Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   standard categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools

The Chambers of Grimm (standard:horror, 1439 words)
Author: Nathaniel MIllerAdded: Jul 23 2016Views/Reads: 523/264Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A plague ransacks Earth in 2287 A.D and a research bunker is the last hope for those killed off around the world.

Today's News: November 16, 2287 A.D, Date-line America... twenty-five
billion people condemned to die in Plague epidemic around the globe. Is 
there any end? 

The news reporter sat behind his desk as-if nothing bad was happening,
only reporting on the turmoil of the world with a biased eye and those 
not stricken with the disease could only wait and watch helplessly as 
families were separated, quarantined, or killed by the epidemic that 
had rounded the globe. 

Meanwhile, night had fallen upon Central Stasis Facility in a remote
facility outside of Michigan, in which people were stored of all 
nations, races, cultures, sexes, religions and creeds. They are placed 
in blue colored ooze that bubbles inside a square chamber, sized only 
for a single human body, and chambers themselves are monitored by the 
central computer from which they preserve the bodies with life or from 
decomposition. A process from which many had come, first many with 
terminal disease, later the plague victims of 2277 AD that swept all 
nations and the entire globe to kill off a third of the populations on 
Earth for the last ten years. 

This is their only chance the doctors and scientists had said. It was
the only way to protect the world, and save them from a terrible death 
ahead. It is a death in which many had already perished, before using 
technology to isolate the victims as they searched for a cure. But that 
had been almost ten years ago. 

Andrew Martin, now twelve years of age, stood looking at his father in
the glass chamber with his mother and holding her hand. As he peered at 
his father, who hung motionless in the ooze, Andrew realized that he 
had not changed in the time he had seen him many times before. He had 
not changed in the time put in chambers. He missed his father, playing 
with him before he had become ill. He wondered when his father would be 
well and released from the chambers, or if they had been working on a 
cure yet. 

Here, the young boy glanced at his mother, who placed her hands on the
outer glass of the chamber, as if to gather strength from the body of 
her spouse who hung suspended there.  The boy peered at the reflection 
of himself in the glass of the chamber, at his sandy blond hair, 
aqua-marine blue eyes, round face, and square jaw like his father who 
hung in the chamber. The boy is dressed in the new-age fashion of the 
day. It is a loose tunic, pants with matching boots and belt that 
looked like something out of Buck Rogers in the Twenty-fifth Century. 
He is the spitting image of his ill father. Tears began to flow as the 
boy looked up at the chamber. 

“Mommy, when will Daddy awaken again so he can come home?” The boy
asked, and peered at his mother who with closed eyes placed her hands 
on the chamber.  She had let out a silent sigh of sadness as she stood 

His mother, Carol Martin did not answer. She is a woman in her mid to
late thirties, with dark gracious hair that spilled to her waist, ever 
so sprinkled with gray, a round face, a fair complexion and dark brown 
eyes. She had placed his father in this state when he was but four 
years old, having contracted the disease, and every month she had come 
to visit him with the hopes that they had found a cure and would open 
his eyes to smile down at his wife and child. 

But it wouldn't happen today. 

Around Carol and her son, the hallway was clear. There is only one other
person in this long chamber of probably a thousand containers like this 
one, separated in banks, who stood like her looking up at their loved 
one in silence. The only sound of the whole area is the low hum of the 
respirator unit and refresh unit that keeps the blue ooze fresh with 
oxygen. A console is built into the bottom of each of the tanks, and 
each one showed activity of the brainwaves, heart, or breathing of the 
person in the chamber. That information, of course, was only dependent 
on the condition of each of the patients in the chambers, as some were 
lifeless as they were placed in the glass chambers.  His father was 
just one of the lucky ones. 

Her spouse, Chuck, was one they had just placed as is into the ooze, and

Click here to read the rest of this story (80 more lines)

Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Nathaniel MIller has 45 active stories on this site.
Profile for Nathaniel MIller, incl. all stories
Due to abuse, voting is disabled.
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.

stories in "horror"   |   all stories by "Nathaniel MIller"  

Nice Stories @, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2014 - Artware Internet Consultancy BV