by Stu Jones
The structure was collapsing. He had to get out. The wind had slacked off enough for him to move, but everything was on fire. Kane winced as hot embers landed on his bare back, and blood poured into his eyes, blurring his vision. He could smell his own skin and hair burning. He climbed with determination up to the torn open rear of the structure. As Kane moved to jump free of the house, he heard the sharp cry of an animal in distress. He jerked his head back to the left and saw Barney. The family Jack Russell terrier was trapped in a cubby under a flaming support beam, injured but alive. Kane cursed and jumped the four feet down to the opposite side of the split. In a surge of adrenalin, he kicked the flaming beam to the side with his bare foot and scooped up Barney, diving through the open wall as the structure crashed down behind him. Kane fell squarely on the crisp, blackened lawn and rolled to the side to protect Barney as fire fell from the sky like a hellish rain, drowning the landscape in an orange glow.
The storm bunker, surely it’s fortified enough to withstand anything.
Kane broke into a dead run, leaping over the ruined trees and dodging flaming debris in his path. In twenty paces he was at the underground bunker. Placing Barney at his feet, he snatched up the axe at the entrance and swung hard at the heavy padlock, ineffectively spinning it around. The keys were in the house. Kane glanced up into the dark sky above him and saw, through the smoke, hundreds of long white condensation trails littering the sky with a strange patchwork. Condensation trails like a jet would leave—or a missile.
“Barney, we’re being attacked!” Kane said, as if this exclamation to the dog would elicit a response. More missiles could mean more blast waves. They had to get into the bunker now.
More flashes, and the explosions sounded too close. Kane raised the axe again—then dropped to his knees, pressing his palms to his chest as his heart wrenched inside him.
“Aaagggggh!” came the guttural sound from his throat.
Boom!
“Ohhh God!” he said gritting his teeth. “My heart—uggggh!”
Spitting, drooling, his head spun, stars blinking across his vision. “Get up!”
Kane began to stand, the taloned claws of death tearing into his thundering heart. He stood and grabbed the axe, raised it high, and brought it down, dropping his body weight and severing the lock. The rush of wind grew behind him as Kane pulled the thick metal door open and stumbled into the hatch with Barney. He slammed the door back and barred it as he heard the wind of a new blast wave hammer the door. The door creaked hard but held. Kane leaned against the wall, clutching his chest, his lungs heaving. His mind was racing, and the black hole of pain in his chest only grew bigger as it swallowed more of him. He tried to think it through. Was Susan okay? The kids? His folks? Who had attacked America, and why? He was unable to answer the terrible questions that rattled around inside his head.
The black mustiness of the bunker was warm and comforting, the drugs were still in his system, and a shot of dizziness coursed through his body. Kane slumped back, half lying against the wall, and closed his eyes to the pain while the black rolled over him in waves, welcoming him down into the abyss.
Molly, are you ready for the Great Adventure? Now you must listen, trust, and obey. The time has come.
Molly awoke in a panic, her gargled breaths strangling her in the darkness. She tried to sit up, to move, but a great and unyielding force pinned her across the neck as she lay on her back. In a spasm of terror, she lashed out, thrashing with her arms and legs. Opening her mouth wide, she tried to scream, but the weight upon her throat stifled it before it could leave her mouth.
It was a terrible nightmare, but she knew she was in too much pain to be dreaming.
What happened?
She remembered having to usher Eric out, saying goodnight, and going to bed. That was it. No…wait…that wasn’t it. Screams. She remembered the screaming inside her building. And shaking, shaking like an earthquake. Screaming and shaking.
Disoriented in the darkness, Molly tried to slow her breathing. Though it was difficult with the pressure on her throat, she was able to breathe, which meant she could slow down and try to think. Taking a few calming breaths, Molly blinked hard and opened her eyes wide as she searched trying to yield definition to her surroundings. She heard nothing but the faint sound of water splashing and fire crackling.
It was slowly coming back to her. The dormitory had shaken like an earthquake, and she had woken up to all the screaming. The lights flickered, and there was a noise like the sound of a train coming by. Fast and violent it came. The building moved and came apart, cracking under her, breaking. She had screamed and cried out, and then she fell. Into the black and the dust and the screams.
As she lay in the dark, she tried to move the different parts of her body. Moving her right arm, she grimaced as she began to pull it out from under something heavy and rough. With a wince, she pulled her arm free and wiggled her fingers. She then began to bend her knees and wiggle her toes. Everything appeared functional, though her body felt like she had been in a car accident.
Moving her arms, she brought her hands up toward her face to feel the object across her throat. It felt heavy and cylindrical, approximately three inches in diameter. Probing to the left and right, it disappeared into something hard and rough, maybe rock, on her left side. On the right side, she reached down and felt its broken-off end, which seemed to be dribbling something. With her hand, she plugged the end and let it flow again.
A water pipe!
