|The Chambers of Grimm (standard:horror, 1439 words)|
|Author: Nathaniel MIller||Added: Jul 23 2016||Views/Reads: 655/335||Story 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 there. 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)
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