CHAPTER 6: MEETING

  Outside the meeting room was posted yet another guard. Drake’s father explained to her the situation, and why they should be let into the room: Drake was a witness to the events at Beil. Bill naturally had permission to enter because he was the designer of the Walls and knew the city’s interiors well, having spent a lot of time in the city. He was also now in charge of maintenance of the city, and so studied the blueprints and details of it.

  “And what about the third fellow?”

  “Steve…” Bill thought about why he was here. “Well, he could have useful input also. There’s no harm in him coming in too.”

  Steve cried on the inside upon realizing his uselessness here.

  After some convincing, the three entered the room. It was full of people, who were chatting. The room was of the dimensions of a larger-than-usual typical conference room. Along the walls were old paintings and political propaganda posters. The ceiling, being constrained by the floorplan of the building, left many desiring a more open feel, as would be suitable for official gatherings such as this. Unfortunately, the building was not made for this purpose, nor was most of Rencia for its’. At the center of the room was a long, black, wooden table with seats around it for the various government officials and important figures who would partake in the meeting. It was surprising how elaborate the furniture was for an Apocalypse shelter that didn’t have much time nor budget to prepare.

  All these participants were already here, about thirty or so members. The three seemed to be the last in, an unexpected surprise for the others right before the meeting started.

  Drake sat down on a chair at the end of the table. Some people looked at him weirdly. He ignored them. Behind him, the door opened again. Maybe they weren’t the last in, after all. Drake saw on the table a plaque in front of him. He picked it up. It was a nameplate; a placeholder for the person who was to sit there. It read: The President. Drake looked up to find a man looking down from behind the chair. He had black skin, a clean-shaven face, short hair, and a formal black suit. He was slightly obese. He was also a man whom Drake had seen many times before, only on television: The President of the United States.

  Drake stared up at his face for a minute. He stared down at Drake, sitting in his chair. The room quietened and everyone stared at them. Soon, the President, Warren Atkinson, defeated, said, “It’s fine. Stay,” and then, with an air of sophistication, strode to another nearby seat and sat down. He was somehow able to make it look like he won.

  As expected of a politician, Drake thought. He respected this ‘acting’ ability. Drake smoothly placed the plaque in front of where the president was sitting, and then laid back comfortably.

  Steve, meanwhile, was freaking out, wondering how Drake could be so relaxed about what just happened. He had to have either a crazy amount of courage, or complete oblivion to his surroundings and the gravity of the situation. Perhaps both.

  The President initiated the meeting. He took out a few sheets of paper and started reading loudly and clearly, for everyone to hear: “The Day of The Apocalypse truly was the most terrible night in human history. Billions perished. Most of us here witnessed the events as they unfolded. We watched countless lives being lost before our eyes, devoured by man-eating monsters that appeared with no prior notice. They took everything from us. Everything but our will. We, here in Rencia are the small group of remnants of the massacre. But we stand proud and unwavering.

  “Today, we are gathered here, not to mourn past events, but to look to the future. We decide, here in this meeting, the governance and survival of the rest of the human race. It is not a small nor easy task, but it is our responsibility, and we group of thirty or so, decided to lead the rest of humanity to salvation, not as rulers, but as comrades, who dedicate ourselves to our collective survival.

  “We will now discuss the operation of each sector of the city, of which each of you is in charge,” He looked at Drake inquisitively, “Well, most of you are in charge of one. First, we will put together as much information about the monsters as possible, and then discuss the most pressing matters, such as our defenses and safety against any mutant attack, although I’m personally sure that Rencia’s walls are strong enough to hold off against any.” Everyone looked at Bill, who smiled proudly. It would seem that Bill was already acquainted with most people in the room. “We also have our excellent Defense Militia, who will be useful in protecting us during any expeditions we may need to take to go outside for gathering resources and such.” An old man was now the center of attention.

  “Who’s that?” Drake whispered to Steve.

  “He’s the head of the Defense Militia: General Arthur.”

  The man had greying blond hair that stood up and wore a uniform with a dizzying number of badges. He exuded discipline, but Drake didn’t think he looked very strong.

  “Other topics of discussion are the food supply, economy and currency, and allocation of resources.” Everyone acknowledged these issues as important by nodding their heads.

  “Of course, while we run society together, our team of scientists, headed by biologist Dr. Lazzie, will be looking into what these monsters are.”

