I wasn’t optimistic. The world had been falling to pieces for months and I had resigned myself to the fact that annihilation was looming. I had acquired a property out in the country and started digging. Digging deep. Quite a few people had the same idea, too. A few weeks of furious digging and supply getting later, my shelter was ready. I knew the end was only a matter of time. I sat deep underground and turned on my radio, eager to hear the emergency broadcast from London. But all I heard was static. London had fallen.
I didn’t hear much. I sat there with my tin of beans singing a song around my fire. Well, I mean, the hippies always tried flower protests. “You can stop bullets with love! ARRGH! JEEZ! I’ve just been shot! Damn you love, damn you to hell!” It didn’t work for him and it didn’t work for me. My Kumbaya guitar and singing session was interrupted by a call over the radio. Somebody was out there. “Yes, hello – is somebody out there?” I asked. “SHUT UP WITH YOUR BLOODY KUMBAYA!” was the response. Turns out, the neighbours were closer than I thought.
I had everything I needed. Medical supplies that would last for years. Protection. Food. An underground stream and filtration system. Artificial lights for plant growing. I was well happy. I even had solar panels on the surface, which worked despite the nuclear EMP wave. And on all my walls I had pictures of my family. My poor family. We were evacuated out of the city and in the mêlée I lost them. I often wondered what happened to them. It kept me awake at night.
I awoke the next morning and immediately began to regret not buying any toilet paper. My toilet was a genius invention of mine, readers. A sort of bowl and suction device. A tube was connected to the back of the bowl that led to the surface, sucked away my leavings and fired them into the sky. If the terrorists had come back to finish what they started, they were in for a mighty big surprise.
I managed to escape the radiation and initial fallout problems by staying in my bunker for as long as possible. 17 days I lasted. I even tried to make it more homely. I gave it a name. Casa Del Flowerpot. There was a distinct possibility I was going crazy. I even started to excavate more land using what I had. I wanted a farm area. I swear, I wasn’t crazy. I liked meat. I wanted meat. I wanted some pigs. I had to don my protection and go outside. Straight into the fire. Into the heart of Caesium and Strontium. Contaminants in the skin of animals on the surface. I armed myself against any hostile forces I might have encountered on the surface. I ventured outside.
I left my decontamination chamber and clambered up the ladders. I opened the hatch, throwing my shovel outside. What? It would mildly hurt at least one terrorist. I staggered onto the surface. I stood up, protective suit on, goggles adorning my face and thick gloves on my hands, and I looked across the landscape.
What I saw beggared belief…
To Be Continued :)(:
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