I’d always heard rumors of the button. Stories of a device deep in the militarized zone. They said it could do anything. A modern-day ‘Pandora’s Box’. A tool of destruction, or a weapon of creation. I’d also heard it was all bullshit. The naysayers said the button was the reason the militarized zone had remained intact for so long. They said it was a scare tactic. They said it didn’t exist.
“You really think it’s out there?” His laugh resonated from deep within his chest. It was a laugh from his soul. It both warmed and scared me at the same time. It held a hint of a manic unpredictability that I’d grown accustomed to over the years. I’d never known a man with a smile as wide as Bill’s, I love him but he can be a bit much sometimes. The adrenaline rush from fear had subsided with his laugh, and my trembling subsided as well.
“I don’t know,” I said dryly. “But if it does, I’d like to know for sure. I’ve seen people’s dreams shot to shit by this war.” He turned his head, gave me a hard stare. “You mean like your wife?”
I winced. The loss of my wife was still fresh and raw to me, but I had managed to deal with it. I worked hard to drown the pain in the quest of the unknown, and I’d finally found a way to cope with the loss. “If it’s real, then maybe I can bring her back,” I said. The words didn’t sound as convincing as I would have liked.
“And if it’s bullshit?” he asked. “If the button was just fantasy? You willing to take that risk?” I didn’t respond. He thumped the butt of the cigarette on the walkway between us. “I guess now is a better time than ever to tell you. I’m going.” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed that I’d set my heart on finding something that might not even exist.
“You’re funny,” Bill laughed for a moment, then he met my stone-faced gaze and the laughing subsided into a stern look of concern. “I’m not joking, Bill. I’ve planned out everything. I found maps in the public archives of the zone from before they set up the barriers. There’s a sewer tunnel that leads out somewhere near the center.”
“You’re one crazy bastard,” he said as he turned around and started walking back down the sidewalk. I rose from my seat. “I don’t need your help.” “You’ve been saying that for your whole life,” he said without turning around. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I said. He continued to walk away.
“Hey!” I called. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned around. The streetlight illuminated his face from above, casting him in a horrific glow. “It means,” he said as he stepped out into the light, “that I’m going to help you even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to help you because you might as well be my brother, all the shit we’ve been through. And hey, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and held it there. “And my brother deserves the truth, regardless of what the truth may be.” I slipped my arm away. “And if I tell you to fuck off?” “We’ll see.” He took a drag from his cigarette and then threw the butt into the street. “You’re gonna need my help,” he said. “Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but you’re going to need it.” I smiled. “Night, Bill.” “Night,” he said.
Bill’s words had kept me up for some time before my eyes forced themselves shut, and I was awake well before the sun rose the next morning. For the first time in years, I felt high on something besides nicotine. I felt high on the prospect of the button. For many years I had endured government restrictions on food and water, while endless rumors of illicit freedoms in the militarized zone flourished.
These restrictions, while severe, never managed to crush human nature. People wanted to believe in something that goes beyond the physical. I was just like the rest of them. I wanted to believe that there was a way out. The risks, of course, were astronomic. And yet the prospect of death hadn’t scared me. I’d spent so much of my life putting myself at the mercy of my own stupidity. I rarely thought about my future, which was exactly how I liked things. Having unrealistically high hopes for your future is the easiest way to fuck it up.
During my walk to work, I didn’t think about my life at all. I was lost in a daydream of the possibilities that lay ahead of me. I was pissed at Bill for insisting on tagging along, but I realized that it was probably for my own good after all. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, and I’d need all the help I could get.
I still had the maps in my bag, and when I got to work I took my lunch in the back with me. I spread them out on my table. They weren’t very detailed, but they were good enough for my purposes. I found the information on the sewer tunnel on the second map. It was very close to the middle of the zone, and it would probably be the best way for me to get in and out without being detected. After that, it would just be a matter of navigating past the patrols to the middle.
It didn’t look nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. The patrols were predictable, and they always went in the same direction. And if worse came to worse, I could always hide out for a few days. Once at the center, I’d have to find the button. That was my plan, anyway. Somewhere in the center of the zone was a small guard post surrounded by a ten-foot concrete wall topped off with barbed wire, inside of which was an arsenal capable of leveling several square miles. It was impossible for me to know what I’d be facing once I made it there, but I was confident that if the button existed then I would find it.
