╭┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╮
❝ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɴᴏ sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ
ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ's ɢᴏɴᴇ.
ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀʀᴍ
ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ's ᴀᴡᴀʏ.
ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɴᴏ sᴜɴsʜɪɴᴇ
ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ's ɢᴏɴᴇ.
ʜᴇ's ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ
ᴀɴʏᴛɪᴍᴇ ʜᴇ ɢᴏᴇs ᴀᴡᴀʏ. ❞
╰┅┅┫ -ˋˏ *. ❂ .* ˎˊ- ┣┅┅╯
My brother and I were the last ones to enter the underground nuclear shelter before the bombs got to us. Vault 109's door closed with a slam just before the wave of radioactivity reached us. As the screams of the people left behind turned from a cry of anguish into one of unimaginable pain, a tear slid down my cheek.
My brother began to sob, which broke me far more than any bomb could. He was only twelve. In the past hour, he experienced more heartbreak than anyone should ever have to endure. He looked up at me, with his eyes red and nose runny. His voice was barely a whisper:
"Do. . .do you think Mama and Pops m-made it?"
Another tear slid down my cheek, but I couldn't let him know the obvious truth. That would destroy him.
I was the second person to hold my brother, and the first person to look in his eyes. Throughout the birth process, I was right there beside Mama, giving encouraging words because Pops was overseas. A few hours after he was born, the doctor came back, holding him swaddled in a blanket. Mama was knocked out cold. The doctor asked if I wanted to hold him, I nodded my head eagerly. As I took him in my arms and gazed at his face, I made a vow to always protect and love him. Then he opened his eyes.
It's easy to talk about the natural beauty hat comes with green or blue eyes, but no one talks about the beauty of brown eyes. His eyes were honey brown, with green and yellow flecks around the pupil. They held the all the complexity and beauty of the universe.
And now as I gazed into those same honey eyes, I remembered that promise. Although he was almost a teenager, I was still fiercely protective of him. He was too young and too innocent to experience such a degree of heartache, but I couldn't lie to him. I grabbed his hands in mine and kneeled, inches away from his face. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done to keep my voice even.
"I don't know. We may never know. But we've got to hold onto the hope that they did, okay?" I paused and put a hand on his cheek. "Our parents are tough, Buddy. I'm sure they're perfectly alright."
Truth is, they weren't. Because Pops was a World War II veteran, we should've all been able to be added to the local vault's list. But there were only two spots left. Although they didn't think China would actually drop their nuclear bomb, Mama and Pops both made the decision to register my brother and I just in case.
He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I hugged him back softly. After a few minutes of my rubbing his back and silently crying and his dampening my shirt and crying not so silently, we pulled away.
"We've got each other. We're gonna get through this, okay?" He nodded and we stood as he continued to sniffle periodically.
There were mixed emotions from the crowd of approximately fifty people that surrounded us. Some people were celebratory, rejoicing that they made it to the Vault before it was too late. A good number of people were riddled with grief, slumped on the floor, their bodies heaving with sobs. I recognized our neighbor's fiery red hair among them, and I wordlessly reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
Others were livid, shouting at the security guards for not letting their loved ones inside in time. One voice stood out among the rest.
Mrs. Everett, our elderly neighbor across the street, pointed her finger at the security guard who closed the doors. "MY HUSBAND WAS OUT THERE, YOU BASTARD. HOW COULD YOU JUST LET HIM DIE?!" Another tear rolled down my cheek at the thought of Mr. Everett's contorted screams as heavy amounts of radiation overcame him. He and Mrs. Everett were supposed to live long, happy lives. Not this.
The security guard's uniform was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. His hair was scruffy, and his nails were bitten down to the cuticle. The only thing that looked presentable was his name tag, which read "Bruce Harriet" in bold letters.
He spoke in a bored voice. "Sorry. There was nothin' we coulda done 'bout it." The teeth that he had left were yellow. He pointed at two guards. "Y'all two. Go ahead an' take 'er to the orientation room. Get 'er cleared." The two guards rushed forward to help her up and escort her further into the vault. Once the sound of her sobs gradually subsided, Bruce squared his shoulders and boomed, "Go up the stairs an' across the platform, folks. We gotta begin the clearance process." Hesitant and anxious, the crowd eventually began to cooperate.
The guards had us line up single-file as they began handing out blue and yellow suits with "Vault 109" in yellow print on the backside.
Some security guards wore a look of terror that was not very well hidden, while others looked calm and collected—excited, almost. But they all they snuck glances at one another. An intuitive bad feeling rose inside me.
A closer look at the guards revealed that a majority of them were very disheveled and lethargic. Although they had the same uniform, each guard had a different weapon resting in a holster. A sideways glance back at Bruce Harriet revealed that his weapon was a blue-handled machete. My heart skipped a beat as possible explanations sprang to my head.
Something simply wasn't adding up.
The crowd was being led into a large white room for briefing. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the lock on the door. It was designed to lock from the outside and had to be operated manually. Through peering through the windows, I saw that there was one hidden security camera in each corner of the room and little holes in the ceiling panels. I decided to trust my gut instinct.
I squeezed my brother's hand, leaned down to him, and whispered, "You're mute until I say otherwise."
Despite the obvious confusion written on his face, he nodded.
Just before we went into the room, I stepped out of line and gently tapped the nearest guard on the shoulder. He looked to be around his early forties or late fifties. His hair, just visible from under his helmet, was chestnut brown, with hints of gray peaking through. Unlike the other guards, he was well put together. His name tag read "Barry Smith." I said sympathetically, "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but my brother has to use bathroom immediately. He's mute, and he said he has just has to go."
Although sympathetic, the guard shook his head. "Sorry 'mam. He'll have to wait until orientation is over."
