After half an hour of frantic pacing, Sandra suddenly stopped. She wouldn’t last if she kept herself in a panic like this. Her uncle wouldn’t be
home for another hour or two, and she had to keep it together until then. She needed something to calm her, something to pass the time…
So, Sandra positioned the television on the edge of the shelf, facing the two beds. She hooked up a VCR, rifled through her uncle’s old movies, and
picked an old western tape. After starting the movie, Sandra searched through the kitchen for a snack, but nothing looked appetizing. If she were to
eat right now, she’d likely get sick. She grabbed a bottle of water and curled up in one of the beds, mindlessly watching the movie and hoping that
she would fall asleep.
After a while, the movie ended. Sandra turned on another movie, cuddled into the bed again, and watched it. Time passed. She felt more and more
nauseated with every passing minute. Two and a half hours came and went, and still, her uncle wasn’t here. It was becoming increasingly difficult to
focus on the movies as the afternoon went by; Sandra couldn’t distract herself from her thoughts anymore. Where was Dorian, and why wasn’t he home
yet? Even if he was in Sanctum this morning—which was somewhere up in north Nevada—it shouldn’t have taken him this long to get back home.
After the third movie ended, Sandra stayed in bed for another hour, trying desperately to fall asleep and failing. Frustrated, she stood and checked
her phone. The battery was fully charged now, and the time displayed; 5:45 pm. She’d been in the bunker for six hours. This was maddening. There was
no way of knowing if Angel Wood was still intact outside, what was going on outside, or where her uncle was. She didn’t want to turn the news back
on, but it might’ve been her only option. Leaving the bunker wasn’t a good idea, and she couldn’t get a hold of her uncle…
Sandra tried to call Dorian again, but this time, it didn’t go to his voicemail. Each time she tried to send the call, the phone displayed: Call
She examined the screen closely, noticing that the bars, indicating the strength of the phone’s signal, were gone.
Phone lines are down. No way of contacting anyone now.
Sandra threw her phone into the wall as hard as she could. The phone broke into three pieces and flew across the room.
She stormed over to the television and turned on the news channel. Instead of the blonde news woman, Sandra was met with a black screen. She surfed
through the channels, but all of them appeared the same way. Nothing was on television.
“F*CK!” Sandra bellowed, lifting the small television and slamming it onto the floor. The plastic casing shattered at her feet, and she heard the
glass screen crackle apart, but she didn’t care.
This was too much. The phones were down, the television stations were gone, and Sandra was stranded alone in her uncle’s bunker after some massive
terrorist attack had destroyed the country. And to top it all off, Dorian Levi—the only person in the world who Sandra would trust to handle such an
unthinkable situation—was missing in action.
What was she supposed to do now?
“He’s on the roads, so yeah, he’d get held up out there… naturally,” Sandra rambled madly to herself. “There’d be chaos on the roads
right now. That’s why he’s taking so long. I just have to wait. I just have to wait…”
But Sandra wasn’t sure she could handle more waiting. Leaving the bunker would be a stupid thing to do, but what was she supposed to do until her
uncle turned up? Sit in silence while the world came to an end outside?
Desperately, Sandra pulled boxes, bottles, and cans from the kitchen shelves until she found a stack of cardboard boxes at the back. The three boxes
were for bartering, or at least, that’s what Dorian always told her—but right now, she had a much better use for those bartering beverages. She
pulled the lid off the top box and took a bottle of amber whiskey from the collection of liquors, screwed the lid off, and began gulping the sour
liquid as fast as she could, nearly puking it all out at once. Though somehow, Sandra summoned the strength of a seasoned alcoholic, and despite her
nausea, she managed to guzzle down half the bottle of whiskey. It left a terrible lurching in her stomach, but that didn’t matter. If it would make
her sleep, it was worth it.
“Come home already…” Sandra chanted, wandering around the bunker and repeatedly taking swigs of the whiskey. “Come home… come home… come
on… come home…”
Within ten minutes, Sandra emptied the whiskey bottle. Soon after, her overwhelming feeling of sickness was replaced with a deep feeling of
heaviness. Her thoughts faded away one by one, leaving her mind in empty, drunken bliss, and in no time, she found it difficult to walk in a straight
“Come home, #er, come home… Uncle Dorian… I miss you… come home, #er, come on… come home already… f*ck…”
Her foot hit the edge of her uncle’s bed, and Sandra collapsed sprawled crookedly overtop of it. Tears ran down her face, smearing her makeup and
staining the white blanket under her.
“Hurry up…” she moaned weakly. “Please…”
As Angel Wood succumbed an empty silence, and as the rest of the world faced the disaster before them, Sandra remained locked away from the danger,
slipping into a deep, saddened sleep. The hours went by, and there were no dreams plaguing her mind as she remained lost to her intoxicated slumber.
It was one o’clock in the morning before her eyes opened a crack, and instantly, she felt two surges of pain pulsating in her body; one of them was
her head, her skull pounding and feeling like it was about to split open, and the other was an intense pressure in her bladder.
Sandra groggily sat upright, trying to ignore the stars in her vision and the searing pain in her head. She quickly slipped into the bathroom, did
her business, and observed herself in the mirror. Her hair was askew, her makeup smudged on one side of her face, and her cheeks were wet with tears.
After a moment of hating her reflection, she left the bathroom and glared at the contents of the bunker, not knowing how long she’d slept and
wondering why her uncle still hadn’t shown up.
Usually, this bunker brought about some long-winded lectures and excited rants from Uncle Dorian. Now, the posters hung in silence and the broken
television didn’t make a sound. Dorian wasn’t here, talking her ear off and working on his gadgets. The bunker harbored a loud silence, and Sandra
wondered how far the silence really stretched, if the entire town was just as quiet, if the towns outside of Angel Wood were all deadened and vacant,
if the entire country was lost amidst a deafeningly quiet aftermath of bereavement.
On the kitchen counter, something caught her eye.
Sandra picked up the portable radio, the one Dorian had planned to take with him to Sanctum. Apparently, he’d forgotten to take it. As well as the
hand crank and the solar charger, this radio had a number of ports on the side, making it compatible with numerous cords. Sandra plugged her phone
charger’s cord into the radio and powered it on. She sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting the knob and surfing through the static, hoping to
find a radio station still on the air.
Scattered through the static, Sandra heard bits and pieces of a man’s voice broadcasting live. Carefully, she fixed the knob to get the clearest
signal possible, then listened closely.
edit on 7-3-2018 by XxKonspiracyxX because: (no reason given)