I pushed my lunch back to the middle of the table and started packing up after a while. The folder had become increasingly thin over time as I dragged more papers out of its crevices. On my way out of the backroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in a cracked mirror. My hair was still as dark as ever, but it had been so long since I’d seen my own eyes that they looked foreign to me. The last time I looked at those eyes was when they were filled with the courage of youth. I hadn’t felt that way since my wife died, and I wondered what had happened to me in the years since then. The face looking back at me was older, but it still contained the same look of resolve. It was a look of pure determination. I locked the door behind me and began to head home.
My stomach began to grumble. “Shit, I might as well stop and get some food.” I thought to myself. I stood at the counter, engrossed in my notes. I’d been waiting for my order when an older man approached me, obviously drunk. I think I recognized him from the factory, but when everyone looks dead it’s hard to tell who’s who. He leaned on the counter with his elbow, causing me to look up from my journal. The smell of liquor and cigarettes hit me immediately. “You know what we’re fighting for?” he asked. Before I could reply, he continued on: “This war has gone on long enough, and I’m sick and tired of it. This job is making me fucking sick, and the only reason I don’t quit is because I’m too damn old to start over.” He aimed a shaky finger at my face: “But you know what I’m fighting for?” “What’s that?” I replied.
Despite the fact that he was close to seventy, he was still in relatively good shape. He had a build similar to mine, only standing an inch taller at most. The lines in his face were deep enough to show age, but they were starting to look more like the grooves of a weathered river than wrinkles. It was easy to tell that he was once handsome, and even though his hair had long since grayed his dark-brown eyes still glistened with youth. “I’m fighting for this,” he said, thumping his finger on the counter. “I’m fighting for what we have here. This world we’ve created. I’m not going to let some bomb-droppers from the past take this away from us!” Spit left his mouth on his last word.
My eyes were still glued to his finger in my face, and his words hit me a little harder than I would have liked. “All I’m saying is that the war doesn’t make any sense,” he continued. “There was no purpose in it. And you know what happens to men without a purpose? They find something to follow blindly because their pride makes them think they’re invincible.” “Like what?” I said, feeling like my lecture was going better than I had expected. “Like religion, or patriotism. Something to make us feel important.” “What are you getting at?” I questioned, “You know what I’m getting at. You’ve got this chip on your shoulder, boy, and all I’m saying is that you should let it go. The past has passed us by. This thing here,” he said as he thumped his finger on the counter for a second time, “this is what really matters.” He gave me one last look before collecting his order and walking away. The interaction had left me with more questions than answers. It was clear there wasn’t anything I could do about the war, but his words kept ringing in my head.
I didn’t talk to Bill until nearly a week had passed, and when I finally did it was out of necessity. He called my cell phone early in the morning, “I need to show you something.” I was up and ready to go, and we met at a bar on the edge of town. He wore a black leather jacket and he seemed uncharacteristically jovial. “Good morning,” I said as we sat down across from each other. “You look like you’ve been up for a while.” “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “What’s this about?” “You know how to get into the zone, but I know how to get us out. Undetected.” The words hit me like a rock through my chest. He pulled something out of his coat pocket and placed it on the table in front of me without saying anything. “Do you know what that is?” he asked.
I picked it up and examined it closely. It was a steel hexagon shape with various wires protruding from the edges of it, connected to a small black box concealed by his palm. “I don’t know,” I said. “It looks like a bomb.” “It is a bomb,” he replied. “A very special bomb.” His eyes smiled at me as he explained the device to me. “Have you ever heard of an EMP?” I shook my head no. “It stands for electromagnetic pulse. It’s a device that emits a burst of gamma rays that affects electronics.” “Like a power surge?” “Exactly. A large enough electromagnetic pulse will wipe out any technology within a several-mile radius.” I could see where he was going with this. “You’re telling me that if I set this off inside the zone, all of the electronics inside will be destroyed?” “Exactly. Completely gone.”
I was immediately skeptical of it after he mentioned it, but when I saw the look in his eyes I knew that he wasn’t bullshitting me. “It’s a pretty simple device,” he continued, “and although it’s not very powerful, it will be more than enough to disable any electronics within its radius.” “I’ve never seen anything like that before. How do you know how to make it?” His face lit up as he explained this part: “My friend gave me the idea. He was a scientist back in the states, worked for Alonzo. He was telling me about how they’d developed this new type of bomb that used an electromagnetic pulse to disable computers, but it would be more than capable of disabling the electronics in your car as well. As long as the electronics are hit with a burst that’s powerful enough, they will all be permanently destroyed.” “I don’t know, Bill,” I said. “This just sounds like a pipe dream to me.” “No, wait!” he replied spastically. He sounded desperate. His eyes had been fixated on mine since we sat down at the table and his stare lengthened as he continued: “If there really is a button out there then you won’t find it by going in head-first! There’ll be guards everywhere around that post. You’ll get shot for sure–most likely killed, and it will be a waste of time! If we’re going to do this then we need to go about it smart, right?” He paused for a second before continuing: “This is the perfect opportunity.”
