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Prompt: "Life in a bomb shelter, following nuclear war."

Links: https://www.sofurry.com/view/2183457 (SoFurry), https://www.furaffinity.net/view/58275684/ (FurAffinity)", "writing": "Charles hated closing his eyes. For every time he did, he would relive the moment just over a month ago when his life turned to shit.\n\nThinking back on it, the warning signs were easy to see if one had the heart to look for them. But everyone with a public voice had tried desperately to convince all who would listen that war was not the way forward. Every influencer had worked hard to nudge peace towards victory over war with the full might of their opinion. Even the music on the radio proclaimed the power of love and mutual understanding over fear \n\n“Just a song for the world, gives a chance for our dreams\nAnd the music fills our heart with understanding\nJust a song for the world, that we all live in peace\nAnd the story of our hopes is never ending”\n\nThe irony.\n\nThe song had barely gotten to the point where the singer shifted her lyrics from English to whatever language came next when the air siren started blaring. Sadly, the ones who had the choice did not listen to the ones who had the voice. Or was it that those with a voice did not understand the cost of peace in the first place?\n\nThree days after the last tremor of a nuclear detonation was picked up, the vault was cautiously opened again. The worst radioactive debris had either decayed into something less harmful or was dispersed to less dangerous concentrations by the prevailing winds. After a week of terror and claustrophobia, the mismatched group of military personnel and civilians hiding inside the bomb shelter was allowed their first taste of fresh air. What was already dubbed ‘The Exchange’ had lasted just over a week, but it was clear that the world had been irrevocably changed. And not for the better.\n\nEven now, after two weeks of silence, the open sky felt ominous and threatening.\n\nFrom his vantage point near the entry of the bunker, George watched as the setting sun painted the west in eerie colours of peach and purple. Curfew would start in just over twenty minutes, so he still had some time for a smoke. The problem however was that he was down to his last packet, which was already halfway done. He swore softly as he shook the crumpled carton, hating how disturbingly light it felt. \n\nWhat was his best option now? Just go for it and enjoy the cigarettes while they last, or hold off a little and make what he had left last as long as possible? Scowling, he decided to ease himself into the abstention being forced onto him and stuffed the packet back into his jacket pocket.\n\n“Have we been able to make contact with the outside, yet?” he heard a slightly tight voice ask from around the corner.\n\n“Does static count?” came the gruff reply. A rude snort suggested the quip was not that funny. “What do you want me to say? The capital is as unresponsive as it had been since the first day of The Exchange. I think it is safe to say both headquarters and regional command have followed the capital into oblivion.”\n\nBefore he even considered his next action properly, George had pressed himself up against the wall of the bunker entrance, hiding in what deepening shadows there were. News, even gossip of the world beyond the bunker has turned into a premium commodity and he was eager to listen in on the two guards’ idle chatter.\n\n“The normal channels of communication are down. No cellphone service, not landline, even the internet refuses to connect,” the gruff soldier continued. “There is some chatter on the short-wave, but that is of some local civil unrest on the other side of the continent. The rest of the radio spectrum is just static.”\n\n“Is there even a war still going on?”\n\nThe gruff voice grunted a crude curse in the negative.\n\n“I assume you’ve heard the whispers of the unrest towards the old city then, am I right?” he asked, spitting at something beyond the wall he was standing on. “You know that there is no concrete evidence for any of it? Do you even know if this is supposed to be around the port, in the industrial districts or the residential suburbs to the north? It is just rumours.”\n\n“But what if it isn’t?” the tight-voiced guard asked. “What if it is an invasion? Think about it, capturing the port will be vital to bring in the needed materials. We need to prepare to defend…”\n\n“We need to man our posts and perform our duties as is expected, soldier. It is impossible to say from mere rumours if it is an invasion or riots by survivors trying to get what they can to survive. That is, if the unrest is even real to begin with.”\n\n“But, sir, we are located right on the path towards…”\n\nThere was a light scuffle from the two guards before the gruff voice spoke again. “The colonel is in charge of this vault, so until we can establish contact with anyone outside again, she is our commander and chief. Understood? You will leave the administration and defence of this facility to those who are in charge and drop this nonsense of an invasion until we get proper evidence to support such a claim. Do I make myself clear?”\n\n“Yes, sir.”\n\nThere was a gasp of relief as the one soldier was released.\n\n“No, go get ready to close the doors for the night. Curfew is almost upon us.”\n\nGeorge remained unmoving in his little shadow, pressed against the wall as he was. He only dared step out into the open when the voices fell silent again. The coast was clear, but when he stepped away from the support of the wall, he found himself unable to stand. He was shaking badly, running the implications of the conversation he had overheard through his head.\n\nAn invasion?\n\nThere was no way he would allow his family to be caught between two fighting armies. Even more so when the side meant to protect them was the one with the disadvantage.\n\nGeorge glanced up at the failing colours in the sky. He still had another ten minutes to head down to the sleeping quarters, get his wife and two children, grab what they could carry and escape before the vault doors were shut for the night. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice urged caution and the need to take his time to prepare properly, but his instincts were screaming at him that time was against him.\n\nActing fast in the first hours of The Exchange was what had saved his family. And now, he was wasting valuable time debating what to do next.\n\nWith a soft curse, he sprinted inside.\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Charles hated closing his eyes. For every time he did, he would relive the moment just over a month ago when his life turned to shit.