  Now, the attention turned to a woman in her thirties with brown hair and glasses. She wore a lab coat, almost as if to remind everyone that she was constantly working on experiments in a laboratory. But this one was brown, acting as semi-formal wear, and allowing for her to quickly change settings without having to change clothes all the time. It also had all sorts of tools in the pockets. Her glasses weren’t for show either. They were scientific glasses, with built-in functions such as a flashlight, magnification, and connection to nearby smart devices.

  “That’s doctor Jillian Lazzie,” Steve whispered. “She’s in charge of finding out what the mutants are and how to stop them. I’m thinking of working under her team. Even though I’m not a doctor and I don’t know much about biology, I still want to help find a solution to this situation. I believe that she and her team are the most important people in Rencia and for the future of humanity.”

  “Before we begin, we need a name for these creatures,” The President flipped through some pages with a slightly annoyed look. The atmosphere tensed. Drake was confused. He seemed to have finally found something scribbled down. “Our research and development department thought of one very quickly. They gave the name ‘M.A.Y.H.E.M.’, which stands for…” he thought for a moment, trying to remember what it stood for, “Mutated Animals Yearning to Hastily Eat Men…” he thought again, “or was it Mutated Animals Yearning to Horridly Eat Men…” He started to mumble, lost in thoughts. “That doesn’t sound right. Maybe it was Mutated Animals Having Esurience for Men.”

  The last one doesn’t even stand for MAYHEM! Drake thought, But the name sounds pretty cool.

  Everyone, meanwhile, looked extremely relieved and acknowledged the name immediately, not caring about what it stood for. Some turned to a man and wore expressions of thankfulness; Tristan Wells was in charge of the Research and Development of Technology and Weapons that would protect Rencia. The technology would be useful to the Defense Militia, because they were up against enemies they’d never seen before and didn’t know how to deal with.

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  President Atkinson watched the happy scene and grunted something about not having the qualifications to name something. Then, an idea hit him, and his face lit up. “Since there are just so many issues we have to discuss, I propose we all have this meeting every once in a while. Of course, we have to call it something.” The whole room fell silent and grave once again, as if watching someone’s death. The President continued, cheerily, “I decided to name it ‘S.M.U.M.M.R.’, or the ‘Strategic Meeting for Understanding Mutants and Managing Rencia’.” One could practically hear crickets outside the building; or were they giant, mutated ones outside the Wall?

  What kind of name is that? Drake wondered. He had anticipated a better one after hearing the previous one, Mayhem. He looked around at the faces in the room. They were all looking down, or at each other. Their eyes urged each other to do something.

  Eventually, one person spoke up, “Umm… with respect, sir, couldn’t we take some time and think of a better name for it?”

  “A better name?” The President asked.

  The poor man was sweating.

  “How about the ‘Strategic Meeting for Understanding Mutant Behavior, Understanding the Mist and Protecting Rencia’, or S.M.U.M.B.U.M.P.R.?”

  That’s somehow even worse! Drake thought. How bad can a person get at naming things?

  The man gave up. “Actually, the previous one is fine, Mr. President.” Smummr it was.

  “Alright! Let’s get this SMUMMR started! First, let’s have Dr. Lazzie recap all we know about these… creatures,” he said, refusing to use the new name for them.

  As Dr. Lazzie readied her electronic clipboard of notes and was about to get up, Bill signaled to her not to. “Actually, my son, Drake, here, was at Beil, where the space object crashed, on the day of the Apocalypse. I think we should let him explain all that he observed. It will refresh us, and may give us new information.” No one protested. Bill gave Drake a thumbs up. Everyone waited for him to start, getting their notes ready.

  Don’t just put me under the spotlight without warning like that! Drake thought as he got up. Where could he start? What should he include and what shouldn’t he? Drake wasn’t good at talking in front of a crowd, but he didn’t really care.

  He took a deep breath, and started: “The night of the apocalypse, a meteorite fell onto the Earth.” From what Drake remembered, a meteoroid was a rocky object in space, a meteorite was a meteoroid that reaches the ground, and a meteor was the streak of light that a meteoroid produces when traveling through the atmosphere. You can never predict where general knowledge was going to be useful, unlike that waste of time stuff he’d learned at school.