The pipe was not large enough to be heavy, though it must have felt that way due to its pinning her from the left side. If the pipe was copper, she might be able to bend it enough to get out from under it.
Molly brought her hands back up to her face and gripped the pipe on either side of her jaw as if preparing for a bench press. Groaning and straining, she began to push, bending the pipe away from her throat. After raising it a couple of inches, Molly turned her head to the left and scooted down on her back to get free of it.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she thanked God for the small improvement. For a moment she touched her throat, gently probing the soreness. Shuffling to the side, she lifted her head toward the end of the pipe that was dribbling. It could be sewer water, for all she knew. She cupped her hands and cautiously tasted a small handful of water from the pipe. It was cool and bitter and had a soothing effect on her throat that was nothing short of marvelous. Ravenously, Molly began to gulp from her cupped hands, the water running across her face.
If the building collapsed, then maybe there are other survivors. Maybe I can call to them.
Molly opened her mouth to call for help.
“Aaahhhhhoooouuuuuugggggggggg!”
She stopped. Terror crawled across her skin at the sound she had involuntarily made. She tried to call out again, to call for help, to let someone know she was down here, that she was trapped.
“Gggguuuuuuuaaaaaauauuuggggggg!”
The horrific sound brought forth a burst of tears that snorted and gurgled through her ruined voice.
“Auguuuuu, aguuuuuuu, aaaaauuuuuuuggggg!”
The moments of tears and despair grew, forming a tightness in her chest that she could not contain as she continued to rub her throat.
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t speak at all. How would she call for help or let rescue personnel know where she was?
As she lay quietly, wiping the tears from her face, she shut her eyes and spoke the words of Jeremiah 29:11 to herself.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
As Molly lay in the darkness, she began to calm, the consistent and reassuring words of her Heavenly Father restoring her inside. She allowed herself to relax and breathe until the fatigue and stress of her predicament enveloped her, pushing her into a sleep that crept upon her with a numbing slowness.
Molly’s eyes fluttered open. A few hours had passed, and the day appeared to hav
e dawned, the dimmest fragments of light piercing through the cracks and giving a small amount of definition to her surroundings.
After taking a few seconds to look around, she could tell that she was lying on a concrete slab, confined in a small enclosure of broken concrete and debris about the size of a coffin. This thought alone was unnerving. It struck her as quite amazing that she had not been completely crushed in the collapse of the dorm.
What could have caused this?
Molly’s mind wandered through the possible reasons why a perfectly stable building might collapse. It could be any number of things, ranging from a natural disaster to a terrorist attack. Whatever the case, she felt confident that she was alive for a reason. It wouldn’t be long before emergency services would begin sifting through the wreckage to find possible survivors.
So she waited, drinking small handfuls of water from the pipe and continuing to recite the soothing words of scripture to herself. But as the hours dragged on, she began to question the active efforts of any rescuers.
Why couldn’t she hear anyone talking, shouting, sirens, other people’s cries for help? Something. Anything. As she lay there, she was overcome with a dreadful sensation.
What if it’s bigger than just my building? What if there’s been a major disaster?
Molly mulled it over in her mind and decided that she did not want to believe this was the case yet. Whatever it was, she had to get out.
A strange, resilient strength began to well up in her chest. If the light could get in, then she could get out. She screwed up her face in determination. She was going to get out of her concrete prison, one way or another.
Shifting to the left, she eyed her surroundings for any space or rift that she could squeeze through. She found it near her feet—a crack just two feet wide between two jagged concrete surfaces. Anyone of greater size would not be able to make it, but she would. She had to. Wiggling, squeezing through the gap with silent groans, she moved upward. As she scrambled into each new enclosure, she scanned and reassessed each new space, sometimes having to move to the side before she could continue on her journey upward.
The climb was challenging, and as Molly moved, she prayed for strength and success. She pleaded with the Lord and asked him to be faithful in his promise to deliver her. After countless hours of scrambling, scraping, broken fingernails, and more cuts and bruises than she wanted to count, Molly shoved a thin slab out of the way and crawled out of the debris and into the open.
Gasping, lungs heaving, she shut her eyes and praised the name of God for lending her his perseverance during her escape from what would have otherwise been her grave. She crouched there among the rubble, slowing her breathing and listening to the wind blowing, the stillness so complete that it seemed to scream at her.
Still breathing heavily, wearing only what she had slept in—a t-shirt and shorts—she stood and found that she was unable to shut her mouth as she took in the scene of desolation. A single thought echoed across the space of her mind.
Oh, dear God, no….
Kane leaned up on his elbow and stared into the dark. With some effort, he righted himself and took a moment to try to get his bearings. His current situation was due to some sort of attack. The house was gone. Charlene was dead, too. He had seen her—or part of her—in the kitchen. He was now in the storm shelter with Barney, whom he could feel curled up against his left thigh. Okay, at least it was a start.
