This Is Our Last Song

Four- Cold War Transmissions

Alternate song:

Pardon my Russian, please...

Alfred pulled the fur-trimmed hood off of his head, gloved hands brushing golden hair. He kept his goggles on, for fear of his eyes getting frozen or exposed to unfiltered radiation and becoming damaged even more than they already were.

Before him, tucked into the frozen white tundra, was the dark gray entrance to the last bunker in Siberia. The one he knew his last hope was in.

He trudged through the snow, leading his squad of survivalists and snipers up to the door. He motioned them around him, guns at the ready just in case.

Quickly, he put in the code that Russia had sent him, the resounding 'beep' telling him that it had worked. He stepped inside, his people following closely behind, alert for any signs of hostility.

The door shut behind them, leaving the only light coming from their flashlights and the flickering lights on the cieling high above them.

He motioned to his team once again, this time telling them all to take off their masks and goggles.

"Why can't we hear anyone, sir?" someone asked him through the darkness, voice bouncing off of the empty concrete walls.

Alfred paused before he spoke, listening to the echos. "I don't know. I was told that there'd be people to expect very near the door. I just hope something terrible hasn't happened since we've last spoken."

They proceded down the narrow walkway, which soon let out into a large, open area filled with beds and-

"Everyone put your masks back on! Now!" He threw his arms up, blocking their path, and pushed them all back into the dark hallway. Everyone complied, more worried at what he had seen than what would be endangering their air supply. "Stay here."