Postcards From the Future

  Like you, our ancestors were crew members on that submarine where you woke up alone all those years ago. They were the doctors, nurses, and orderlies who kept watch over you as you lay unconscious in the submarine’s infirmary. When Pollen occurred, the head surgeon rushed her staff into the sealed quarantine room and there they remained with you for its duration, and like you, they were not exposed to, nor infected with its horrors.

     A mass hysteria quickly broke out all over the submarine and the crew of both officers and enlisted personnel were suddenly stricken with an intense claustrophobia brought on by Pollen. The Captain himself took the controls and steered his craft shoreward at full throttle. A couple hundred yards before impact he cut power and the submarine’s nose buried itself into that remote beach. The panic and hysteria by then was so intense that the crew immediately and carelessly abandoned ship without protective gear or provisions. The head surgeon and her staff remained in quarantine with you for a time until she deemed it safe to exit. A couple of days transpired then she finally gave the all clear. The medical staff then abandoned ship to conduct a search and rescue. None of the submariners stricken by Pollen survived. The head surgeon and her staff did all they could to save their fellow submariners, but to no avail. Records are sparse, but we believe that all infected hands died of shock and exposure.