The Pandemic – part II

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The light was blinding. 

Tom woke to this as he always did, getting up and blinking blood from his eyes, rubbing them. He paused, looking around and struggling against the circumstances. 

It was the best wall. Too many cracks, too many holes, to fall through. Yet they had. Years of space exposure had cracked the concrete. Thick black paint, the color of… Death. The same black as the walls, coming up steep cliff face to the opposing sky, where any brave enough to see it knew it was all but over. The Earth was blue. 

Right across the room, there was an empty, inactive pill container. How long had it been sitting there? Hours? Tom scratched the faint outline on the wall. Bemused, he looked down.

Just the pathetic little wordplate, where the pills once sat. 

Another silence ensues. Hours… Days… Months… How long had it been since he ate? He needed the pills, or worse yet, he needed to talk to somebody. He squinted at the wordplate. Month… Day? 

Right then, his eyes cleared. “Boon!” 

For as long as he could remember, it had been the only thing on his mind. Every time he thought about it, he was giddy with excitement. Here was a government – mandated method for making entertainment, without any complications. At least, that’s what he thought until right now. He knew that he hadn’t run out of the bottles in the last 6 months, not at all. It was the 21st century. A hatch opened on the wall next to the C – 4 bomb. He gulped. By all rights, he should still be in the gun safe at the bottom of the bunker, his laptop safe, the guns in the safe… 

He had been too afraid to go outside the last two years. The mist and fog that had made this one his safe haven were still thick, after all. 

Tom got up, walked over to the empty pill container. It was huge, almost as wide as his bedroom. He took it with a reverence that not even God himself would dream of. He looked around at the bare cement walls. Nothing but bare concrete, like the rest of the walls in the bunker. The only viable source of nourishment for the wasteland was a well that once was a steel filing cabinet, now made into a makeshift blood cell. Sam couldn’t believe that was his blood, and yet, he drank it, without remorse. If he was going to die, he was going to die with dignity. 

He stepped outside the bunker, sliding on the shattered glass that lay littered on the ground outside. He looked around, taking in the ruined world that he helped create. In the distance, he spotted the shiny metal gates to the outside, massive and beautiful. 

Now, it was his world. He was going to build his own world. 

Silently, he made his way to the hole, hooking it up to a hydroponic rowboat that didn’t look like it was going to fit him anymore. He looked at it as he made his way through the large hole, then looked up at the cloudy sky that was so similar to Earth’s. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He would live in a world he had created.

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