Thinking back on it, the warning signs were easy to see if one had the heart to look for them. But everyone with a public voice had tried desperately to convince all who would listen that war was not the way forward. Every influencer had worked hard to nudge peace towards victory over war with the full might of their opinion. Even the music on the radio proclaimed the power of love and mutual understanding over fear

“Just a song for the world, gives a chance for our dreams
And the music fills our heart with understanding
Just a song for the world, that we all live in peace
And the story of our hopes is never ending”

The irony.

The song had barely gotten to the point where the singer shifted her lyrics from English to whatever language came next when the air siren started blaring. Sadly, the ones who had the choice did not listen to the ones who had the voice. Or was it that those with a voice did not understand the cost of peace in the first place?

Three days after the last tremor of a nuclear detonation was picked up, the vault was cautiously opened again. The worst radioactive debris had either decayed into something less harmful or was dispersed to less dangerous concentrations by the prevailing winds. After a week of terror and claustrophobia, the mismatched group of military personnel and civilians hiding inside the bomb shelter was allowed their first taste of fresh air. What was already dubbed ‘The Exchange’ had lasted just over a week, but it was clear that the world had been irrevocably changed. And not for the better.

Even now, after two weeks of silence, the open sky felt ominous and threatening.

From his vantage point near the entry of the bunker, George watched as the setting sun painted the west in eerie colours of peach and purple. Curfew would start in just over twenty minutes, so he still had some time for a smoke. The problem however was that he was down to his last packet, which was already halfway done. He swore softly as he shook the crumpled carton, hating how disturbingly light it felt.

What was his best option now? Just go for it and enjoy the cigarettes while they last, or hold off a little and make what he had left last as long as possible? Scowling, he decided to ease himself into the abstention being forced onto him and stuffed the packet back into his jacket pocket.

“Have we been able to make contact with the outside, yet?” he heard a slightly tight voice ask from around the corner.

“Does static count?” came the gruff reply. A rude snort suggested the quip was not that funny. “What do you want me to say? The capital is as unresponsive as it had been since the first day of The Exchange. I think it is safe to say both headquarters and regional command have followed the capital into oblivion.”

Before he even considered his next action properly, George had pressed himself up against the wall of the bunker entrance, hiding in what deepening shadows there were. News, even gossip of the world beyond the bunker has turned into a premium commodity and he was eager to listen in on the two guards’ idle chatter.

“The normal channels of communication are down. No cellphone service, not landline, even the internet refuses to connect,” the gruff soldier continued. “There is some chatter on the short-wave, but that is of some local civil unrest on the other side of the continent. The rest of the radio spectrum is just static.”

“Is there even a war still going on?”

The gruff voice grunted a crude curse in the negative.

“I assume you’ve heard the whispers of the unrest towards the old city then, am I right?” he asked, spitting at something beyond the wall he was standing on. “You know that there is no concrete evidence for any of it? Do you even know if this is supposed to be around the port, in the industrial districts or the residential suburbs to the north? It is just rumours.”

“But what if it isn’t?” the tight-voiced guard asked. “What if it is an invasion? Think about it, capturing the port will be vital to bring in the needed materials. We need to prepare to defend…”

“We need to man our posts and perform our duties as is expected, soldier. It is impossible to say from mere rumours if it is an invasion or riots by survivors trying to get what they can to survive. That is, if the unrest is even real to begin with.”

“But, sir, we are located right on the path towards…”

There was a light scuffle from the two guards before the gruff voice spoke again. “The colonel is in charge of this vault, so until we can establish contact with anyone outside again, she is our commander and chief. Understood? You will leave the administration and defence of this facility to those who are in charge and drop this nonsense of an invasion until we get proper evidence to support such a claim. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a gasp of relief as the one soldier was released.

“No, go get ready to close the doors for the night. Curfew is almost upon us.”

George remained unmoving in his little shadow, pressed against the wall as he was. He only dared step out into the open when the voices fell silent again. The coast was clear, but when he stepped away from the support of the wall, he found himself unable to stand. He was shaking badly, running the implications of the conversation he had overheard through his head.

An invasion?

There was no way he would allow his family to be caught between two fighting armies. Even more so when the side meant to protect them was the one with the disadvantage.

George glanced up at the failing colours in the sky. He still had another ten minutes to head down to the sleeping quarters, get his wife and two children, grab what they could carry and escape before the vault doors were shut for the night. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice urged caution and the need to take his time to prepare properly, but his instincts were screaming at him that time was against him.

Acting fast in the first hours of The Exchange was what had saved his family. And now, he was wasting valuable time debating what to do next.

With a soft curse, he sprinted inside.

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