Chapter 21 - Riot

Don't go near the bunkers.

11 years old

" R iot! Stop kicking that vault door and get over here!"

I stopped mid-kick and turned. Granddad shook his head at me from his motorcycle. Grandma pulled up with my little sister Cherry in her sidecar. They glared at me and the other kids. I shrunk into myself and glanced around my circle of friends. They quickly scattered, knowing that he'd shoot their feet if we didn't listen.

"I was just playing," I muttered and the moment I stepped toward my family, they took off toward home, leaving me to walk the long distance. I glanced one last time at the large rusted door with the large warnings spray painted on it.

Danger! Do not attempt to enter!

They warned us not to play around the bunker door, but we didn't care. My friends and I were fascinated about the possibilities of what could be inside. I turned back and tightened my grip on my water satchel, starting back to the junkyard.

The orange sun was sliding down the sky when I finally made it to base. Creepies and Crawlies and other mutant animals would be out soon. I ducked through the tall gates of the junkyard and went into the house.

My dad had moved us here when I was a newborn, according to Grandma. It had been a large duplex. There were five units for five families, but it was only the four of us, Mom, Dad, Cherry, and I until Granddad and Grandma came to stay. They took one of the units on the top floor, but then our parents died and they moved down to take care of us.

My legs were tired by the time I dragged myself to the kitchen and plopped myself down. Grandma served me stew, with a bowl made of bread. Most of our food was served inside bread. We tried to save water where we could, so we got creative.

I scarfed my food down and thanked her. I glanced at Cherry, still nibbling on her bread. She was a slow eater. I stood to go when the heavy thud from Granddad's boots echoed from the next room, slowly getting louder until he appeared in the doorway. I shrunk into myself, prepared for an earful.

"Haven't I warned you before not to go messing around those bunkers, Riot?"

I dipped my head. "Yes sir."

"And where did I find you today?"

I hesitated. "A— at the bunkers, sir." I looked up.

"Why?" He stretched out his neck, waiting for my answer.

"Come on, Cherry, let's go lay down and I'll start a story." Grandma pulled out Cherry's chair and took her small hand, ushering her out quickly. I swallowed, my stomach tightened. A beating was coming.

Granddad waited until they were gone before stepping toward me. We stared into each other's eyes. We had matching green ones. My dad had the same eyes too. It was about the only thing I remembered about him. Unbuckling his belt, he pulled it from the rings in his pants and folded it in half.

He reached for the pistol at his hip and removed it, slapping it down on the table.

"Nothing I seem to say is working with you Riot," he said through gritted teeth. "What do I have to do to get you to listen?"

"Sir, please!" I raised my hands right as he stepped to me, raising his arm with the belt.

"Turn around."

I shook in my boots and couldn't move. He repeated the order and shoved my shoulder, forcing me to turn. I screamed as the belt came down. I fell to the ground and he scooped me back up, whipping me again, and again, and again.

"Eleven, for each year you've been on this godforsaken earth." He stopped with the belt and shoved me away. "You're lucky your Dad had the sense to take you and your sister for the shot. It's expensive but worth it. If he hadn't, the radiation coming from those bunkers would have already turned you."

I stumbled and straightened, pushing my hair out of my face.

"How do you know?" My voice came out quiet, and I backed up, hitting the cupboard.

"What now?" Granddad stood up to his full height.

"How do you know the bunkers have radiation in them? The one I was at today was sealed tight."

"Just because that one is closed doesn't mean the others are," he snapped. "I've seen bunkers be opened and monsters pour out. You wouldn't believe the things they did to all those people they trapped in there."

"Well shouldn't we try to help them then?" I pushed off the cupboard. Granddad shook his head and took a deep breath.

"No, son. Anyone left in the bunkers are either dead or mutated. It's better off left alone." He went back to the table, grabbing the pistol. He shook it at me and smiled, half of his teeth missing. "Next time I catch you and your little heathen friends over near that door, I'll shoot you. You'll have a hell of a time walking to it if you ain't got a good foot."

Granddad put his belt back on and slid the gun back in its holster. He took his leave from the kitchen without another word. He didn't need one. The beating and the warning were enough. I knew if he saw me at the bunker door again, he'd be true to his word.

I sulked to my room, my shoulders inward and my feet dragging. I'd been exhausted before, but now I could barely stand. I entered my bedroom and went over to the mattress on the floor, and belly flopped. I closed my eyes, tiredness overtaking me. I wasn't even going to take my shoes off tonight.

A knock on my door caused me to open an eye and roll over.

"Yeah?" I groaned. The door opened and Grandma stepped inside.

"How are you?" In her hands were bandages. She'd come prepared for more damage. I'd gotten much worse beatings before. I had the scars to prove it.

"I'm okay." I sat up and she came to sit at the edge of my bed. "Like you always say--"

"The bombs may have destroyed the world, but they didn't destroy our spirits," we said in unison.

I gave her an exhausted smile. "I heard the old man. I'll stay close to the junkyard tomorrow."

Granddad liked me up early to help him in the junkyard. He was teaching me how to build and repair bikes and anything with a motor that came by. We were in the process of building me a bike of my own.

"Your granddad, he means well. About staying away from those bunkers."

I blew air upward, causing my hair to fly up and out of my eyes.

"He said they blasted them all with radiation."

She nodded solemnly. "That's what they say."

"Why did some people go in there and some stay out?"

I had no idea if she would know anything about what happened way back then. None of us were alive during the blasts. They said before the bombs there were buildings full of books about history, called libraries. After they dropped though, no one kept record of stuff like that.Just through word of mouth.

"Well, Riot, it wasn't really much of a choice for many. People were selected to go into the bunkers at first, and they say some paid -- the wealthy, of course. The rest of us were left..." She smiled weakly and shrugged. "Up here."

"How did they choose?" It was all so fascinating for me. I'd been taught to read, write, and the basic survival skills, but nothing about the bunkers, or what happened to cause it all.

She shook her head sadly. "I think that is lost to time. Who knows who the leaders considered worthy way back when? It's best we forget about the bunkers altogether and focus on surviving here on the surface."

I nodded. I got the feeling that she'd been pressured to come in and talk to me. She stood up, the expression on my face proof that her point had gotten across.

"Good boy. Tomorrow will be better. Your granddad traded some scrap for paint for your motorcycle. He's going to let you color it red."

"Sounds great, Grandma." I forced a small smile and laid back down.

"Please, Riot, stay away from them." Her voice turned cold. "No good comes from those bunkers."

"Have you actually met anyone from one?"

She was silent for a long time.

"Yes."

She left and I tried to sleep.

They were lying -- not about meeting the people from the bunker. That felt true. They were hiding something else, I just didn't know what.