Mini Brain Dumps

Welcome to Chapter 2! Life below ground isn’t very glamourous. In this chapter, you’ll get a glimpse of Laura’s everyday routine including early mornings, kitchen duties, school, and hanging out with friends.

If you’re just joining us and haven’t read the beginning of the story yet, you can catch up here: Beginning of the Story

Chapter 2:

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I bolted upright in bed and slammed my hand on top of the alarm clock to stop its obnoxious piercing shriek. As the small room once again filled with silence I settled back into my pillows and closed my eyes, relishing in the warmth of my bed and hoping for just a few more minutes of sleep before I had to get up for the day. The rustling of fabric and the soft pitter patter of feet on the floor told me that my mother had slipped out of bed and was getting ready for a long day of labor. The door of the bathroom clicked behind her and soon the sound of running water could be heard from within.

“You gonna get up?” my dad’s voice drifted over the sheet that separated our “rooms”, his voice gruff from just waking up.

I crinkled my nose. “I don’t wanna,” I said rubbing the sleep from my eyes before slipping out from beneath the sheets. The coldness of the metal crept into my feet, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I wrapped my arms tightly around me in the hopes of staving off the chill in the air.

“Me either,” he sighed, the springs of his mattress creaking as he too sat up.
My ankles cracked as I stumbled to my dresser, still half-asleep. I pulled out the bunkers uniform, a black t-shirt, black trousers, and matching black shoes. I slipped into them, before turning to the small mirror on the wall and braiding my long dark hair into one strand, tucking the ends underneath, and securing it in place with pins. My typical hairstyle – great for keeping my hair out of my face – and out of people’s food.

I peeked through the gap in our rooms to see my father, his broad frame outlined by the dim light of our room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. “Make sure to eat something,” he said as my mom came out of the bathroom, towel drying her hair. “You too,” he said, kissing my mom on the cheek as he slipped past her and closed the door behind him.

“There’s some bread on the counter and butter in the fridge,” Mom whispered as she passed by my bed. “And there’s a banana too.”

I wasn’t going to eat them. “Thanks, Mom,” I replied as I crammed my feet into my shoes and tied the laces.

When I had finished with the laces I collapsed back onto my bed and stared up at the metal ceiling. For a moment, I imagined that the roof was made of wood instead of metal, and that I could hear the chirping of the birds outside of a window.

I could hear my mom rustling around in her room, preparing for the day. Dad finished in the bathroom and joined her, and I took the opportunity to slip inside and brush my teeth. My mother slipped out, yelling a “See you soon” over her shoulder as she did. Toothbrush still in my mouth I popped my head out and waved to her before she closed the door with a soft click. I emerged from the bathroom shortly afterwards.

“Bye dad,” I said, grabbing my bookbag from by the door.

“Bye,’ he answered.

I slipped into the hall.

The hallways of the bunker were always quiet at this hour, the overhead lights flickering slightly as I made my way to the kitchens. My mother was already there, bustling about with a few other early risers, getting ready for the inevitable breakfast rush. She turned and smiled as I walked in.

“Morning, Laura,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Can you start on the bread?” she asked as I placed the apron over my head and tied it at my waist.

I nodded, heading to the middle of the kitchen where the dough had been placed to rise with a hand towel over top of it. I grabbed a handful of flour, spreading it over the cool metal of the counter before removing the film and tipping the contents of the bowl onto the floured surface. I began to knead the dough, turning the bread as I went.

I closed my eyes and let the familiar rhythms of the kitchen take over my senses. I could envision everything going on around me as I felt the familiar pull of my muscles as I stretched the dough before using my body weight to fold the dough. The clanging of the pots and pans, the hum of the industrial-sized ovens, the chatter of the cooks. I knew everything almost as well as the back of my hand.

A crashing sound came from the door as Jenna, forever late, ran in, throwing her apron on over her head as she ran to her station. I opened my eyes, smiling at her.

“Behind,” she said, putting her hands in the air and squeezing as far away from me as possible as she passed by.

“Good morning, Jenna,” I said, pressing myself into the counter to let her squeeze through the tight space.

“Morning Laura,” she answered as she took up her station at the grill, turning it on and running oil over the griddle to prep it for the meal about to be cooked.

I grabbed the metal pan in front of me, already lined with parchment paper, and plopped the dough into it. Using the same towel as before, I covered the pan and pushed it to the side to let it rise before it would be put in the oven.
“How was your night?” I asked, looking towards Jenna as I began kneading the next dough ball.

She looked over at me. “As if you couldn’t tell from the bags under my eyes.”
I smiled, turning the dough a quarter turn. “Stay up too late reading?” I asked innocently. She had most definitely not been reading, unless you counted sleeping over at her boyfriends as “studying”.