  “It crashed in the woods, near my house in the town of Beil.” Drake tried to leave out any irrelevant details. “A few minutes later, Mayhems started coming out of the woods and eating people. They were just like the ones we’ve all seen: enlarged animals that have a darkened exterior and eat humans. It’s important to note that they came before the Mist.”

  He decided to add another detail, “The proportion by which they grow initially, when they mutate, isn’t constant.” The frog and spider he encountered were nearly the same size, and they were only half the size of the deer. The size proportions were unlike normal animals.

  Drake’s mind went in chronological order. Next was him running through Beil, and encountering a Fox. “The Mayhems seem to have the same physical abilities as their original animals. A fox I met could smell me from afar, and a toad was able to use its tongue to swallow a person and hop around. After about half an hour, I saw the expanding ring of blue Mist coming from the direction of the crash site. I assume this is what everyone else saw. It covered the world. Animals mutate after coming in contact with it, so it transformed the world’s animals into Mayhems suddenly. But not all animals mutate upon touching it.” Drake thought about what he had observed. He had heard crickets chirping in the woods, felt mosquitos biting his damaged skin, and saw a single Mayhem Ant, by itself. Not a whole colony of them.

  This led him to believe that not all creatures that touched the mist were transformed. The conditions under which they did so were still unknown, though. There were more mammal mayhems than insects, amphibians, and reptiles. This meant that certain animals have a higher chance of mutating, upon contact with the mist, than others. Drake explained all these observations, noticing some people taking notes. His information was useful after all.

  He went through everything he did and learned until he met Steve.

  “…and that’s when I met Steve here.” Drake turned to Steve, “Steve, do you want to explain what happened from there?”

  Steve made a gesture with his hands as if saying: Don’t drag me into this! Steve was genuinely impressed with how Drake was able to so freely narrate his experiences to this audience. He knew that they were in a survival situation, and so formalities and pressure were unnecessary, but he still wouldn’t be able to talk in front of even a single one of such people, let alone a whole group during a conference.

  Drake shrugged and continued. “We traveled through a farm and a forest. There, we encountered an ant and a grasshopper. We were able to get them to fight each other. I think this shows some interesting patterns in their behavior. They are focused solely on getting their food, so much so that they’d compete with each other for it. They don’t communicate with each other. They are stupid, more so than their animal counterparts.” Unfortunately, that didn’t make them any less terrifying.

  Drake moved on to Cyll. He explained, in gruesome detail, what he had seen. Enormous monsters and crowds of people trying to run away, with no way to escape. He wanted to put emphasis on the terror that most of the citizens of Rencia had seen, that the higher-ups here didn’t. He needed them to understand the mental state of the populace and what they’ve been through. He knew that these people had quite the burden on their shoulders, being responsible for protecting the country during the time. The deaths were partly on them. But knowing that people died somewhere was different from seeing or experiencing it.

  “…and at that point, I was hit by a piece of debris and fell unconscious and awoke here,” Drake concluded.

  The room was silent. Steve quickly confirmed Drake’s account, and then the room was quiet again. Steve felt embarrassed but congratulated himself for speaking out. His words repeated in his mind to check for any mistakes he made in his simple sentence.

  At last, The President cleared his throat and talked: “We all arrived at Rencia somehow, and we all must live here now. We have a lot of problems here, but we must sort them out to survive. There are thousands of survivors out there across the world, living in small groups, in bunkers, and other safe places, without the luxury of being able to sleep in peace at night. We, unfortunately, cannot rescue them all, due to our food shortage, but we must live on for their sakes.

  “Since the Day of The Apocalypse, we have tried to communicate with survivors over the radio, and deliver information on survival tactics. We have also attempted to establish communications with any other countries and governments in the world who could have miraculously survived, but with no response. It seems we’re the last large group of humans left after the disaster. That is why we will work from today onwards under the assumption that there are no survivors out there in the world. We will tell the people of Rencia the same.” He looked at Drake, realizing that the stuff they were talking about was pretty confidential. He asked Drake and Steve to leave the room. Steve was quite content with doing so, while Drake felt patronized.

  Drake left the room, while President Atkinson began: “We will now start discussing the city’s problems and their solutions.” As Drake closed the door, he saw the President look at him one last time, almost with an interest he hadn’t shown before. He had a brief uncharacteristic look of amusement and curiosity on his face. “May God bless Rencia, and protect us all…”