His eyes had met mine in a dead stare as he finally revealed his plan in its entirety. It was set in stone. “Tomorrow,” I said sternly. “We’ll do it tomorrow.” Bill nodded and left without another word. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, speaking to myself in the empty bar.
The night had been long and sleepless; too many worries about what we were going there to do kept me awake throughout much of it. I’d risen early that day knowing what was coming, but still unable to shake off the feeling that something terrible would happen if we actually went through with his plan…or even worse: nothing at all would come from it, and we would be no closer to finding the button. When I arrived at Bill’s place a little after nine, he was already awake and talking on his phone with someone from work, but as soon as I got into his car we pulled away from the curb without saying a word to each other. We made it all of two blocks before he broke the silence: “I had this dream last night that we were both standing next to the button, and I put my finger on it but - I never pressed it. When I pulled it back, there was blood on it.” “Super poetic,” I replied sarcastically, but deep down inside I knew what he meant by his words.
We arrived at the edge of town only minutes later. “We’ve got about a four-mile walk to get to the tunnel. It’ll be hard to spot, keep an eye out.” I said as Bill pulled his keys out of the ignition. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. The tunnel was almost completely obscured by bushes, but once we pushed them away we found a gateway that led down into a pit. The tunnel itself was dark and smelt like a mix of dirt and gasoline. “This is the entrance,” I said. The walls were caked in dirt and there was no light at all on the path ahead, but the tunnel was a straight line and easy to walk. We moved slowly, cautiously, but we moved.
After a minute, we were completely in the dark. I fumbled for my cell phone and turned on the flashlight function. “We should start seeing daylight pretty soon,” I said. Bill kept silent as he kept his eyes fixated on the path ahead. His face was pale and hidden in shadow, his breathing even and strong. I felt like I was walking with a ghost. We had been walking for about five minutes when Bill finally spoke up: “I can hear water,” he said. I listened closely; I could hear it too. The sound of a trickling stream grew and grew until it filled the tunnel, replacing the silence with an almost musical quality. The more I listened to it, the more I realized just how much noise the sound made, but I couldn’t tell if it was a good sound or a bad one.
The light up ahead finally became visible. “We’re almost there,” I said, but before I could say anything we heard something else: a low rumble that reverberated through the tunnel, like a drum. “What the hell is that?” Bill asked. “I don’t know,” I replied. I was nervous. Even through the rumbling, I could hear small splashes of water bouncing against the walls of the tunnel and landing on the floor with a light tinkle. I flipped off my flashlight to save its battery. We finished our trek in complete darkness, but as we approached the light it felt like we were walking up a small set of steps. When we stepped out of the tunnel the water shone brightly in front of us. “What the hell,” Bill said.
The inside of the tunnel had been previously made of sheet metal, but now it appeared to be carved out of the rock and walls of a mountain. As if this section was much more ancient. However, the room we had just stepped into was man-made. The ceiling was high, at least fifty feet overhead, but the walls were made of carved stone, as was the floor. There were large wooden beams covering the ceiling, along with a few dozen pipes that ran across the water to some unknown destination. The water was slow-moving, smooth and black. It was illuminated beautifully by a few beams of sunlight that shone through a hole in the ceiling, allowing a ray of light to be cast over the forest that grew along the walls. The light reflected off the water, creating a pleasant glow that made everything appear warmer than it was. It was almost idyllic - there was something about it that made it feel safe, like a welcoming place.
However, the room didn’t match the maps. “It’s beautiful, but this was never on the map. The tunnel is supposed to spit us out in the forest.” We walked to the opposite wall of the room. A door sat before us, a sign reading ‘MAINTENANCE ACCESS’ hung above it. Bill turned the handle and opened it. The forest in front of us was beautiful. “Maintenance my ass,” I whispered under my breath as we stepped out.
