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    Blind Fish: Locked in the Park
    Blind Fish: Locked in the Park
    Blind Fish: Locked in the Park
    Ebook160 pages2 hours

    Blind Fish: Locked in the Park

    By Barry Pomeroy

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    About this ebook

    The Bio Park is the ultimate playground. A fully functioning ecological system almost a mile underground--later converted to an amusement park--it took years to build and hundreds of millions to develop. Unfortunately, it is losing money, so Linked Corporation has decided to seal the thirty foot doors with thousands of tons of blasted earth until the park has accrued in value.
    The closing party drew a huge crowd of sightseers, thrill seekers, and partiers, even at a thousand dollars a head, but, perhaps inevitably, the doors closed on a small group of unfortunate stragglers. Under these terrifying circumstances--a limited food supply, little shelter, and few tools--these strangers will have to learn to work together. To some, staying alive means escape by burrowing through tons of rock, if necessary. To others, it means building a home out of a biosphere-turned-theme park.
    Complicating their attempt to survive is their growing suspicion that they are being watched. Does someone know they are inside the biosphere and if so, what plans do they have for the small group of settlers? Under the eyes of possibly malign voyeurs, their decisions are crucial, because buried under the earth, mistakes are not forgiven, and time is running out.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBarry Pomeroy
    Release dateDec 6, 2014
    ISBN9781310872785
    Blind Fish: Locked in the Park
    Author

    Barry Pomeroy

    Barry Pomeroy is a Canadian novelist, short story writer, academic, essayist, travel writer, and editor. He is primarily interested in science fiction, speculative science fiction, dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction, although he has also written travelogues, poetry, book-length academic treatments, and more literary novels. His other interests range from astrophysics to materials science, from child-rearing to construction, from cognitive therapy to paleoanthropology.

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      Book preview

      Blind Fish - Barry Pomeroy

      Blind Fish: Locked in the Park

      By

      Barry Pomeroy

      © 2014 by Barry Pomeroy

      All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author, although people generally do what they please.

      For more information on my books, go to barrypomeroy.com

      Table of Contents

      Locked in the Park

      Day One: The Closed Door

      Day One: The Radio

      Day One: Food, Clothing and Shelter

      Day One: History of the Park

      Day Two: An Ecosystem

      Day Three: A Longer Day

      Week Five: Stars in a Prison

      Month Two: Watched

      Month Three: A Crack in the Veneer

      Year One: A Microcosm

      Year One: Death and Burial

      Year Two: Tunnelling

      Year Two: Dome

      After centuries of darkness

      fish may lose their vision,

      and happy in the still pool

      will forget that light was once their day.

      (Multiple Personality Disorder)

      Locked in the Park

      The Bio Park is the ultimate playground. A fully functioning ecological system almost a mile underground—later converted to an amusement park—it took years to build and hundreds of millions to develop. Unfortunately, it is losing money, so Linked Corporation has decided to seal the thirty foot doors with thousands of tons of blasted earth until the park has accrued in value.

      The closing party drew a huge crowd of sightseers, thrill seekers, and partiers, even at a thousand dollars a head, but, perhaps inevitably, the doors closed on a small group of unfortunate stragglers. Under these terrifying circumstances—a limited food supply, little shelter, and few tools—these strangers will have to learn to work together. To some, staying alive means escape by burrowing through tons of rock, if necessary. To others, it means building a home out of a biosphere-turned-theme park.

      Complicating their attempt to survive is their growing suspicion that they are being watched. Does someone know they are inside the biosphere and if so, what plans do they have for the small group of settlers? Under the eyes of possibly malign voyeurs, their decisions are crucial, because buried under the earth, mistakes are not forgiven, and time is running out.

      Day One: The Closed Door

      When Marc’s murky consciousness swam up from the depths, he checked his watch. That’s when he realized, and he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, that he’d stayed in the amusement park too late. He brushed aside the thin blankets that had apparently been placed over him when he’d passed out at the party the night before, and, stumbling at first, ran the mile to the Park’s single entrance.

      Marc knew, even as he panted and his side ached, that he was too late. The doors would be closed against him. He felt automatically in his pockets. He still had his car keys. Wouldn’t they wonder who had left their car?

      Although he never would have admitted it, especially in light of how he dealt with such matters later, Marc prayed on the way. Please God, just let them be delayed. A strike. Equipment failure. Anything. Marc was fully aware that prayer was a last minute desperate act, and that it likely meant there would be no rescue, but under stress he stumbled into old habits. As Marc neared the huge valves that were the Park’s doors, he knew the worst had happened. He hardened his mind as he ran, and arrived breathless, watching as he panted, several others who milled around near what should have been open doors.

      Watch out, a voice yelled from beside him, and even in his befuddled state, Marc leapt out of the way and watched, with the others, a long haired teenager drive one of the Park’s electric carts into the gates. They all waited, in desperate anticipation, for the doors to crumble, as though their need was stronger than reality. As though physics, this one time, would bend to human wishes. Only the smallest of scratches showed that the electric cart, on its side now and crumbled, had even impacted the doors. Perfectly balanced, they were twelve feet thick and thirty feet tall. Once closed, they could only be opened by a nuclear weapon. Marc had learned that when he had studied the Park for an article he was going to write on deliberate communities.