“Sure…” she rolled her eyes. We both grinned at each other.

I plopped the dough into the pan, covered it and pushed it to the side and moved on to the next. “Same old, same old.”

“Well make sure not to forget the flour this time. We don’t want a repeat of last year,” Jenna said as she glanced at me with a smile.

I stuck my tongue out at her before moving on to the next ball of dough.
Quarter turn, knead. One and on until the dough was ready.

The kitchen gradually came alive with more activity as the other cooks arrived, each one slipping into their roles with practiced ease. The air filled with the rich aroma of baking bread, sizzling tofu bacon, and brewing coffee. The smells almost made the early hour bearable – almost.

By the time the breakfast rush started, the dining hall was bustling with activity. Residents lined up, trays in hand, chatting and laughing as they moved through the line. Jenna had sweat on her brow from the heat as she flipped the bacon and poured batch after batch of whisked eggs onto the grill. As she finished a batch, she would hand me a large metal bowl full of eggs or bacon and I would run it out to the serving lines to refill the emptying trays, take inventory of what we were running low on and return to let Jenna know what else needed to be cooked.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Behind! Corner! Hot! Hands!

The shouts of the staff became a symphony, and we danced and twirled around the room with the grace and beauty of a ballet dancer.

I spotted my father in the crowd, his laugh booming as he sat among a sea of blue coveralls. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw him. He caught my eye and gave me a small nod. I raised my hand in response before hurrying back into the kitchen.

“Corner,” I said, as I came around the counter coming to stand beside Jenna.

“Hands,” she said, handing a large metal bowl heaping with scrambled eggs to me. “Last one,” she added with a sigh, as she straightened up and leaned back against the metal counter behind her.

I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I practically skipped towards the serving line and poured the bowl into the serving trays and returned to the kitchen. Jenna had already begun to clean her station, pouring water onto the grill before scrubbing away the dirt and grime. She flashed me a tired smile as I approached, leaning against the counter.

“Another day done,” Jenna said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Only another two weeks to go,” I said, giving her a sideways glance.

“Or eighty-two years if you end up here,” she said as she leaned beside me.
I looked around at the kitchen. Ever since I could remember I had been working here, helping my mother. At first, I would wash the dishes and then it slowly turned into me being a part of the kitchen crew. There were worse places to end up.

“Bold of you to assume I’d live to a hundred,” I quipped in response.

Jenna smiled as she nudged me with her shoulder. “How you feelin’?” she asked, the smile melting from her face.

I shrugged, wiping my hands on my apron. “I don’t know,” I answered, grabbing a cloth, and wetting it before beginning to scrub down the countertops.

“There’s no wrong answers,” Jenna said, pitching her voice low in a poor imitation of Mr. Mackwell.

“Ah yes. ‘No wrong answers’… but there totally are. And it’s the difference between you ending up in the bunks or the mains,” I answered in the same bad impression.

“Hey, you’ve at least got good grades. You’re probably a shoo in for a lab assistant or something cool like that. You practically live in the science department in your free time. I’m destined for sanitation or something like that,” Jenna crinkled her nose.

I offered a closed lip smile at her attempt to cheer me up. “If I didn’t live in the bunks, I might’ve believed you.”

I wiped down the last stretch of counter and peeled off my apron. It was damp with sweat and covered in flour. I rolled it into a ball and tossed it into the laundry bin by the door.

Jenna stretched and let out a groan. “Ugh. My back. I swear I’m seventeen going on seventy.”

“Eighty-two more years of this,” I reminded with a grin.
She stuck her tongue out at me. “Don’t curse me.”

“C’mon,” I said, nudging her with my elbow. “We’re gonna be late.”
We joined the steady stream of teens flowing toward the education block. A mural painted by students decades ago stretched across one curved wall, peeling in some sports. A sun rising over green hills.

We slipped into Room 5B just as the bell blared overhead.

The class was already half-full with students slouched at metal desks, some fiddling with tablets, others just staring blankly ahead. Mr. Mackwell stood at the front, organizing a stack of books.

“Seats,” he called without looking up.

Jenna and I slid into our usual spot near the back.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said as he turned around, leaning against his desk.
A chorus of mumbled good mornings filled the air in response.

I watched as Mr. Mackwell’s blue eyes swept over the room, his gaze lingering on each of us for a moment before settling back on his stack of books. With a slight nod to himself, he straightened up and began his lecture.

“As all of you know,” he started, his voice carrying with it a hint of weariness, “today we’ll be continuing our exploration of pre-cataclysmic history.”

I stifled a groan.

It was a story we had heard countless times before, repeated like a broke record in the monotony of our daily lives. And to be frank, it was hard to care about a world that I had never seen, or ever would see.

