We had no time to prepare. Just lucky we were on the outskirts of the blast’s kill zone; how fortunate we were to have not been vaporized on the spot. Except, come to think of it, more than a few of us have daydreamed of switching places with the dead at this point.
… two … one … impact.
My ears are ringing and out of no where, the world’s taking on an odd greyish orange haze. One minute it’s a clear day on the farm; the next I can’t see ten feet in front of me. It’s the girls’ screams that snap me back into reality. We have got to get to the bunker. Now.
My legs are pumping hard against the dirt path as I set my aim to the front of the barn. The girls were just playing there in the soft soil, rolling about the ground beside the open barn door. The wind begins picking up light debris, like sticks and clumps of grass, carrying them to and fro. Beyond the giant decrescendo of a BOOM… a low groan now seems to rise from the earth.
Fuuuuuck, I hope Teddy is comin’ home reeeal soon, she thought.
I scoop up Barb as she’s hollering her head off, understandably. Two paces later and I’ve got Hazel pressed roughly to my turning stomach. She’s the opposite of Barb, stone silent and not unlike a small sack of potatoes. I will address both of the children’s needs as soon as we’re locked in, she thinks to herself so she can feel like she’s a good mom. Gently depositing the kids beside her, she begins tossing clumps of hay and dirt to the wayside. The worn barn is shaking considerably; the old bones haven’t been stress tested like this in her lifetime, and she’s not holding up too great. Luckily, it is this apparent nature of the barn that is why it’s mostly empty. A few small pieces of equipment, the odd bale and pail, you know. All the standard farm oddities… and the secret bunker entrance. Which is sounding intensely less insane with every passing second.
I was the 86th baby to be born in the Retreat. It’s funny that it’s called the Retreat. Insinuating this place is an escape to paradise, a trip to a ritzy, ever-sunny resort. The reality is the world finally nuked the shit out of each other, and the air’s set to be radioactive for the next 2 centuries. Until that fateful day comes, we have the Retreat. The Retreat is the last of humankind’s underground ecosystem. There are many levels, and even more exploratory tunnels going up, down, and everywhere in between. You can’t just go anywhere you please, however. The Federation of the Underground makes up the laws beneath the surface. And trust, FUG officers will always make sure you’re where you need to be… which is wherever they tell you to be.
Not everyone is quarantined to their respective pen 24/7. Some have special privileges based on their role in the Retreat. One of these roles is Digger. Diggers are responsible for maintaining the tunnels we have in place, and digging new tunnels. As such, they’ll need access to wherever their entry point is, whether it’s on the 4th or 64th level. I’m going to steal a Diggers card today, because I must get to the bottom of that horrible clanging noise is beneath my bedroom floor.
I wasn’t the town outcast, or the black sheep of the village. This isn’t some Hester Prynne type shit. But when you’re that isolated… your imagination does tend to have a flair for the dramatic.
For the popularity The Truman Show received… kinda insane scores of Americans don’t realize they’re living it. Cookie cutter towns with cookie cutter problems that are resolved neatly (as always) but still give people something to talk about for days. Oh, it’s a diverse community, open to a score of ideas… as long as it absolutely does not alter the way things have always been fundamentally. Bake sales and 5K Run’s aplenty, but propose affordable housing in THAT neighborhood? Well, there won’t be protests on the streets. The elite prefer to do their activism quietly, with large checks. So you never can figure out why that housing proposal was rejected, or abandoned. The fucking place was eating me alive.
The only thing keeping me there was the church. Yes, the church. With the people that felt divinely obligated to judge the most. But in that church, amidst the stained glass windows and organ exploding, the choir summoning something deeper than humanity itself… oh. I felt something. Something maybe only very lonely people can feel. It was whispering something different to me; I think it was something only I could hear. That shit gave me wings. And I flew right out of this town.
Dawn, they rise Metal that birds rule the sky
Bringers of death Stealing soldier’s breath
I see brother’s fear Waiting as they draw near
Earth rains Red of veins
On and on they come Ceaseless as the war drum
Ever as it may It has come, that day
A thundering whisper to take us all away
When I was young, people always told me I would be a heartbreaker. I don’t think this is what they meant.
It always begins the same. We meet in a cafe, work, on the street, whatever. Where we meet is not relevant. We chat it up, go on a few dates, and damn it, I fall for them, yet again. What makes me different, a little quirk of mine I guess you can say, is when I get into a relationship, it doesn’t progress to moving in, getting a dog together, and getting married. Nor does it end in an explosive fight, or fizzle out as it runs its course. I consume my lovers… literally. The second I start picturing a future with them, the blackout happens. Then I wake up. Covered in blood.
