Beyond the airlock, outside the silo, Alex Dash monitored the storm. It was 1:42 a.m. Wearing his bio suit, and his rifle at the ready, he stepped away from the protection of the roofed entrance to the bunker and stepped into the gale. It was powerful, nudging him slightly off-balance. Nearby trees rocked and swayed. The wind thrashed the tall grasses surrounding the airfield, once an active military base. That was long ago, before the world turned to shit.

Debris was tossed into the air and scattered along the abandoned, weed-strewn runways. Alex held his gloved hand out and allowed the storm to pelt him with tiny seeds. They bounced off his clear visor like grains of sand. The air was inundated with them.

He would not be out here if not for the antennae coming loose. Without it, he would be unable to properly identify possible air pollutants and losing that capability meant never leaving the silo. And to Alex, never leaving the silo meant a slow spiral into insanity.

After reattaching and reinforcing the antennae to the outside of the bunker, Alex retreated to the airlock, never turning his back to the swirling landscape beyond. There was no way of telling what might be lurking out among the shadows. No way of knowing if he was being watched and scrutinized by some predatory thing just out of sight. Or perhaps worse, being scouted by deranged people who would love to take the shelter as their own, maybe turn Alex into their next meal. He had seen plenty of movies…he knew what humans were capable of when thrust into extraordinary circumstances.

Alex punched in 2154 on the numeric keypad and the door unlocked with a mechanical ka-thunk. A buzzer sounded and he stepped inside and closed the exterior door behind him, waiting for the auditory confirmation that the locks had reengaged.

Ka-thunk.

He stood motionless while the airlock scanners beamed over him, a starburst of red lights from various sensors mounted to all four walls. They reminded Alex of the tiny decorative lights projected onto the house during Christmas. At least, when there had been Christmas. When he and the twins had a genuine home.

After crawling over him for five seconds and finding no trace of pollutants, the searching red lights went out and the airlock was suddenly bathed in a green glow.

Green means go, thought Alex.

He removed the helmet, and scrubbed his close-cropped chestnut hair, making sure none of the seeds had gotten past his protective gear. He knew they hadn’t, since they were immature and therefore soft. Had they been mature - hard thorn-like objects – they might have penetrated his clothing. Still, he didn’t want any brought inside the silo and so he scrubbed his hair a second time. It was just a habit to double, and sometimes triple check to be sure. A bit obsessive compulsive maybe, but he was okay with that.

When he had removed the bio suit and was confident he would not track anything inside the bunker, he exited the airlock and stepped through the inner door, into the silo and locked it behind him. The monitor beside the door read, AIR QUALITY: 17%

*********

Alex sat in pitch blackness. He could not see the twins, but he could hear them breathing, still in a deep slumber. After draping his blanket across the two of them, he felt his way along the wall and stepped out into the wide, circular hallway; the shaft of the refitted missile silo. It had housed nuclear weapons during the cold war, or so the story went, before being decommissioned during the eighties. Then it had been sold off, gutted, and reimagined as a post-apocalyptic survival bunker. Now, it was home. But how it had come into his possession, he did not know. It just felt as though they had always been here.

Two landings above, he could make out the square window in the interior door. It was a shade lighter than the darkness he stood in and from his perspective seemed ethereal, as if it were a window to another world, floating in the gloom.

If only that were true, he thought. If it were a world where things were normal, like they used to be, we’d all squeeze through and leave this place.

His footfalls made dull clanks as he climbed the metal stairs. When he reached the top landing, he peeked through the window. The silo’s interior door was thick and heavy. Alex supposed it was made of steel, although he did not really know. It opened to the ten-foot long airlock, which, when needed, could purify heavily polluted air, and expel unwanted elements to the outside. At the end of the airlock was another heavy door. This was their buffer to the outside world and the strange things that now populated it.

Their view was due east and as such, Alex could see that it was dawn, but that the sun had not \yet broken the horizon. Sparse, cottony clouds, a deep violet against the paling gray sky, drifted lazily from the west. As far as he could tell, the air appeared clean. Maybe they could leave the silo today.

Alex opened a panel in the wall adjacent to the door. He grabbed a lever and pumped it five times to activate the silo’s generator, then closed the panel. At eye level was a screen that displayed a dim orange digital readout. Alex thumped the screen with his fist and the display brightened. It read, AIR QUALITY: 89%

Alex turned the screen off to conserve energy. He followed the staircase, affixed to the curved wall of the silo, down one level. The stairs spiraled downward for three stories, although Alex and the twins only occupied the first. He did not like going all the way down; didn’t even like looking all the way down. There was no other access to the silo and therefore no reason to believe that something might have gotten in and now lurked in the gloomy depths of the shaft. However, the deeper he went, the greater the sense of isolation became and the more severe his anxiety became.

Reaching inside the first door to his right, Alex grabbed a small box of matches from a shelf. He struck one against the wall and from out of the shadows, the pantry burst into view: a fifteen-foot long scaffold of shelves once stacked with goods of the canned and dried variety. Their supplies had dwindled, and the time had come for them to scavenge.