Mr. Mackwell explained about the ocean’s acidification which caused the poisoning of the Earth’s atmosphere with methane gas as the ocean hydrates thawed. He talked about the severe storms, droughts and heatwaves that followed, the rising sea levels from the melting polar ice caps, the food and water shortages. The fires of destruction – The Cataclysm – that plunged the world into chaos and forced humanity to flee underground, like rats.

“Long before the ‘end of the world’, the Creator took it upon themselves to find a solution, one that would save humanity. And as you know, there were multiple attempts: the space race to find a habitable planet among the solar system, multiple bunkers created, and even the last-ditch attempt of sending people to live in space indefinitely. This is how Sanctum-1 came to be,” Mr. Mackwell spread his arm in emphasis of the facility that surrounded us. “And in just a few short weeks we will be celebrating it’s 400th birthday.” A half-hearted round of applause rose in the air. I tried not to roll my eyes, feigning as much interest in the lecture as I could muster – I couldn’t let all my hard work and rapport over the years go to waste by yawning.

“For thousands of years, we have endured and thrived in the depths of the earth, forging a new society from the ashes of the old. Though we do not know if any of the others have been successful, we know, at the bare minimum, we were. We have accomplished our goal. We saved humanity,” he paused as stared out at the students in front of him. He always did have a flare for the dramatics. “And in a hundred more years, humans will walk the earth once again,” he concluded.

I could tell you all about the history of Sanctum – of the 74-year revolt, or the famine of year 250– I knew it all. Forwards. Backwards. Lather, rinse, repeat.
“As for you all though, unfortunately, you’re stuck down here with me,” Mr. Mackwell said flashing a grin.

The annoying laughter of Maie Keiffer pierced through the air as she flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder. She cast a glimpse back at me before turning to the front of the room and smiling up at Mr. Mackwell while batting her eyes. I glared at the back of her head. Kiss ass.

Mr. Mackwell ignored her and continued, “As many of you know, Pre-Placement’s start next week so this afternoon you will all be taking a test. Don’t worry, it’s not one you needed to study for,” he said as he pointedly looked at the uppers who were lazily lounged in their chairs.

“Great, another pointless test,” someone muttered from the back of the room, loud enough for those nearby to hear. A few students snickered.

“This test is meant to assess your goals and ambitions to help us figure out the best placements for you all. Remember, there are no wrong answers,” Mr. Mackwell continued.

I glanced towards Jenna across the room. She met my eye and stifled a grin. I turned my attention back to the front of the room, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the smile from spreading across my face.

Maie raised her hand, and without waiting to be called on, asked, “How exactly does this impact our Pre-Placements?”

“Good question, Maie,” Mr. Mackwell replied. “This test is meant to assess your strengths and interests to help us align you with the needs of the facility.”

“So, if I say I like to watch pain dry, I’m off to maintenance?” someone quipped, eliciting laughter.

Mr. Mackwell forced a smile to his face and clasped his hands in front of him. “In essence, it helps to place you where you can be the most productive and content… but for now, you are all dismissed. See you after lunch,” Mr. Mackwell said.

The class erupted in the usual shuffle and chatter as we all gathered our things. I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way to the door, falling into step with Jenna.

Jenna adjusted the strap of her backpack. “You ready?” she asked.

“Oh, absolutely. I can’t wait to let them know that I prefer sunny days or rainy days… because that has everything to do with my future career,” I answered, shaking my head.

“I’ve been pondering that existential question for years,” Jenna smiled, nudging me with her shoulder as we walked.

“I’m just hoping they have a question about whether I prefer my toast lightly browned or burnt to a crisp because that tells me everything I need to know about a person.”

Jenna burst into laughter as we stepped into the bustling dining hall. I breathed in deeply, relishing in the tantalizing scents of spices that roamed through the air. The hall was buzzing with students discussing the upcoming test or speculating about their placements. Some of the workers had grabbed their food and left, opting to eat at their worksites then in the dining hall. I scanned the crowd, trying to see if my dad was among the sea of black uniforms but couldn’t find him.

We grabbed our trays and took our places in the line-up. As we moved forward, I watched the staff as they dishes out the food that had been painstakingly prepared for everyone. I smiled and nodded and some of the staff as the rushed past in a flurry of movement.

“Hey Laura,” one of them greeted. It was Marcy, a kind woman who always managed to sneak me an extra piece or fruit or a larger portion when no one was looking.

“Hey,” I replied, returning her smile. “How’s it going?”

“Busy as ever,” she said with a wink, handing me a plate of curry and rice with an extra apple tucked under the salad bowl. I mouthed a “thank you” and moved on.

