Nuclear Winter Part 3

life's struggles in an underground tomb post nuclear strike

Robert wondered how his silo would fare

with these incessant assaults,

7 and 8’s on the Richter scale thus far

logarithmic scale measures he knew,

to a maximum of ten

he wondered whether it were possible

for earth to shake beyond ten;

20 times more powerful than the quake

that leveled San Francisco in the 1800’s.

he postulated on the falling stars,

perhaps were nuclear bunker busters, EPWs

earth penetrating shock waves, radiation kills

he and his doomsday prep kind

like roaches, rats, human pests’ extermination

by human rats wielding WMD

weapons mass destruction

oh man what drives you to kill your fellow man?

how doth your own kind, your human race

deliver such disdain for your deeds evil?

could it be, what is your reason for your self loathing,

the fear, threat, envy, or greed,

is it consequential borne of your wicked conduct

a league forged in hell’s pit with lucifer

to exterminate mankind

created in God’s image to rule over satan

on a granted day on a given kingdom

murder therefore hatched plotted and employed

Robert considered silos that might have gotten a direct hit

Surely those would have been obliterated or damaged,

instant death to their inhabitants,

some less than one mile away

P waves compression shock

rock water and air

S waves’ shear, tear, rip

subterranean forces 

shook vibrated pulsated

to the core of viscera and pulp of teeth

he felt the pericardium surrounding his heart

feared its tear, his arteries’ rupture

internally bleed

aftershocks that followed the bomb’s concussion

demolishing nothingness to nothingness

sustained insane,

overkill, mutually assured destruction;

universally known acronym

emphasis on the central letter of word, Mad.

albeit nothing left to kill

soil once alive comprised of microscopic

organisms, dead as inanimate, inorganic, rock

laden with, abuzz with radiation

Robert kicked around with mother nuclear but remarkably, his subconscious continued to involuntarily function on these matters. The soil was truly dead now. Perhaps mutants would arise, a radiation’s off breed species that adapted a parallel outcome as with the case of certain insect species, like the roach whose heart beat outside its own body for days after its removal. Perhaps the soil would yield bizarre creatures, adapting into monstrous beings further threatening his existence. But the chances of his survival were meager, infinitesimally slim. His longevity a mere flash; a blink.

Radioactive isotopes would require millions of years to die and still, after reaching one-half of their scientifically projected longevity, require yet another half-life added to the first, to die; the cessation of radiation’s emittance �" guaranteed. This longevity Robert knew was science fact, therefore rendering radiation virtually immortal when measured with his own life span.

Robert wanted to die. He wondered what continued to give his sustenance for living, was it his wife and children, two girls and three boys who catalyzed his struggle? He knew that as soon as the ground waves and rushing wind’s effects were over past, he would consider another attempt to the Martinez shelter, his friends.

         “Mom, Dad’s been gone 3 hours!”

“Yes, I know Honey. I’ll short wave the Martinez Silo.
Debra was against Robert leaving the Silo from the start. The family was getting cabin fever and they weren’t sure how low before their fuel ran out. Initially, they had started with 25,000 gallons of fuel for their hybrid diesel generator. They had begun rationing with no lights allowed except for dinner. Eating dinner in darkness was no fun. The family had ample stores of candles which also generated nominal heat which was counteracted by the system’s filtration network. Heat is a by product of energy and wasteful when for example brakes are pressed on an automobile. Debra knew that they were not going to live below ground level forever, but cabin fever is a real condition, which she was familiar with. The family had read up on admiral byrds journals on the same subject. Under certain circumstances people committed strange acts of barbarism especially when hungry. In her family’s case it wasn’t starvation, it seemed ironic but it was a combination of loneliness and a great need to exercise or move about that was driving the family crazy. She noted that their dog, Alexus, a large German Shepard was becoming the scapegoat for certain members of her family, namely Joseph, who of late was caught being malicious to her. Twice times he had, in a small dim niche of their cramped quarters, poked the dog repeatedly in the eyes with his index finger. The dog wouldn’t whimper but tolerate the act.

        Debra activated the shortwave and began calling the Martinez Silo. “Hello, Irene, this is Debbie.

        Irene’s voice came through acknowledging the call. “Yes, Debbie. He never made it here. You must have felt that first detonation?”

Yes, we did. Robert’s been gone 3 hours, he was headed for your Silo.”

The distance between silos was about one half mile. Robert had never attempted the hike before. This was a first for anyone in the two subterranean housing compartments. Venturing out was considered an heroic feat and not advised by logic. Robert needed to go, their was no alternative. The Martinez family possessed vital antibiotics which Sam, the youngest boy of the Wagner family needed. he had cut himself on a jagged edge of metal sheathing 3 days ago while stumbling in the dimly lit confinement. His inner arm’s artery had severed. After addressing the need to stop blood flow with a leather belt, Debbie had sewn the vessel with cat gut. The infection had begun and she was worried about gangrene.