"The gloom of shadow is coming in full force with sorrow and agony behind its pale horse, the sand it's weapon shall it destroy, the hopes of many."

–Poem of the Dust Bowel, Kaleb Scott, personal works 10/13/10

I got up foggily; I heard knocking on the door. I carefully went through the house to get it and my brother was asleep on the couch where he was watching the news last night on the Holographic TV. A always cheery robotic voice beckoned from behind me,

"Ah! Master Wilson! Would you like me to get the door?"

It was Raddy; our robotic-butler. He's got big camera eyes on each side of his head, and moves around in his octopus-like body on a little thruster. With all his arms he's like a flippin' Swiss Army Special Utility Knife.

"No thanks Rads. I got it."

Wane shifted in his sleep. Good kid, six-years old, mama died giving birth to him. Dirty blonde, bouncy locks, works at one of the numerous hardware stores or nuclear factories when he thinks I don't know. His face was gaunt from work.

When I peeked through the peephole my dog tags rubbed against my skin. I and my father were drafted into the Third World War. He and I toured the liberation of Russian occupied Alaska and he and I liberated California from the Chinese-Japanese Alliance. He had died in the last battle. I have just turned seventeen.

The holographic TV whispered behind me,

"The Russian-Chinese alliances and other affiliates of the Red Fist are threatening to repel the Shield Allies from their lands via nuclear powers. American ambassadors," didn't hear the names, "called their bluff and said they'd return fire. Military officials say that there is nothing to fear."

I opened the door and a cold-fusion car purred past behind the man. The trees were green and the sky dull and gray with a storm coming in. The man was in a clean suit, clean cut, hair slicked back, with a mustache and offered me his hand,

"Good afternoon Nathaniel Wilson."
I looked him up and down and reluctantly took his hand,
"I don't remember signing up for cookies..."

(Even though the girl-scouts my age were pretty cute.)

"Ah," he said shaking his head, "my apologies, I am Jack Schroeder from BADS: Ballistic and Atomic Defense Systems Incorporated. I have a proposal for you."

"Yeah?" I said curiously.

"Well, as we speak American soldiers are taking the Hidden Citadel and laying siege to Stalingrad. You have been selected for the privilege of being taken into a special bunker should nuclear threat... threaten you and your household."

"Really?" I said with a little sarcasm.

"Here's my token," he held up a company coin that identified his voice, DNA, and fingerprints all at once glowing nuke-green. I was convinced,

"No money?" I said with renewed vigor.

He chuckled, "No, no, Mr. Wilson the government has promised to pay for it. For you and your father's sacrifices in the War."

I happily filled out the paperwork, t'was about time the government started being grateful. You can't buy a good father on the market these days, but the government has been giving us our rent for our two-bedroom and such. Not rich by any means but we're doing well.

I went and got some milk and poured it into a glass; closing the fridge and drinking it. Then the phone rang in my bedroom and I went to get it; resting my cup on my desk's cup rest. Quite early for a phone call,

"Wilson household; may I know who's speaking?"

"Hope Salazar, have some guys from BADS visited you yet?"

I smiled, Esperanza or "Hope" Salazar was with me and my father in training. Eighteen and a veteran, she was quite a catch, our explosives specialist and not far from our house.

"Yep, you?"

"Yeah, I signed me and my sister up for everything. Good deal the Feds gave us right?"

"Yeah, how's the fast-food thing going?"

She was going to sell a holographic image of her as a waitress for some new soda-bar franchise. She even sold her image of when she was in uniform for some recruiting commercial for the military. Every now and then I see my sister-in-arms in Spec Op gear pointing at the screen like Uncle Sam saying,
"We want YOU to support our military."

Seeing my friend's face on TV is kinda weird and unnerving knowing that she isn't like that at all. Some people even wanted a hologram to use for model magazines. She sternly and fervently denied...

Compared to us, she's much more successful and could've been rich had she been a model. She took a moment and answered,

"Got the uniform today, was gonna run through the holographic scanner later tonight." She waited for the right moment and asked,

"When were you going to start trying to rejoin the world? Join the workforce and stuff?"

I snorted and thought about what to say, I maneuvered the phone to a more comfortable position, wrapping the cord around me,

"Well, I've been thinking about talking to those authors going around. Not everyday that you could write a story about a WW3 veteran, but I was also thinking about writing my tale in blood."