      We have no way to open those doors, Marc said as authoritatively as he could considering he was still catching his breath. You saw them on the way in, they’re yards thick and the latches were made to last for centuries.

      What kind of sicko makes doors like that? demanded a man in a rumpled suit. Small wonder they went bankrupt. Overbuilding.

      Yeah, another thin man in his thirties turned to Marc. Who does that, and then closes them on people?

      Somehow Marc had become a spokesperson for reason, and nearly everyone began to turn to him. It sucks. But we have apparently been left behind when they did the clear out. And I guess we were too passed out or, Marc glanced at the grey haired woman on her knees praying near where they’d pulled the swearing teenager from the wreckage of the electric cart, busy with other things to notice the alarms.

      There weren’t any alarms, demanded the suit man. He brushed his palms down his jacket as though the removal of wrinkles might allow him to escape.

      I heard them, Marc sought out the face the soft voice belonged to. The grey eyes of a young blond woman, seemingly in her late twenties, met his with determination. Her declaration done, she went back to stand beside the group of other young people, who were, by their appearance, Japanese. By the way the man was translating for the other two women, Marc guessed their knowledge of English was fairly minimal.

      Okay, Marc said, reluctantly thrust into the role of crowd control. I’ve studied this place. Once the doors are closed, there’s no way out. Marc tried to ignore the implications of what he was saying even as he spoke.

      What the hell are you talking about? the second man pushed closer to him, rubbing the side of his face with his right hand.

      What do you do for a living? Marc spoke deliberately.

      Programmer, he looked around defiantly, as though his profession were in question.

      You might be of use. So try to keep your head on your shoulders and not cause a mess, Marc gestured to the teenager who was now pounding on the door with his fists. Can everyone hear me? Marc asked, once the programmer had gone from an angry boil back to a simmer. We need to talk about our options.

      We need only talk to our saviour, and then he will open the door, the grey haired woman said triumphantly.

      Why don’t you keep praying, Marc tried to sound more charitable than he felt, and the rest of us will just talk. When she dropped to her knees, the crack of stretched tendons loud in the sudden silence, Marc turned to the others. I’ve studied this complex. So I know some things about how it is built. One of the things I know, Marc was trying to be deliberately clear, is that there is only one set of doors. That was a huge problem at the time, and laws had to be expanded to allow it. Marc remembered how the most intriguing aspect of the construction, legally at least, was how easily safety regulations had been shuffled aside. But the fact of the matter is, we can’t just batter these doors down. They are way too strongly built for that. We’d be just as likely to open them by other means, Marc gestured to the woman praying and the tall thin man laughed nervously.

      There is a control room, so we can go there and check the external cameras. And we can try to contact the surface. There is some kind of public address system. Marc wanted to tell them not to be too hopeful, for he remembered reading a description of how the Park would be sealed and exactly what backup systems would be employed. Jesus Christ. Couldn’t they have at least checked to see if anyone was still here before they slammed the doors? The question clattered so heavily in Marc’s mind that he looked around as if someone else had said it, and then realized his internal dialogue had momentarily slipped its controls.

      Okay. You, Marc pointed to the argumentative programmer, come with me and let’s find the control room. You’ll know the computer systems better than me.

      Much of his anger dissipated by a goal, the man came to stand beside Marc, his hands twitching by his side. We shouldn't be long. The room is near the entrance. We’ll be back in less than an hour. Marc turned away, rifling his pockets for something to use to break into the main office.

      As Marc and the programmer left, the Japanese tourists talked excitedly amongst themselves, the teenager began to try to right the smashed cart, the praying woman grew slightly louder, and the man in the business suit slumped onto the ground to rest.

      Day One: The Radio

      Marc tried to slow his pace, but even as he thought about slowing, his feet urged him to hurry on their own. Am I running from myself, Marc wondered, running from my wish to be buried in here? His relationship with Anna having ended a mere month earlier, his Ph.D. turning out to be more of a dream than a conquest, Marc had more than once pondered ducking out on his responsibilities, such as they were. To still his thoughts, Marc asked, What’s your name anyway? I’m Marc.

      Ernst, automatically Ernst put out his soft hand and Marc shook it, his hand moving slightly against Ernst’s loose grip and sweaty palm.

      Who do you have waiting for you on the outside? Marc asked to pass the time and to keep Ernst distracted.

      No one really, Ernst looked surprised by the question and may have even blushed. But I sure as hell don’t want to be in here the rest of my life.

      Marc was momentarily silent. He knew from his studies that if the Park’s surface radio were dead, they would be living underground for exactly that long. Reflexively he looked at the sky. The mechanical sun, which ground slowly along its path for exactly twelve hours, was near the huge painted eleven. We have a few hours until dark. So hopefully we can get someone on the radio.

      Marc didn’t mention his deep misgivings. He had no idea what Ernst had done to make sure that he was trapped in the Park, but the procedure for closing was meant to be more than just sealing the doors. Once they swung to and had been bolted, part of the cave entrance was going to be demolished. The Park was meant to be a time capsule and a biosphere, and the corporation which owned it wasn't willing to pay for security to guard it. Marc wondered if anyone else remembered Linked Corporation’s widely publicized intentions.

      The control

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