Further down the line, I spotted my mom bustling around, her apron slightly askew as she hurriedly dished out portions for the hungry patrons. Her eyes met mine, and despite the weariness etched into her face, she offered me a small smile. I smiled towards her as we passed by, trays laden with food. We found our usual spot at a table in the corner, away from the mains and uppers who dominated the center of the room.

We settled into our seats, a familiar hum filling the dining room. I picked up my fork and dug into my food. Jenna followed suit, her eyes wandering around the room as she chewed thoughtfully.

“Do you think we are bunkies for life?” she asked after a moment.
I paused, chewing my curry slowly as I considered her question.

It certainly possible to be moved from the bunks to the mains. There had been Therese Fairwater who had moved from the bunks to the mains, and later to the uppers. Or there had been Drake Balfour, or Fleur de Marse, or Caleb Merriweather. But they were the exceptions, not the rule. And it had taken massive discoveries to enable them to move up like they had.

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s happened before, maybe it will happen again. We can only hope.”

Jenna nodded, poking her food with her fork. “Sometimes that feels like all we have – hope. Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope that all of this,” she moved her fork in a circle, “was worth it.”

“Sometimes all you need it hope… and a little faith,” I said, echoing the words I had read in my grandma’s journal hundreds of times, the same words I had clung to like a lifeline.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the clatter of trays filling the air around us. I glanced at my mom again, watching as she held the ladle in her hand, taking trays and loading them up with food. Plastered on her face was a smile that never truly reached her eyes. I bit my lip, wishing there was something I could do to lighten her load.

A loud bang pulled my attention to the newest additions to our table.

“Sup Laura, Jenna,” Michael said, plopping down in the seat beside me and putting his arm around my shoulders.

“Nothing much, you?” I asked as I batted his arm away.

He smiled. “Living the dream,” he said as he shoveled a spoonful of curry into his mouth.

Sarah slid into the seat next to Jenna, dropping her tray on the table with a thud. I noticed the distinct lack of food on the tray, only consisting of a salad with falafel bites and an apple and couldn’t help but raise my eyebrow at her. She looked between me and her tray.

“What? You know I can’t eat spicy foods,” she exclaimed, pulling the tray towards her chest as if to protect it from my patronizing stare.

It was true. The last time she had eaten something with slightly too much pepper her nose had started running and she spent at least thirty minutes on the toilet. I would hate to see what eating something that was actually spicy would do to her digestive tract.

“I wasn’t judging,” I said trying to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of my lips.

“You definitely were” she said, stabbing her salad aggressively with her fork.
“More for me,” Michael said as he plopped another heaping spoonful into his mouth and reached across the table to swipe one of the falafels from Sarah’s tray.

“Get your own!” she said, placing her hand as a makeshift barrier between her food and his spoon.

Jenna laughed as Sarah and Michael began to stand off, Michael’s spoon moving through the air in an attempt to break through Sarah’s defenses. He stabbed with his spoon once, failing to acquire its target. A second later he lashed out, a falafel landing on his spoon as Sarah smacked it back into her bowl.

“I’m literally going to starve to death if you steal my pitiful scraps. Stop it,” Sarah said in mock seriousness.

Jenna laughed, shaking her head at their antics. I joined in the laughter, their presence a welcomed distraction from thinking of the upcoming test. The way they flirted with each other was always interesting to watch. Sometimes I wanted to butt their heads to gather and yell at them to just date already.

Michael raised his hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, don’t share.”

Sarah stuck her tongue out before plopping a falafel into her mouth with a smirk. “What do you guys think the test will be like?” she asked as she chewed.

“Probably pointless,” Jenna said with a shrug. “But if it gets me out of kitchen duty then I’ll be happy. I’m tired of smelling like oil all the time.”

Michael stuck his nose in the air an inhaled deeply. “Mmmm… fried chicken.”
Jenna swatted at him from across the table. He leaned out of the way of her flailing limbs, laughing at her attempts to hit him. Jenna glared at him as she settled back in her seat.

“I don’t know why you’re offended. Fried chicken is delicious,” he shrugged, flashing her a shit-eating grin. “Besides, there are worse things to smell like.”

I rolled my eyes, though as I rubbed my hands and felt the subtle stickiness that lingered there a part of me wondered if I smelled like the deep fryers. I brushed my hair behind my ear and leaned forward, facing Sarah, and attempted to ignore the nagging voice in my head as best as I could.

“I don’t think anything we really do matters, but I hope I’m wrong,” I said.

Sarah offered a small smile in return. “For all of our sakes, I hope you are too.”

Your Thoughts Matter!

Thank you for taking the time to read my novel and I can’t wait to hear from you!

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