Three awkward seconds past,

"Excuse me?"

"Oh-" realization struck and I corrected, "write about my own little bloody tale. Sorry, lol right?"

She giggled, "Your such a dork. L.O.L."
I heard a shrill sound from the other end, like someone yelled across the house,

"My sister needs me-"

"HoloTime later?"

We can only HoloTime from the IvyPhone, the wall phone designed smart phone, that I'm calling from right now.

"Mayb-"

Then it was my turn,

"Nathan!"

The alarm in Wane's voice made me take the phone off my ear looking back at where his voice came from, then Raddy yelled in a equally shrill robotic voice,

"Master Wilson! You better see this!"

I hung up the phone and went through my door and down the hall to the living room. Raddy and Wane gawking at the TV, which had went to default mode. Default is the old fashioned black and white like in the 1960's over a hundred years ago, however the broadcast, usually amber alerts and other emergencies can reach all holographic TVs, tablets, smartphones (except the IvyPhone), and holographic radios in the nation. This wasn't a practice run.
The newsman stopped whatever broadcast he had been doing and was saying,

"Standby; we have lost contact with our sister stations. Thank you for your patience."

Wane went to the window and I stared at the TV frozen and expectant. In my peripheral vision I saw a lightning flash but Wane was looking right at it. He covered his mouth and mumbled,

"Oh my God."

There wasn't any real thunder, just the China shaking in their cabinets. That meant that the ground shook.
He was frozen just like me. The newsman's IvyPhone wrang and he picked it up hastily; eager as we are to here the the news. Wane got into the fetal position, rocking back and forth as he mumbled,

"Oh my God; oh my God."

The newsman began to pale on the black and white news and when he was done he slowly set the phone down and covered his mouth. He put a shaky hand onto the table before he spoke. Wane shrieked at another lightning strike and his voice was shriller now.

"We have confirmed reports," the phone was ringing again, and my skin felt so cold, tears pricking my eyes, "of nuclear weapon detonations in New York and Rhode Island."

It's been said that two people die every second; when the War started it's been said to be three to five. Just how many people died just now? Five million? And later when the radiation kicks in?

"Everyone is advised to make their way to the closest government bunkers nearby-" and at that moment the hiss of missiles filled the air. I hurried outside like others that were my neighbors and saw the black-crayons rising into the sky with their thrusters. America had just hit the red-button. A lot more people were going to die.
The sirens were next, and then another announcer,

"The nation is currently entering DEFCON 1, Cocked Pistol. Maximum readiness for nuclear assault is being engaged-"

A cold-fusion car blew past me and I ran inside,

"Wane!"

"The lightning!" He was crying, "It wasn't lightning!"

It was nukes...

"C'mon! Don't think about that now!" I grabbed him and basically shoved him hurriedly toward the garage as Raddy said sadly,

"I'll keep things up here in case it's a false alarm!"

I didn't even hear him though...

I pushed Wane into the my cold-fusion car and got into the drivers seat.

Sensors in the garage, like in almost any garage in America, detected the exhaust fumes and opened the garage door as I rolled up to it. If I were coming back in it would automatically close but I was for sure not going back in. I peeled into the streets, the rubber-burning smell wafted through the AC, and sped through the suburbs of DC: the next place going to be struck.
The sky was growing dark and people were running, some driving; everything in break-neck-like urgency. I saw the thrusters of American nukes dragging through the air like slow moving stars during this cloudy and dull mid-day. Sometimes a dull glow would brighten over trees and buildings; the bright light of hydrogen-bombs detonating hundreds of miles away. Then the glow of millions of men, women and children dying would slowly disappear like steam from a once boiling pot, or a fire, bright and burning; being snuffed out suddenly.

"We're gonna die aren't we?"

"Don't think about that Wane!"

We were coming up to a military roadblock with FloatyPollies. Sandbags were replaced by McCurdey's Armor, LEGO like blocks people use as crazy awesome zombie sheds that can stand artillery, and they were replaced by the military's FloatyPolly, a "SmartWall" moved by Gravotonics that if setting up Spartan style over a squad can make a old-world carpet-bomb comparable to rain hitting a windshield. A car hitting that full-speed would explode and not even leave a scratch; only the RedFist's plasma weapons had any real effect.
Plasma is in blood, and the RedFist got the plasma by sucking the blood out of prisoners of war. The Shield Allies found out that all the videos sent to them of the prisoners being treated well were manipulated holograms. This was figured out when prison camps on RedFist land were liberated; near the end of the war. They had sucked the blood from American, Mexican, South American, Philippino and all ethnic groups of the Allies and used them to fuel their war-effort. Now they are practically destroying all human life.

