked Julie, placing curlers in her hair.

 

“So dramatic! You want us to watch our bones break. Grow cancers ‘til we die?” asked Michael.

 

“Now, who’s being dramatic? Our savings can buy us each a Nano-cap. We’ll ‘live like an Earth astronaut-naut-naut,’” sang Julie, mimicking the TV jingle.

 

“I will not become a Swanson’s TV dinner just to live in America’s ruins. When the nukes obliterate us, do you really think some alien tech is going to keep you safe?”

 

“You saw Armstrong. Years of atomic testing! He’s not dead,” said Julie.

 

“No, but he can’t feel anything.” Michael ran his hand along Julie’s neck. His fingers slid down her back, where her silky nighty draped over her voluptuous frame.

 

“Nanoskin has sensors. He senses.”

 

“Armstrong’s more machine than man. I need to feel your soft skin… the warmth of Timmy’s hugs. I’d starve without touch.”

 

“I’d rather starve than be caged.” Julie twisted her body away from Michael’s palm and resumed placing curlers. He clenched his empty hand but stayed silent.

 

* * *

 

“Bunker 511, beneath Bradley Airfield, Hartford, Connecticut. Built in 1963 for 100 occupants. Initial entry date, August 10, 1972. Second, 0600 May 15, 2048 by Archeo-21.” I surveyed the airlock containing hundreds of hazmat suits of all sizes, from adult to infant. Emergency lights cast long shadows that traveled to rooms beyond.

 

“Per archival schematics circa 1969, the airlock exits into a community parlor.” Mid-century modern living room sets were scattered throughout the enormous room. I wove between ping-pong tables toward twenty ‘Moon Shot’ pinball games lining the far wall.

 

“Will we get full market value on these?” asked a Yashida goon in my earpiece. Post-nuke rights reverted to the landowner. But if I found human remains, the delays from identifying and moving them would be costly.

 

“You’ll get what’s yours – if this site’s clean,” I barked back. No sense giving Yashida’s team false hope… or myself.

 

* * *

 

“Julie, there’s a spa and gym. This blueprint shows an airlock. Like an astronaut, you suit up and explore,” said Michael.

 

“If I stay, I can change the future. I’d be more useful than just a housewife and mom,” said Julie, pulling him into a hug.

 

“You’d leave your family? Trade your humanity?” asked Michael, stroking her cheek. “Join us.”

 

“I’ll think about it.” Julie touched the nano-pill’s foil pouch in her cardigan.

 

* * *

 

“Gym facility with Jack Lalanne-branded equipment, ten massage tables, and five saunas.” I explored and categorized each find. Passing desiccated gardens, their hollow tubes hanging like dormant windchimes, I entered a hall labeled Housing Facility. Standing before Suite Seven, I tapped my lip and brow.

 

“We’ve gone dark, Archeo-san. Everything alright?”

 

My hand shook. I couldn’t feel the cold metal of the handle, yet shivers ran through me. I walked into the room, holding my breath. My headlamp swept a narrow swath of light across a dust-filled living room. The dark kitchen gaped like an open mouth. I walked through to another room with bunks. My light reflected off the bright white bones of skeletal remains on a lower bunk.

 

* * *

 

“You’re staying?” Michael was holding a sedated Timmy in his arms.

 

“Yes. I’ll come find you when the dust settles,” said Julie, holding back tears.

 

“Goddammit, Julie! You can’t–”

 

“I did.” Julie reached out, flexing her nano-fingers. She ran her hands along Michael’s jaw. Her hardened palm vibrated when touching his stubble. She kissed Timmy. Julie tried to hug Michael, but MPs pulled him into a waiting van.

 

* * *

 

“Remains of two males, approximately aged thirty-five and ten.” Tears crystallized on my cheeks, preventing site contamination.

 

I bent to face both skulls, eye sockets staring in my direction. Augmented reality reproduced an image of them sleeping using my memories.

 

“I told you I’d find you, Mike, when the dust settled. Mommy’s here, Timmy.” Reaching out, imagining dimpled cheeks, I registered only bone. “Let’s go home.”