His heart burned. He should be dead, according to the doctor. Kane hit the light on his watch and got nothing. He hadn’t been out more than a few hours. It was a lot quieter now outside, save the occasional unidentifiable whump in the distance
Scooping Barney up and cradling him in his left arm like a football, he got to his feet and made his way down the stairs and into the main room of the bunker. Barney whimpered, and Kane remembered the animal’s injuries. He’d look him over good when he got situated. Navigating was tedious in the dark, and he was only able to move and feel a few feet at a time.
The bunker was originally constructed many years before as a tornado shelter. It was roughly fifteen feet wide by twenty-five feet long and was located six feet underground, which accounted for the set of concrete stairs that led up to the surface. Sometime in the late 1960s, it was reconstructed as a bomb shelter, during the fear of the Cold War. In addition to having three feet of concrete on all sides, it was also reinforced with steel beams and blast doors. The owner had gone to great lengths to even tap into an underground well for a fresh source of drinking water. Kane had liked the idea of having it so close to the house and had planned on stocking it up for emergency events. He’d only started the process when he became ill.
Kane stepped through the darkness, feeling his way as he went. He tripped over piles of equipment and materials that lay stacked against the walls and on several racks of old plywood shelving. “Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled to himself as he moved halfway down the room feeling his way along the shelves. After a few clumsy moments of fumbling in the dark, he pulled out a fistful of glow sticks. Removing two from their packages, he snapped and shook them, immediately filling the space with a blue-white light. Kane tossed a stick on each side of the room, then removed a third to activate for personal use. He’d get eight hours of light out of each of them. Pulling an old military blanket of his dad’s from the shelf, he scrunched it up on the floor and placed Barney gently on it, rubbing him and whispering a few words of comfort. Kane stood and moved to another shelf on the opposite wall, picking up a small rechargeable crank AM/FM NOAA radio. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was always a reliable information source. First, he needed to know what was going on out there before he could know what to do next. He cranked the radio for sixty seconds and snapped it on.
A wash of static flooded the concrete room, followed by a terrified voice with what sounded like chaos erupting in the background.
“Details are unclear at this time, but first reports are saying…and nuclear… but that’s unconfirmed as of yet. The…and damage is widespread…are dead and dying. My God, we’re just getting reports that New York and DC are completely….”
Kane rotated the knob and found a woman shouting.
“The U.S. government has…and retaliated to the full extent of its arsenal. It’s believed…something in the air. Biological and chemical agents…widespread… many major population areas…other areas as well…it’s confirmed that Washington DC, Atlanta, New York City, and Miami have all been…EMP…massive damage…The National Guard and FEMA have already begun staging and organizing relief and—.”
Kane snapped the radio off, clutching it to his chest.
He groaned. “No, no, no, no. Please, God, not Miami, please!”
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the tears. “No, they’re alive. They’re alive, they’re okay. It’s okay.” He reassured himself, wiping his face with the palms of his hands.
Kane snapped the radio back on. He turned the knob the full spectrum but was unable to get a clear signal on any of the previous channels. After five minutes, he snapped it off in frustration.
He stood in the semidarkness of the bunker, full of pain, confusion, and uncertainty. He needed to stay busy. Keeping focused on the needs at hand would help keep morbid thoughts of his family from creeping into his mind.
Kane’s back ached with a superficial rawness, and he reached over his shoulder to probe at the swollen, bulbous areas he knew were burns. He’d take care of them in a minute. He shook his head to clear it. First things first. He had to help himself before he could help Susan, Michael, Rachael, his parents, or anyone else. The broadcast had said that nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons were used. In the concrete bunker, he was pretty safe from the effects of radiation but still vulnerable to chemical and biological weapons. The first thing he had learned in basic Law Enforcement WMD training had been to seal himself off.
Kane turned, holding the light stick in his mouth, and grabbed up the roll of clear sheet
plastic and duct tape in the corner of the room. Quickly he began rolling out long sheets of the plastic and cutting them with a razor from the shelf. It took about thirty minutes to seal the bunker doors with plastic and hang a second vertical layer of plastic at the bottom of the stairs to create a second line of defense. He also took the time to double seal any crevasses or cracks in the concrete. Not perfect, but serviceable.
Satisfied with the improvised protective barriers, he stood for a moment and did a mental inventory of his situation and what he would need. This whole thing could be over in a few hours or days, or it could drag on and he might have to stay down here for a long time. What were immediate necessities? First was water, then food, first aid and medical considerations, sanitation and sterilization, separation from harmful chemicals and diseases outside, comfort and warmth, and information from the outside.
“Okay, so, water,” he said out loud. “This old thing better still work.”
Kane moved down the center of the room and into the back left corner, where the old rusty pump sat. There was no drain, so what was pumped had to have a place to go. Kane dragged over the old plastic bucket from the far wall and wiped the cobwebs out of it. He had to pump the old handle fifty times or so before a thick brown liquid began oozing from the pipe.