Fallen

Burn World Burn

[The Prologue is pretty long as there is a bit of description of the world and a sprinkle of a flashback. The parts following are rather short. Enjoy!]

Prologue

"The gloom of shadow is coming in full force with sorrow and agony behind its pale horse, the sand it's weapon shall it destroy, the hopes of many."

–Poem of the Dust Bowel, Kaleb Scott, personal works 10/13/10

I got up foggily; I heard knocking on the door. I carefully went through the house to get it and my brother was asleep on the couch where he was watching the news last night on the Holographic TV. A always cheery robotic voice beckoned from behind me,

"Ah! Master Wilson! Would you like me to get the door?"

It was Raddy; our robotic-butler. He's got big camera eyes on each side of his head, and moves around in his octopus-like body on a little thruster. With all his arms he's like a flippin' Swiss Army Special Utility Knife.

"No thanks Rads. I got it."

Wane shifted in his sleep. Good kid, six-years old, mama died giving birth to him. Dirty blonde, bouncy locks, works at one of the numerous hardware stores or nuclear factories when he thinks I don't know.  His face was gaunt from work.

When I peeked through the peephole my dog tags rubbed against my skin. I and my father were drafted into the Third World War. He and I toured the liberation of Russian occupied Alaska and he and I liberated California from the Chinese-Japanese Alliance. He had died in the last battle. I have just turned seventeen.

The holographic TV whispered behind me,

"The Russian-Chinese alliances and other affiliates of the Red Fist are threatening to repel the Shield Allies from their lands via nuclear powers. American ambassadors," didn't hear the names, "called their bluff and said they'd return fire. Military officials say that there is nothing to fear."

I opened the door and a cold-fusion car purred past behind the man. The trees were green and the sky dull and gray with a storm coming in. The man was in a clean suit, clean cut, hair slicked back, with a mustache and offered me his hand,

"Good afternoon Nathaniel Wilson."

I looked him up and down and reluctantly took his hand,

"I don't remember signing up for cookies..."

(Even though the girl-scouts my age were pretty cute.)

"Ah," he said shaking his head, "my apologies, I am Jack Schroeder from BADS: Ballistic and Atomic Defense Systems Incorporated. I have a proposal for you."

"Yeah?" I said curiously.

"Well, as we speak American soldiers are taking the Hidden Citadel and laying siege to Stalingrad. You have been selected for the privilege of being taken into a special bunker should nuclear threat... threaten you and your household."

"Really?" I said with a little sarcasm.

"Here's my token," he held up a company coin that identified his voice, DNA, and fingerprints all at once glowing nuke-green. I was convinced,

"No money?" I said with renewed vigor.

He chuckled, "No, no, Mr. Wilson the government has promised to pay for it. For you and your father's sacrifices in the War."

I happily filled out the paperwork, t'was about time the government started being grateful. You can't buy a good father on the market these days, but the government has been giving us our rent for our two-bedroom and such. Not rich by any means but we're doing well.