"Mr. Smith, that won't do. He has to go now." My brother began squirming and looked at the guard with pleading eyes. Good job, Buddy. "Please. It'll only take a minute or two."
After considering us for a bit, he nodded and said, "Alright. You go to orientation, and I'll escort him to the bathroom."
A step in the right direction, but not quite there. My mind raced for a solid lie, and after a few moments I leaned to the officer's ear and whispered, "He doesn't like to talk about it, but he has severe separation anxiety. I have to be with him."
The guard raised a disbelieving eyebrow, abandoning some of his former sympathy. Now he was suspicious. "Really? Why you? What about your parents?"
Without missing a beat, I looked down in mock embarrassment. "Well sir, they. . .um, weren't exactly the best parents in the world. Our mom was never around, and our dad's an alcoholic. After I left for college, he would go on these. . .rages on my brother." I even forced a few tears to come to my eyes as I glanced up at Barry Smith.
"He would knock him up, throw stuff at him. He was prosecuted a few months ago, and I came back to take care of my brother. He hasn't spoken to anyone since then." I wiped my eyes and broke his gaze, looking down at my feet. "Sorry. I-I. . .It's still a fresh wound for us."
Hook, line, and sinker.
Barry whistled and shifted his feet. "God. I'm. . .I'm sorry, kid."
Without meeting my gaze, he pointed a finger in the opposite direction, towards another flight of stairs. "Bathroom's that way. Down the stairs, hang a right. Once you're in the hallway, it should be the last door on the left."
I gave a weak smile and said, "Thank you so much, Mr. Smith. We'll be right back."
As soon as we ducked into the hallway, I nodded and my brother fixed me with a surprised look and said, "Wow. You're really good at lying. Why'd you do all that?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Comes with the job." I looked around and continued walking with him beside me. I leaned closer to him and mumbled, "That 'briefing room' had air ducts in the ceiling. It's a more modern version of those pictures Pops took in Germany." I peaked inside the first room on the left through the window. "And a lot more inconspicuous," I finished as the automatic door before us slid open.
A terminal rested on a cluttered desk. On one table, there was a game of cards, paused midway through. The about seven cards were in five different stacks, while the remainder rested in a facedown pile in the middle. On another table, there was a chessboard with surprisingly high amounts of dollar bills on each side. Both tables were littered with lit cigarettes and open beer bottles.
Dumbstruck, he followed behind me as I entered the room and sat at the rolling chair in front of the terminal. "What? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
After I slid into a chair facing the terminal, my brows knitted together. "I hope not, Buddy."
At the sound of me typing at the
keyboard, his voice raised with anxiety. "Why are you hacking their computer?"
I hushed him and fixed him with a hard stare. "Listen. You cannot be loud. I'm just playing it safe. And if I'm wrong? Then I'm wrong." I added with a smile, "And you'll get the satisfaction of being right for once."
He rolled his eyes but smiled, and my gaze returned to the screen. "Plus, you can't hack something if it's already unlocked. Everything happened so fast that whoever was last logged in forgot to log out. I'm just trying to find some files that will tell me some informa—"
Oh no.
Instantly, his smile dropped to a worried frown. "What?" He asked with in a deathly serious tone, inching his way closer to the screen. "What did you find?" His eyes skimmed over the passage, and his face transformed into one of concern to one of sheer terror. His eyes met mine. He swallowed and said softly, "You were right."
Oh no. No. This isn't supposed to happen.
His beautiful honey eyes, wide with fear searched mine. "Sis, what do we do?"
I didn't answer his question. I couldn't.
And unfortunately, I never would.
The next few minutes were a blur. The guards came bursting through the door, yelling and pointing at us. My brother and I tried to scramble past them, but we were outnumbered. They grabbed us and forced us up the staircase and past the briefing room. I felt sick with nausea after glancing inside. We still kicked and thrashed, but it was no use. They took us down a few more hallways and staircases before we entered a wide room.
Chills went down my spine, either from the foreboding ambience or from the sudden and steep drop in temperature. Bruce stepped forward from the shadows, brandishing his machete. I don't remember what he said, but the guards began pushing us toward these. . .pods. I screamed until my voice gave out, begging them not to hurt my brother.
The pod door closed with a hiss. As an automated voice began talking, coldness began to overtake me. It seeped into my bones and my brain, slowing my movement and thoughts to a snail's crawl.
Across from me, I watched my brother undergo the same process. Our eyes locked, and I mouthed: I love you.
I never knew if he responded, for complete darkness surrounded and consumed me. Either an eternity or a few minutes passed before my eyes opened to see a scene I would never forget. A figure in a hazmat suit held a large syringe in one hand as my brother's pod door slid open. Another figure clad black leather and armor stood a few paces off, observing.
My brother's body rocked with tremors, and he fell to his knees out of the pod. A few words were exchanged among the three before Shaun stood shakily, staring at me. His honey eyes were bloodshot, and tears continued to fall freely. Right as he made a start towards me, the figure in the hazmat suit jabbed the needle into his neck, injecting the serum into his body.
He slumped to the floor, limp. The automated voice sounded again, and a second hazmat-suit-clad figure helped the first one carry my brother away. The armored figure stepped forward until he was inches away from the window panel.
His face was burned into my memory. He was balding and what hair he had left was a dark brown, as well as his beard. A hideous scar streaked across a large portion of the left side of his face and across his eye. Thick brows perched above dark, emotionless eyes. Before he followed the two people in hazmat suits and my brother out, he said in a soft but deadly voice, "We've still got a backup."
The world went dark again, and that was the last time I saw my brother Shaun.
》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《
well hey!
this chapter has officially been revised !! woo hoo !!1!!1
but fr,, some stuff has changed so make sure you read it pls
and if you're new, hey! i hope you stick around for more ((:
xoxo,
—rambler