My litter sister clutched my arm, refusing to let go. She was trembling, terrified, but so was I.
“Let go, Sky! I have to close this!”
I jerked my arm away, locking the heavy, bulletproof door. For a second, I felt safe in the dimly lit bunker. I collapsed against the door. Sky dropped into my lap, struggling to breathe. Everything down here was meticulously organized and labelled, making an inhaler easy to find once I opened the medical closet with a tiny key obtained from neatly labeled hooks.
They said the old man next door, Mr. Darrell, was crazy; he ranted about impending disasters, raved about survival preparations. He was odd, but I genuinely liked the old kook.
Speakers crackled as I flipped switches on the control panel. Dots of colored light sparked like lightning bugs. The wall of tvs illuminated.
Despite his eccentricities, Mr. Darrell was a kind man with a sense of urgency. His words of wisdom were engrained in my subconscious; tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, inactivity invites evil, and action is divine.
Surveillance cameras showed several homes nearby burning. My eyes followed dark clouds of smoke billowing from one screen to another. Every news program showed the same things. Some screens were empty.
Chaos blared through the speakers, as cameramen fled, with cameras still rolling; frantic people, demolished buildings, thick dark clouds in a burnt orange sky. Screaming, crashing, and thunderous roars became too painful for me in every way. As my hand moved towards the volume control, the world went quiet. Too quiet.
I looked down at my hand then back to the screens. A couple of them flashed static before going completely dark. I led Sky away from the wall with its fancy, useless screens.
“Let’s go, Sky. We’ve got a lot to do.”