“What now?” Granddad stood up to his full height.
“How do you know the bunkers have radiation in them? The one I was at today was sealed tight.”
“Just because that one is closed doesn’t mean the others are,” he snapped. “I’ve seen bunkers be opened and monsters pour out. You wouldn’t believe the things they did to all those people they trapped in there.”
“Well shouldn’t we try to help them then?” I pushed off the cupboard. Granddad shook his head and took a deep breath.
“No, son. Anyone left in the bunkers are either dead or mutated. It’s better off left alone.” He went back to the table, grabbing the pistol. He shook it at me and smiled, half of histeeth missing. “Next time I catch you and your little heathen friends over near that door, I’ll shoot you. You’ll have a hell of a time walking to it if you ain’t got a good foot.”
Granddad put his belt back on and slid the gun back in its holster. He took his leave from the kitchen without another word. He didn’t need one. The beating and the warning were enough. I knew if he saw me at the bunker door again, he’d be true to his word.
I sulked to my room, my shoulders inward and my feet dragging. I’d been exhausted before, but now I could barely stand. I entered my bedroom and went over to the mattress on the floor, and belly flopped. I closed my eyes, tiredness overtaking me. I wasn’t even going to take my shoes off tonight.
A knock on my door caused me to open an eye and roll over.
“Yeah?” I groaned. The door opened and Grandma stepped inside.
“How are you?” In her hands were bandages. She’d come prepared for more damage. I’d gotten much worse beatings before. I had the scars to prove it.
“I’m okay.” I sat up and she came to sit at the edge of my bed. “Like you always say--”
"The bombs may have destroyed the world, but they didn't destroy our spirits," we said in unison.
I gave her an exhausted smile. “I heard the old man. I’ll stay close to the junkyard tomorrow.”
Granddad liked me up early to help him in the junkyard. He was teaching me how to build and repair bikes and anything with a motor that came by. We were in the process of building me a bike of my own.
“Your granddad, he means well. About staying away from those bunkers.”
I blew air upward, causing my hair to fly up and out of my eyes.
“He said they blasted them all with radiation.”
She nodded solemnly. “That’s what they say.”
"Why did some people go in there and some stay out?"
I had no idea if she would know anything about what happened way back then. None of us were alive during the blasts. They said before the bombs there were buildings full of books about history, called libraries. After they dropped though, no one kept record of stuff like that.Just through word of mouth.
"Well, Riot, it wasn't really much of a choice for many. People were selected to go into the bunkers at first, and they say some paid -- the wealthy, of course. The rest of us were left..." She smiled weakly and shrugged. "Up here."
"How did they choose?" It was all so fascinating for me. I’d been taught to read, write, and the basic survival skills, but nothing about the bunkers, or what happened to cause it all.
She shook her head sadly. "I think that is lost to time. Who knows who the leaders considered worthy way back when? It's best we forget about the bunkers altogether and focus on surviving here on the surface."
I nodded. I got the feeling that she'd been pressured to come in and talk to me. She stood up, the expression on my face proof that her point had gotten across.
"Good boy. Tomorrow will be better. Your granddad traded some scrap for paint for your motorcycle. He's going to let you color it red."
"Sounds great, Grandma." I forced a small smile and laid back down.
"Please, Riot, stay away from them." Her voice turned cold. "No good comes from those bunkers."
"Have you actually met anyone from one?"
She was silent for a long time.
"Yes."
