Short stories

One Small Gust

"I'm 75% sure that this will not explode on us" The short boy in the cheese-cutter cap proclaimed. He seemed the most confident of us all, but still tried to stay a good deal away from the machine whenever possible. Marie stood next to my brother, as stoic as ever. But her pursed lips gave away her concern.

I myself, hoped my horror wasn't registering on my face. I struggled to overcome my gag reflex when I glimpsed at the distinctly human shape under the white sheet on the metal bench. A sandstorm started up outside, banging on the bunker door and making all of us, even Marie, flinch. In that moment, we all were unified, the same terrors rising in our hearts. Could they be doing this? But, no. It was just the sand and the wind. The great wind that had been building sinisterly for longer than any of us were comfortable with. Our trains of thoughts were interrupted by the already weak light bulbs flickering out in unison.

The boy, his name was Jago, grumbled to himself. He felt his way to the large cupboards, bumping into me on his way. Finding them eventually, he pulled out some lanterns and lit them with a few matches, which he saw fit to strike on his nose. In the small circle of light that now lit his face, it occurred to me how young he really was. He couldn't have been older than fifteen, though he was already getting worry lines around his forehead. That happened these days. In the old world, the one our grandparents told us about on nights when the wind assaulted our shutters and we huddled in our beds, he wouldn't even be working age. In the old world he would still be in school, worried about homework and tests, not about winds that could carry you away and men with guns that could rip holes in you.

He was employed by our government, which would normally cast suspicion on their ethics. Well, desperate times, I guess. If the public found out what we were doing in this bunker tonight, not even the government's persuasion techniques could save them. Somebody would spill the beans.

There was a silence in the bunker as we all scattered lanterns around the room. When we were finished, the place looked twice as eerie as it already did. We looked at each other with grim faces. The time was near. Not even Jago, our charismatic engineer or Ky, my ambitious brother, could quite lift the mood.

The project had been Ky's baby for years. He had first dreamed it up in our tree house, when he had been only eight. It was the last day we ever went up there. Mini Ky had been just about to win a game of chess on our father's fancy glass set, when we heard a racket coming from the street. I remember moving some of the pieces while his back was turned. I was unable to let myself be beaten by my baby brother.

"Wes, come look at this." He exclaimed without turning around. I squeezed up next to him, cramming an eye in front of the small window. A cluster of kids on the street were playing around with fake guns and swords.

"What are they doing?" he asked, wide eyed.

"Playing war."

After a moments thoughtful silence he said, "Can I play?"

I examined the kids to find blond hair and light blue eyes."No."

"Why, are they the bad guys?"

Marie tapped her foot impatiently while Ky dabbed some sweat off his forehead and ran his hands through his dark hair. Marie was very high up in the government, she even got to speak to the president directly sometimes. She had black, severe hair and a pointed face. The wars had made her ruthless and bloodthirsty, more so than everyone else. Perhaps it was always there in her. Her determination to see this project through was part of the reason we were all here, though she was officially here for supervision. Jago was here because of his unrivaled talent with machines. Ky was here since he had the plans, and was skilled enough to complete them. I was here because my brother had vouched for me. No, that was the reason I was allowed here. I was really here out of morbid curiosity and a mad notion that I could keep my bother under control.