Silence greets the dawn, and but for the faint sizzling sound coming from the other side of the ridge, all is quiet. A slight breeze stirs the dust into little eddies and carries the smell of hot metal across the burned and sere surface.

Flashes of light like a heavenly halo surround the man who is bent over at the base of the massive doors. A penitent seeking admission to the temple?

“Sonsabitches, sonsabitches, sonsabitches,” Bobby thought, “sonsabitches, sonsabitches, sonsabitches.”

Bobby was welding the doors closed.

During the 60s Cold War, Congress had secretly built for themselves a massive bomb shelter at the Greenbrier resort. It had accommodation for the members themselves, families, friends and important people who would, in theory, be shielded from the blast and consequences of MAD – Mutual Assured Destruction – should an exchange of missiles occur, and be able to run the government afterward.

Over the years the Civil Defense program, which once stockpiled emergency shelters for the general citizenry, had fallen apart, and now no agency was looking out for the survival of Bobby and his family and friends.

Bobby thought it unfair, and now that the exchange of missiles had occurred, the privileged few were safe inside. When the original facility had been discovered it was supposedly deactivated, but Congress just had a more secret facility constructed under the original. Bobby had helped build the new facility and knew his way around.

“Sonsabitches, sonsabitches, sonsabitches,” Bobby thought, “sonsabitches, sonsabitches, sonsabitches.”

Bobby was sick, so sick he could hardly get around, but his work was almost done. He was just about finished with the last door, and he had long ago discovered the ventilation shafts and sealed them, and cut the water supply.

Now the special people were safe inside – forever.

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