The Veil of Crimson Dust [Complete]

The Veil of Crimson Dust, Part 1

Wayland welded the door together, taking care to wipe away any dust that had settled there. The dust was all over the country by now. It was hard to find a place in the states where colossal crimson clouds weren't suffocating people with fits of coughing. The reasons the dust had arrived were obvious, drought, wildfires, habitat loss, and human greed. The world was changing and whatever other people said, the future was going to be a rough time, a time that was arriving soon.

Thus many people decided to take shelter in an attempt to ride things out to greener pastures. Those on the coast often bought boats, yachts, barges and anything that could float to try and rebuild their worlds. Many others decided to flee, going to remote towns in Alaska, Canada, New Zealand, anywhere land was cheap and a minor mansion could be built. Legions of people decided to hunker down in gated communities, under the impression that razor wire fences and security cameras could stop the dust. A few like Mr. Nastrond had commissioned large underground shelters meant to be self-sufficient for a short while. One thing is consistent in every case though. The financers always needed people like Wayland to build them.

"How's that door coming along?" Erik asked.

"The locks are all on," Wayland said. "Been trying to keep the welds clean so it won't fail anytime."

"Geez look at it," Erik whistled while handling the latch. "Looks like it was meant to withstand a nuclear war."

"I think it might," Wayland replied. "I think a lot of this stuff is based on all fallout bunkers. Not sure if the original company is still in business or someone just took it off an old bunker from the sixties."

"I think Nastrond grabbed a bit more from the sixties," Erik pointed out. "Look at some of the stuff he's having me drag in, enough Vietnam era guns to take over Texas, loads of meat in cans. Not sure why he isn't bringing in chickens or rabbits if he wants meat."

Wayland shrugged and responded, "Maybe that's space and feed that could be better spent on people."

"Maybe," Erik pondered. "Still, those last few trucks were full of nothing but luxuries. Barrels of wine and scotch, enough media and vr headsets to give everyone two. A complete movie studio worth of junk, we're talking lights, cameras, props, a freaking rendering server. Does he think he's gonna be making Hollywood blockbusters or something?"

"Pretty sure he is from Hollywood, he's some kind of director."

"That... actually makes sense. He's probably selling some beds to Hollywood bigshots to pay for the place."

"Makes sense," Wayland wondered. "I guess all that stuff is just to keep people from going insane down there. Heck I know that I'd start to go crazy if I had nothing to work on."

"Got a plan for what we're going to do when we go down?"

"Nope, at least he brought plenty of scotch. I can always take up the family pastime of playing, how drunk can you get before noon."

"You sound like dad."

"Hey guys," A beaming young woman covered in paint chirped.

"So how do the rooms look Arya?" Wayland asked.

"Better than your welds," Arya joked. "At least it's not all gunmetal gray and concrete. Still I had to buy every last paint can in town to finish today. The whole things looks like inside a preschool or some kind of pride parade."

"Well they are from California," Erik pointed out.

"And they brought a shipping container full of guns?" Wayland asked.

"Good point."

"That door done?" one of the project managers asked.

"Ehh 99%," Wayland guessed. "I'll finish it soon. Hey when are we getting the next load of supplies? I'm just about out of mig wire over here."