Great... lovely people.

As we approached a lumbering mass came between us and the FloatyPolly a mini-gun in tow. Our car screeched to a halt, the man was in a W-44 Power Armor, and my gaze became lost in his eyes. Though the glass in the helmet was tinted it still didn't stop my memories from coming. The memory of how the orange flash of a plasma bolt struck just above my father's right eye and ripped his head from his shoulders. The suit went automatically stiff so that someone else could pull him out and use the helmet-less suit in his stead. I had stopped fighting, feeling the weight of his head in my hands, I was in a W-44 as well, so it was near weightless in my gloved hands with the superhuman abilities those suits grant. Not even when Hope tried to coax his head out of my hands did I let go; I didn't care if the whole platoon died from the loss of the stupid helmet. I was bloody holding my father's head in my hands for God's sake! Something about the cold eyes. Something about the emotionless build of the helmet made a man seem like a war machine. Something about it made me feel like my father was nothing more than a part of that machine that was easily replaced. I finally stopped staring when the man had to lumber over and slap the top of my cold-fusion car...

"Get out! Never seen a guy in a W-44 before?"

I hurried out and mumbled,

"Sorry, my father died in one..."

"Ah," he said understandingly through the automated filter but then Wane woke me back to the reality that the world was basically about to blow,

"Nathan! C'mon!"

We began shuffling away but I looked back and the man was giving me a salute as we joined the growing river of people. Somewhere someone had gotten the bright idea to get past the blockades for an off-road detour into the forests where the bunker was located and left their radio on. It was playing MJ Jackson's and Friends' "Burn World Burn" like a sad 50's lullaby in this cacophony of irate people, desperate to get away from the fire that shall put them to sleep with it's deathly radioactive incense.

As we closed in on the bunker I could see Hope and her sister but I didn't greet them. Got kinda more important things on my mind, like: staying alive. I'm sure that was the number one thing on her mind as well...

"Let me in!" The BADS guy was holding his coin in argument.

"I bloody made the list!"

"Well then," the soldier said coldly as we approached, "you should have been wise enough to put you and yours on it then."

He grabbed the soldier by the collar, pointing a finger in the man's face with his coin tucked away in his palm as he said,

"I got a bloody family and your not gonna stop-"

But the soldier simply waited, nonchalant, as if he expected what happened next. The W-44 behind him began rotating his mini-gun and everyone jumped back. I shouted,

"Hit the deck!"

And about did what I said when the barrel stopped, he was tacitly warning us, "We CAN stop you..."

The soldier straightened his collar after the tussle and said with a distant sadness in his eyes,

"Next!"

We approached along with others who were on the list and got in. Hope came to me, trying to cover her sister's ears in a soothing gesture,

"Something doesn't seem right. Look at all those people..."

"Later." I droned.

She puckered but she went back to trying to soothe her crying sister. I was holding Wane by the shoulder. I didn't know if she puckered due to me wanting to be alive but I think it's the whole situation that's got everyone down. Even stoic ole' me...

"This way!" The soldiers said as they gestured the same with their arms. We followed the directions till we were directly above the hatch. Six or so families were on there, crying and carrying on, I heard Hope mumble,
"I think it's going to be okay."

That moment we were knocked off our feet, light blinded our eyes, and the boom had made us nearly deaf. We were bombarded with dust and wind, the air instantly felt warmer...
"Lower the hatch!"

"Get the bunker open now!"

I had heard with my distorted hearing the sounds of gears clanking, they felt like clicks and clanks under my sprawled out body through the metal. Then, finally, we descended into darkness never to return any time soon. MJ Jackson's song echoed eerily in my mind as I blindly looked up at the hatch, closing, closing; closing for a long-long time. "Burn world burn/ Cover the world with ashes and dust and grime/ for the rest of time."
The elevator had went down for a few minutes and we were greeted by people in black n' gold jumpsuits, as well as some armed guards. One of the men spoke,

"Hello, I am the Warden of this bunker. Welcome to bunker 123," I think he held his arms in an awe inspiring gesture, didn't work, we were still part blind, "your new home."

