The Storm [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Five:

A month had passed since Mexico and America ventured outside.

People began to tell how much time had passed, America didn't know how, but they could.

Some began to go outside regularly as the storms got smaller and smaller. America and Mexico often leave when they wake up and would usually return by noon.

In that month, however, a number of dangerous things occurred. 

Firstly, the people who were part of the first expedition with the two countries still hadn't returned. And now sometimes at night, loud uneven footsteps could be heard outside. Sometimes there would be banging on the heavy metal doors, that thankfully could only be opened from the inside.

Aside from the increasing attacks the food rations were almost completely gone. People begged Lily's grandfather for something to help their children, but he couldn't do anything. A few hundred cans of fruit and some granola bars were not enough to feed the whole bunker. As a result, some people snuck out with their families, paying no mind to the obvious danger.

Others stayed, but they gained power over everyone left. The bunker was now half empty, so anyone left was ordered to work for their share. 'Share' being one can of food shared among families.

People were dying. Not an alarming rate, but enough to cause unrest and panic in the bunker. What was once a passive and occasionally friendly atmosphere had turned into a fear-stricken and hungry group of people.

On top of everything, the water bottles had completely run out and the ground water systems were being polluted by dirt and anything else underground. The filters must have broken.

Cass was thinner than when America had originally found him, and he was always cold. America stayed by him constantly, giving him more than half of his food. Even Mexico gave him water from his filtered water bottle.

The boy was grateful, but he juts wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away. America kept waking him up and talking to him, about anything.

He asked Cass about his life before the Storm. The boy replied that his mom had been nineteen when she had him and that he didn't know his dad.

America asked how he imagined his father. "Mean," the boy would reply. "He left my mom with me and she couldn't go back to school. She sometimes said she didn't like him as much as she liked me."

America smiled gently and continued smoothing Cass' hair down. "He sounds mean. I don't know my dad either. My older brother Arthur, though, he was like my dad," America explained.

"Hm. Do you like him?" Cass asked through a yawn.

"Yes, very much. He always left, though, so I decided to leave and make myself independent. I did it so I could spend more time with him, but it only made him hate me," explained America. Cass frowned.

"I don't think he hates you. Maybe he just didn't understand why you left," suggested Cass, and America smiled and drew the boy close.

"That's very very nice of you to say, kiddo," he looked around, "Other people are going to bed now. I'll let you sleep."

"G'night, Alfred," Cass yawned.

America grinned again and ruffled his hair, "Goodnight kiddo."

He stayed with the boy until he was sure that he was sound asleep, then made his way over to his bed.

Mexico was laying there, his arms crossed behind his head and his black eyes closed so the remaining lights illuminated his long eyelashes. America threw his backpack at him, "Up," he commanded and tried not to laugh as Mexico jolted awake.