[Short Story] - Fallout

“For the last time, John, I didn’t do it! And no, I cannot prove I was asleep, but neither can you, so drop it!” George snapped, but as soon as the anger was let out, tears came rolling down his cheeks. “You’re just as much at fault as the rest of us, and you know it. Pointing fingers and calling names isn’t going to help solve anything.” George looked at me, we nodded at each other, and crouched down to pick up Susan’s body, him at the legs, me at the head.

“But you were the one on guard! You let this happen!” After a brief silence John exploded again, shoving George away just as we were about to lift her.

“Enough!” I shouted in the hopes to stop a potential fight. “Ron died on your watch, remember that? You fell asleep standing up, and we cut you some slack. We’re all sleep deprived, John, it’s not like anyone has it any better. Now help us move the body, will you?” I nodded to George and went to pick up Susan’s torso, the weight of it almost too much to lift.

“You killed her, you move her.” He turned around and left the room.

George and I exchanged looks, simultaneously mad and happy he left, and picked the body up. We were struggling badly, but neither of us wanted to ask Kate for help. She was weaker than us, just as exhausted, and Susan was one of her great friends.

The morgue, as we came to call it, was at the very end of the hall, about twenty feet away, and the closer we got, the more the air itself filled with the smell of death. It felt as if with every step the temperature dropped a couple degrees and I could see George shiver with the cold every so often.

We both held our breath before we opened the door, lowered our looks to the floor to see as few bodies as possible, and dumped her inside with the rest. The hurry that we were in and the pump of adrenaline somehow made it all happen instinctively, but as soon as we were outside, with the door closed, we both crumbled down to the floor with our backs pressed against the wall, and started crying.

26 bodies. Male, female, children. Not even five feet from us.

I remembered the death of every single one of them. I started naming them in chronological order, and as dreadful as that was, it didn’t even come close to the sensation I felt when I made it all the way to Susan.

Who was next?

In a way, the people who were killed were saved. Judging by the wounds, they died quickly. The living, on the other hand, we lived in constant fear, unsure whether we even wished to wake up from our sleep or join the corpses in the morgue.

“Let’s get out of here, huh?” George broke the silence and helped bring me back from my existential crisis.

Six weeks ago the authorities sounded the alarm for nuclear fallout. After ten years of political threats, it was inevitable, and fortunately, we were prepared. Underneath every town there were dozens of bunkers, enough to house all residents under the age of 40. Each bunker could house 30 people with enough supplies to last three full years.

The bunkers were all the same. They had a long hallway connecting the 6 living rooms, with the kitchen and storage on one of the two far ends and a lounge with some old arcades and a ping-pong table on the other. The bathroom was shared and housed four sinks, two showers, and two toilets total.

Admittedly, the first day was very scary. Everything was new, we were in shock, we didn’t even know if the bunker was actually safe or not, but with every next day it became more fun than not. It was like camping without a fire. I quite enjoyed getting to know my neighbors a little better without having to worry about my, or their, neighborhood reputation. Underneath the facade we’ve all put up for the eyes of the public, some were actually nice people.

Aafter a week we received the first message from the outside. The national radio station managed to broadcast information about radiation levels in each area and made it very clear not to go outside until told so. The first ETA they have given us was 8 weeks and we were all happy it wasn’t a year or two.

The very next day, however, our good mood was cut by the most awful thing imaginable. We have found two of my roommates dead, one stabbed while asleep, the other’s throat slit when he likely woke up and tried to call for help.

What was a carefree and loving little community just hours ago was devoured by chaos in seconds.

One of the 21 people still alive, excluding children and myself, was a murderer, and there was nowhere to run and no help to get.

The bodies were moved into the lounge because there was no other place to put them, and we have organized a two man patrol to keep guard at all times. Nothing happened in the following days and were all trying to convince ourselves that whoever did it had some personal problems with Jeffrey and ended up killing Jack as collateral.

But as days went by, our minds started playing tricks with us. Not one of us could sleep. We were all convinced we were hearing footsteps and voices when we closed our eyes. Even the sound of another person breathing was amplified a hundred fold and horrible enough not to ever keep your eyes shut.

It didn’t take long for us to start passing out at random and the murderer took advantage of that. The third casualtiy was found 10 days after the first two. Nancy, strangled in the bathroom.

We have since made every safety precaution we could think of. We gathered all the people in only two of the five rooms, three people were on patrol at all times, noone was allowed anywhere alone, everyone’s personal items was closely inspected, but to no avail. Over the days the bodies just kept coming. Necks snapped, throats slit, people suffocated in their sleep.

Whereas sleep deprivation somewhat helped deal with the death of the adults, it could never dull the death of a child. Each time a child was found dead the entire community went silent for the entire day. The air was so dense with morbidity one could slice it like a loaf of bread.

The eight weeks we were looking forward to at the beginning have become the worst game of survival. We were all glued to the radio station at all times, our only means of salvation, and yet it had been quiet since its very first broadcast.

Six weeks in, we were down to four people. John, Kate, George, and me. We were mostly in the kitchen, even though none of us ever felt like eating. It was the furthest away from the lounge, the radio station was there, and the bathroom was relatively close, too.

We didn’t talk. We only sat in silence. Kate and George were just staring into thin air, John was forcing himself to a cracker and I was lying down on the floor, tossing a ball into the air. We were all just waiting for it to be over, be it dead or rescued. At that point I believe none of us truly cared anymore.

Suddenly, the static sound of the radio station pierced the silence. A male voice came on, again informing us of the radiation levels that none of us had the slightest clue about. The number he mentioned was lower than the last time, but we dared not get excited.

The voice, however, explained it was safe to leave the bunkers.

We all looked at each other, shocked by the information. There was happiness in our eyes, but also fear. One of us was responsible for the death of 26 people, and none of us would feel safe knowing who their neighbor just might be.

With the new information in hand, ready to go back into the great outdoors, we sat round the table one final time and agreed on two things.

Never to talk about the events in the bunker.

To move, each on one end of the country, and never meet again.