My bones were still rigid. I don't think I will be comfortable here anytime soon. One of the man's aides spoke,

"Come this way and we'll settle you in-"

"What about the others!?" Someone bellowed.

"Don't worry about that." The Warden droned, "You're safe now."

The presence of armed guards seemed to discourage further argument. Those of us that were still traumatically stable began up the steps. One of the women behind us had began keening for her son and the Warden had the aide take her somewhere till she "cooled off".

"Man," someone mumbled to himself, "if BADS wasn't here we'd be toast."

"Keep your darn thoughts to yourself!" Someone seethed in his ear.

We passed metal halls, and metal walls; I thought bitterly that they might have bloody metal beds as well. The air conditioning was very cold and the conduit for the electric was abnormally large. Almost too cold and too large. Wane seemed very confused, possibly even alarmed,

"Something isn't right here. I've-"

"Welcome!" A scientist said, "Welcome to Bunker 123!"

He continued, "You can pick up your suits over there and we can-"

"What about everyone else?" Someone interrupted coldly.

"That's none of our concern-"

"So we're just going to forget them out there?"

One of the guards gently prodded the back of that man's head with a baton; basically telling us not to cause trouble.

"Sorry," the scientist said, "but yes."

He started again from where he left off,
"You can get your suits, get decontaminated, and proceed to your new home!"

"This is so bogus." That one man replied.

"Just don't worry about it." The guard said.

"How are the living conditions? Do you know?" I asked.

The guard hesitated, why did he hesitate? I stopped,

"How are the conditions?"

"You're not qualified to ask."

I about lost the handle,

"Did I need to bring my Medal of Liberty; or my father's head for bloody qualification?! Cause if I did, the BADS guy outside did't tell me!"

I saw his thumb flick a electric switch on the baton and my eyes squinted at him, but Hope took my shoulder,
"I can kill you." I said.

"He can," Hope said, "Nate, c'mon."

I reluctantly continued, seething, then one of the others asked,

"Did you just say you were in Cali?"

"Yeah," I said, still venting, "but I should have said 'Medals' instead."

He nodded,

"Did you know Alex from the 33rd?"
"No," I said trying to breathe.

"He came back from Alaska in a box. I was just wondering if you knew him." He said sadly.

"He was lucky," I said, "a lot of the others could have went home in buckets or envelopes."

He shuddered and I apologized, saying,
"I'm sorry, too many fresh, bad memories. I am sorry for your loss."

"And I thank you for your sacrifice."

"Ain't much of a sacrifice if your drafted or," I said it loud enough for the others to hear, "forced to do it."

Wane whined,

"I swear to God that those aren't AC units." Pointing to some machines put off in the corner to look unimportant.

"You think this place has something to hide?"

"I think those are cryo-"

"Hello!" A woman said with a very fake smile.

She was holding a plastic packed bunker-suit, I glanced at the suit, then her, and snatched the suit continuing on with a glare.

"I can't believe you Nate." Hope said looking at me with her hands on her hips.

"What? I about took that baton and shoved it down his mouth and ripped it back out through his throat." I gave her a sarcastic thumbs up, "Very restrained!"

She rolled her eyes and the scientist bellowed,

"Everyone please change into your suits before entering the decontamination chambers!"

Wane was absolutely pale,

"Those ARE NOT decontamination chambers!"

"What do you know kid?" One of the guards said dismissively.

I spied in the corner of my eye that the woman from earlier had joined us and wasn't hurt.

"THOSE ARE CRYOGEN-"

The scientist cleared his throat,

"Maybe he needs some water. Guard!"

"No! No!"

He grabbed Wane and before I busted out a guard from behind me took my shoulder.

"He'll be fine."

I shook his hand off and looked at him,

"If there's so much as a scratch on him: you WILL be seeing your brains before I'm done with you..."

He nodded and smiled,

"Fair enough."

I thought after the War I could never be unnerved...

But this guy's gaze was comparable to some of the stuff back in the War...
We got ready to get inside the decontamination chambers and I looked to Hope,

"You change first."

She gave me a look like, "Not funny."

"You remember what you said about that guy with the baton?"

"Pssh," I said changing, "you wouldn't do that."

Once changed, I got in my 'pod' and tried to relax. The computer checked my vitals and stuff and commenced with the decontamination. The thing was, it got cold, like, the AC got turned down 50 times, then 200, and with shock I realized it wouldn't stop. We were frozen...