An old oil lantern sat on the second shelf. Alex had found it in a basement during one of their outings. He lit it, then noted how little fuel was left. He checked the murky hallway behind him and was relieved to find it empty. Sometimes he imagined that something wicked might be revealed when illuminating the dark areas of the silo. Even though he checked every nook each night before they went to bed, it was a feeling he couldn’t shake…that someone or something might find its way in here and wait for them in silence until the time was right.

Suddenly remembering the weapons, Alex realized that he had left them in the bedroom. He darted from the pantry, chastising himself for his forgetfulness. It was unlike like him. He never went anywhere without the sidearm, even from room to room.

The lantern cast dancing shadows against the wall as he entered the bedroom. The twins had not moved, and the rifle was where he had left it. He went to it and immediately felt relieved by its presence. It meant safety…protection. He shoved his pillow out of the way, finding the Glock 19 pistol right where it should be.

Alex reached over and nudged his younger brother. “Henry. Time to get up, buddy.” Then to his sister, “Annabelle? Good morning. You awake?”

They issued moans of displeasure. Henry sat up and yawned. “What time is it? It’s still dark out.”

“It’s always dark in here, bud.” Alex ruffled the boy’s hair. “Ready to start your day?”

Henry nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Annabelle rolled onto her belly and scooted up onto her knees. “I’m hungry.”

“I know,” said Alex. “Let’s go see what we have for breakfast.”

They left the bedroom holding hands. In the kitchen, Alex flipped a switch and overhead fluorescent lighting flickered, issued a low, electrical buzz, then sustained a cold, harsh light. After Alex verified once more that the first level was free of ghouls, he walked next door into the pantry.

Skimming the shelves, Alex produced the only two breakfast offerings available the past few weeks. He brought the items into the kitchen and laid them on the square table where the twins were seated. “Protein bar or applesauce. Which will it be, Annabelle?”

“Why does she go first?” asked Henry. He yawned, then corrected himself after thinking it over. “Oh yeah…ladies first.”

Alex nodded. “Right, Henry. Good job.”

“Can I have both?” asked Annabelle.

It was clear to Alex that she felt selfish asking for both the protein bar and the applesauce and he adored her for it. He smiled. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

Henry’s eyes lit up. “Me too?”

“You got it, buddy.”

While the children ate their breakfast, Alex poured them each a glass of water from a large jug.

“We need to get some supplies today,” Alex told them.

Henry’s eyes widened. “You mean we’re going outside?”

Alex nodded.

“Yes!” the children shouted.

“But what about the air?” asked Annabelle.

“Very good, Annabelle. I do have to check the air, but it looks pretty nice out there. We always check the air first though, right?”

The twins each nodded.

“And we always take our…?”

“Raincoats,” said Henry, crumbs spilling from his mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, bud. Close, but not just raincoats.”

Annabelle corrected. “Rain gear.”

“Oh,” mumbled Henry, apparently unimpressed.

“Correct. But rain gear is only for if we get caught out in the open. If possible, we must take cover somewhere when it rains. Understood?” Henry and Annabelle nodded again.

They had been through the possible scenarios dozens of times, at the least, but Alex believed in constantly reinforcing them. If for some reason he was not around, and that would likely mean he’d be dead, the twins needed to know how to protect themselves.

Henry raised his hand to ask a question and Alex called on him. “How come we have to get out of the rain again?”

“Because…” Alex began, then turned to his sister. “Annabelle, do you know why?”

She crinkled her nose and tapped her chin with her index finger. “Um…I kinda forget.”

“Okay. Listen to me. The rain is not always just rain, okay? Sometimes it isn’t safe.” The children paid the utmost attention to their big brother and Alex could tell by their expressions that the information was sinking in. “And we never ever…ever drink the rain. Got it?”

“Cause it could burn going down,” added Henry, tracing a line down his esophagus with his finger.

“Correct! Excellent Henry! It must be tested first.”

“I knew that too,” chirped Annabelle.

Alex patted her head. “I know you did, Annabelle.” He rose from his chair. “Finish up and we’ll set out.”

“Already? Where we going?”

“To the ocean,” said Alex. The twins looked at one another in surprise and then performed a celebratory seat-dance.

Alex downed a protein drink, the last of a six pack they had found a while back, and gathered what little food they had to bring. He packed extra clothes, too, just in case. At the interior door, he again consulted the digital readout. The air quality had risen to 90%. He disengaged the security lock and turned the handle, pushing with all his strength. In the airlock, he and the children suited up, Alex assuring that each was completely airtight. He entered the security code into the keypad and the alarm blared its warning that the airlock was being breached.

Outside, there was a gently breeze and the air was free of debris. Seeds from the overnight storm squished beneath their feet as they walked to the awaiting blue Ford F150. It started on the second try. With the twins buckled in, Alex accelerated, leaving a trail of dust in the pickup’s wake. In the rearview mirror, Alex glanced at the retreating reflection of their home and wondered if it would still be theirs when they returned.