life in a vault sketch

A Story by Teh_Az

just a sketch

Tom was reading War of the Worlds in his cell.

It told of conquerors from another planet, complete helplessness, and survival amidst total horror. It was something Tom could easily relate to, especially the part where the only solution Wells could think of was to live like roaches beneath the feet of crushing defeat. The only difference between its world and now was its optimism. The earth won, but humanity had nothing to do with it.

He was about a third through his dog-eared copy, one among a very few books he might ever have. This was the sixth time he had read it, but the story was just as fresh. What little hope it could give was hope nonetheless, even if given begrudgingly.

The only lesson it had to give was that the earth lived on, like a dog with fleas long after the fleas have all gone.

His body was starting ache, muscles begging for a stretch. He'd been on his hammock long enough. The hour glass was near turning over and it was his turn to make breakfast with whatever he could find. Huxley had already gone.

The book felt good in his hands, a cheap paperback but he didn't know that. It was precious nonetheles. It's aged scent comforted him, made him feel warm and cozy even if it did make him sneeze. He loathed to close it but he had to. He needed to stretch anyway.

He dropped off his hammock and replaced the book on a makeshift shelf carved into the limestone wall. He turned the hour glass just as the last grain was about to fall and pulled a few glow sticks from an open drawer. He shut the gaslight off before he broke one of the sticks.

Tom and his family lived with two other families in a series of tunnels underneath he didn't know where. It used to just be a bunker but the adults knew they had to expand so expand it they did, like an ant colony. His grandfather had gone to callin it The Vault, some obscure reference Tom could never understood.

Grandpa was long dead though, and so was Aunt Henny. He and Huxley were orphans. His aunt had died on a scavenging run and Huxley, well, they just found Huxley. He and Huxley had been like brothers ever since. Old Man Paper did the raising of them thereafter, the closest thing they had to a parent, the only thing they had really. He never bothered to act like a dad, or even take a fatherly role. He cared about one thing and one thing only, that TOm and Huxley not get in his way on his runs cos he was stuck with them just as much as they were stuck with him. He had no sons.

They way to anywhere in this vaullt was through a simple system of tunnels, some long, some short. Some had incandescent mushrooms stuck to the wall, but most didn't have the luxury. The mutated fungi had their limits and the Takais were convinced they were toxic.

The families shared a kitchen, or a pantry, or whatever. They couldn't really cook anything since fire would just use up their oxygen supply and they didn't have electricity. Instead, preparing breakfast was more about diving into their stores checking which cans haven't gone way past their expiration date, that and mixing the meat with edible fungus. The Takais cultured fungus and whatever else they could manage to grow without sunlight. Preserved meat was the only thing keeping them from throwing up what they ate.

Old Man Paper never had that problem. He was a scavener, a field rat. He could eat whatever he wanted just as long as he found it. Only half of what he gets from the surface joins the communal stores. TOm and Huxley were supposed to enjoy that privilege too, but since they weren't really good at finding useful things, they got along like the rest of the vault, making do.