We trekked for what I’d assume to be around 45 minutes. It felt like a jungle, with dense trees, tall grass and vines. It was humid, the sun was beating down, and I could feel the heat rising from the ground. The air felt thick and heavy. The only off-putting thing about it was the sound or the lack thereof. Silence. There were no birds or animals, no insects, no wind. It was like we were walking through a painting, or a movie set. This place was so surreal.
“We’re here,” I said. We were standing in a small clearing, and an old farmhouse sat in the center of a valley. It was the only building for miles, surrounded by nothing but grass and trees. Although it was old and weathered, it looked like it had been well maintained. The paint was fading, but it was a light blue, almost like the color of the sky, with faded white trim. The windows were clean and the shutters were painted a dark green. It looked like a quaint house out of a storybook. “I thought you said this place was a dump.”
We entered the house, it was entirely empty. No furniture, no fixtures, nothing. There was a chimney on the far wall, and a fireplace sat on the mantle, but that was it. It was all very strange. Disappointed, we walked outside and sat on the porch. “No fucking button,” Bill said. “Just an empty house.” “What the hell? We just walked through that fucking tunnel, and we’re here. This is it?” Bill shrugged. “I have no idea, man.”
I stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. “This is it? This is what we came all the way out here for? No fucking button,” Bill yelled, kicking the porch. “It’s bullshit!” I took a deep breath, calming myself. On his third kick, Bill broke one of the boards of the porch and revealed something beneath us.
My eyes lit up as I saw something in the darkness. “Hey,” I said, “what’s that?” Bill and I both realized at the same time that there was something below us. A stairway? Something had been built into the house, but it wasn’t visible from the outside because it had been covered by the porch. Bill and I began ripping up the boards and made our way down the stairs.
The stairs led down into the basement of the house, which was almost completely bare except for one object. A machine sat in the corner of the room, covered in dust, but it was clearly still operable as a light was on. Bill and I both walked over to it and stood there, looking it over. “What do you think?” Bill asked. “I dunno,” I replied. “It looks like an elevator or something.” We both wanted that button. We began to notice a strange smell in the air, almost metallic. Bill and I stepped down onto the metal platform that the machine was installed on, and we noticed something taped to the side of it. A sign read ‘Operator’s Manual.’ I was intrigued by the machine and I couldn’t stop myself from examining it. “Look,” I said, “there’s an operator’s manual.” I stepped over to a panel on the side of the machine. It had a series of light switches with little pictures next to them.
I flipped one of the switches, and the platform began to descend slowly. “Fuck yeah,” I said. “Let’s do this.” We stood there, our heads pressed up against the back wall of the machine, as it descended. It did not move fast, and it seemed like it took forever. The smells in the air increased, and I came to the realization that our plan was flawed. “Bill,” I said, “What happens if we use the EMP down there and can’t get back up?”. The plan was to use the EMP directly after pressing the button, hindering any search parties that may come after us. Suddenly, the platform stopped.
We were about fifty feet down and the only light was the dim glow of the machine. The smell was now so powerful that I could almost taste it. It smelled like metal, almost very salty. We stepped off the platform onto the solid cold ground. There were fluorescent lights that led down a well-maintained corridor. I noticed a sign on the wall. It said ‘Alonzo Chemical Testing Facility.’ We passed down the corridor and through the entrance. The room we stepped into was circular and about forty feet across. It had a large glass window that looked out onto a brightly lit room with a number of computer terminals in it.
A blue light was shining down from the ceiling into the middle of the room. Under that light, on a small raised platform, sat a button. This was it. We stepped into the room, the silence of the place was intense. There was still no noise, not even the sound of our own footsteps. Curiosity had gotten the best of Bill though. He was looking through the reinforced windows at the many terminals. He stopped, staring at one of the lit-up screens. “Bill?” I called out, noticing his trance. No reply. I walked over to see what he was so entranced with.
It was us. An image of Bill, along with a security feed of his house. And me. My house. My workplace. The bar where Bill and I discussed our plan. They knew we were coming. Maybe this is why it was so easy to get in, they deserted. Or, even more sinister, it was a trap and we had already walked into it. My curiosity was halted by my sense of self-preservation. We were trapped here, and trapped we would die.
