The Storm [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter One:

(A/N - Hey guys it's Dylan, I just wanna let you know, I may curse like a sailor in this so if you're sensitive, don't read. Enjoy)

"Ah bullshit we'll be fine," America promised the panicking people in the cold metal bunker. He wanted to believe that was true but felt like he was more reassuring himself than his fear-stricken people.

To his relief, some seemed to believe him. Americans were fighters at heart, and when they put their mind to it, could do just about anything.

Yeah, except prevent the apocalypse. A voice in his head whispered. America rubbed his temples and muttered, "Damn self, stop being so depressing," and made his way to his end of the bunker and sat on his cot. From there, he could see everything going on from his bed.

In the center of the large square room was a fireplace sort of thing with a smoke tower-chimney whatever it's called that reaches the surface so people didn't die of smoke and crap. Lining the steel, windowless walls were the cots that the people piled their coats and blankets onto to keep warm, despite the cooking and heating furnaces that ran on water power. Speaking of water, a large irrigation system was built under the bunker and filters ground water into fresh and clean water.

America's seen plenty zombie movies to know what not to do in an emergency. Under-preparing is one of them.

Anyway, groups of people sat near their bunks with their families and talked together in hushed tones. Some played games, others napped, while the rest chatted. It wasn't exactly a friendly atmosphere, but at least it wasn't awkward.

There were, however, a few terrified children who clung to their mothers or fathers, wide-eyed and pale. America felt kind of  bad, and wanted to reassure them that everything was going to be fine, they were going to live through this. He was an optimistic person, and wanted to share his hope for the world with everyone else, but didn't think the parents would appreciate it, given the state of everything.

Scientists mentioned on the news, from what he could pick up, that the amount of pollution and chemicals and all the other crap in the air put there by humans was changing the weather and now the sun decided to give up on the world too, not at all helping what was going on.

There were mobs of people outside the White House, some peaceful, others violent. They both protested for change, like when a bill is passed they don't like. But this was different. "How was I supposed to fix this? Snap my fingers and make it all go away? Don't people know that's not how government works? It takes time, effort, dedication and careful planning to see what was best for the people and the country in the long run." America continuously muttered under his breath.

Things prove to be very difficult when throngs of people wait outside your door and either beg for change or demand it immediately.

All the noise, silent as it was, mingled with America's thoughts and caused him a splitting headache. He thought about how long it had been since he had one like it but knew exactly what it meant.

People were already dying.

But how was that possible, it's not like it's the dust bowl and if someone as much as breathes in all the dirt and harsh air their lungs collapse. Is it?

Part of him wanted to check outside, to make sure it was just windy and nothing to serious was happening, that he was just stressed out and worried, probably over nothing.

Many people thought the catastrophe was nothing. They thought it was a hoax and was going to end in a waste of money and resources. A quiet of part of America wanted to believe them, but the other louder part of him screamed, "You know exactly what's coming, and you better get the fuck ready!"