“Bill. We gotta get out of here,” I said as I grabbed his arm. He looked back at me, paralyzed. Almost as if it was right on queue, the elevator ascended. Bill ran over and tried to stop it, but there were no levers or buttons to recall it. We were totally trapped, and our only escape was that button. We scampered back over to it, grabbed onto each other’s shoulders, and heaved my body to the button. I heaved with all of my strength and it clicked down. I could feel Bill’s body tense underneath mine as the loud ‘beep!’ of the button was immediately followed by a terrifying metallic roar.
Instantly, the room began folding like origami as reality collapsed around us. Bill screamed as his body collapsed in upon itself, splattering me with his blood. Just like the room had, he was folded in an ornate fashion that seemed impossible by all physical standards. I held my hands over my eyes, unable to look as I heard him collapse into a small heap at my feet. Just as fast as it had begun, the noise and the folding stopped, but my heart raced.
And then it stopped. I was in a black space, lacking all sense of dimensionality. There was nothing around me, not even myself. It was all gone, replaced by this unchanging, cold, blackness. In my mind, I feared that I was dead, but without the physical sense to sense it. I was enraptured by my sickeningly dark surroundings. As I floated there, I noticed a voice, one that sounded strangely familiar. It was a woman’s voice, one that I never imagined I’d hear again outside of my nightmares.
The calm, soothing, loving voice of my wife. “Why?” her voice echoed around me. She sounded sad, as if she was out of breath, or as if she had cried so much that she had run out of tears. “I just wanted everyone to be happy again. I wanted my life back. I wanted everyone to be happy,” her voice echoed throughout the nothingness. She continued for what felt like an eternity, her voice barely above a whisper. The voice pierced through me, ripping into me like the loud bang of a shotgun in a crowded room.
And I couldn’t see who or what this voice belonged to. “I’ll be happy, okay? I promise,” I cried out, my voice echoing. “I’ll get you back, I swear. This isn’t a joke, it’s not a prank, it’s not my imagination or my drug-induced fantasy world, or some god damn videogame, this is real.” The voice was getting farther away, and I kept yelling to try and stop her. “Whatever’s holding you back, I’ll find a way to deal with it, I promise!” I was gasping for air, trying to get control of myself. “I’ll make a contract with the devil, I’ll face an army, I’ll do whatever I have to do to get back to you. I love you,” I cried out as the voice faded.
Her voice faded, taking with it my only comfort. Was I going crazy? I was losing my mind, that was clear. The realization hit like a sledgehammer. “Fuck!” I yelled out. “It’s the forest, Alonzo, the water, the tunnel, all my drinking, a hundred years has gone by… no…” I couldn’t think anymore as I began to self-destruct. I knew that this wasn’t my fault, but I began to build my blame. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I began to wish for it to be. I just wanted to become someone else for a little bit, to understand, to accept, to be able to tell her everything. To forgive myself, to forgive those others, to forgive my wife. And maybe most of all, to believe.
I could feel her warm hand in my own as I awoke to the sunlight shining through the blinds. I looked over, but there was no one there. I laid there for a moment and composed myself, taking in my surroundings, but the hospital looked familiar to me. It was the same room I had stayed in before, with the same bed and the same furniture. I looked at the clock on the wall, and it read 10:53. I was confused, but I felt rested for the first time in days. I lay there for a moment more before I heard a voice coming from the hallway. I recognized it as my wife’s, but something about it was different. It was more certain, more confident. I got out of bed, threw on my robe, and wobbled towards the door.
I opened it up, and there she was. She was standing in the hallway, looking into the room. She turned to me and smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile she had before. It was different, I couldn’t place how, but it was different. “Hey, you’re awake,” she said. “Yeah, how long was I asleep?” I asked. “About an hour,” she replied. “Oh, a letter came for you!” she said as she reached into her pocket, handing me a letter. It was addressed to me, from Alonzo Chemical Testing Facility. I opened it up and began reading.
Dear Sir,
It has come to our attention that a bit of confusion exists within our body of work. Recent reports have indicated that you have experienced some internal conflict regarding the actual state of your situation, and have become distraught. For that, you are to be commended, as we wish only for there to be joy and prosperity within our halls. Please return to us as soon as possible as we would like to assist you in your transitional state of being. Conferences regarding this matter will be set at a later date.
-Alonzo Chemical Testing Facility.
I looked at the letter and began to tear up. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I read those last lines. “Transitional state of being?” She stops me for a second and turns me to face her. I look at her and her face is soft and caring, but her eyes are cold and distant. At that moment, I couldn’t even feel fear anymore. Just a bitter emptiness, and what once was pride had been replaced with regret.