They left the building when the frost began to seep through the double glazing, the blankets covering the double glazing and the carpeted wooden planks covering that. At least it had brought them enough time to use their knowledge to improve a second shelter in a smaller building with far less windows and heated door frames.
It took less than three weeks for the entire colony to move out, with the last few barely managing to close the door behind them and seal the frost away for however much longer they'd manage. So far they'd lasted almost eight generations without seeing the sun, too far underground for anything but the occasional stray animal to visit them.
Their only contact from the outside world was from the rations truck that drove from shelter to shelter along the old mine tunnels, never deviating and never turning off lest the engine freeze up. That would be the death of them all for sure - that one smallish truck was their lifeline and though they knew that depending all of their lives on one thing they had few options and many lifetimes of supplies, thanks to the collapse of shelters 53 through 88.
Any shelter beyond 88 had been cut off from the food supply for almost four years now, the efforts to break through the rubble were all unsuccessful at best and lethal in mot cases. They were all presumed dead or worse, scuttling about on the frozen surface like the rest of the unlucky ones, limbs little more than blackened frostbitten nubs with long dark pink icicles protruding from wherever they'd bled most. their faces were much the same, a mess of blackened skin and thick reddish-pink ice (or sludge, depending on how fresh they were) covering whatever facial features may have survived.
Back in their old shelter they could sometimes hear the faint ticky-ticky noises of the unlucky ones as they walked over the roof, trying to find a way inside and failing. At least now, without the colony there to maintain the place, they might have a better chance. Nobody quite knew what happened to the unlucky if they thawed so there was the possibility that they weren't the savage abominations that they looked to be at first glance. They might be perfectly civil but you'd have a hard time finding someone willing to even be on the same floor as them, let alone speak to them.
The new shelter had thicker doors and made them feel safer about the fact that they were only a few metres from their old one and could still be reached by anything strong enough to break down the front door (which, for some of the frost-changed creatures, would be painfully easy). While they had explored some of the new shelter, the former colony having abandoned it to go and attempt survival on the surface and failed to come back after eight years, there were still many floors they hadn't touched.
Two teams were formed from a mixture of quite strong and average people so that the weakest wouldn't be sacrificed and the strongest could defend the majority and ensure maximum survival potential. Team one went up, to the top three floors that were barely given a cursory glance for life before being declared liveable, and team two went down to the basement level to check for surplus supplies.
Neither team made it back to the "safe" floors, not a single one of them. Death was the likeliest option but they had never made a sound, not so much as a little peep for help and the stench of decaying flesh was nowhere to be found. The remainder of the colony chose to join one of the lower numbered shelters and bulk up their watch team instead of staying somewhere that swallowed people with no sound.
After this, shelter 19 was crossed off the growing list of active habitats and more names crossed off the survivor's list.
It took less than three weeks for the entire colony to move out, with the last few barely managing to close the door behind them and seal the frost away for however much longer they'd manage. So far they'd lasted almost eight generations without seeing the sun, too far underground for anything but the occasional stray animal to visit them.
Their only contact from the outside world was from the rations truck that drove from shelter to shelter along the old mine tunnels, never deviating and never turning off lest the engine freeze up. That would be the death of them all for sure - that one smallish truck was their lifeline and though they knew that depending all of their lives on one thing they had few options and many lifetimes of supplies, thanks to the collapse of shelters 53 through 88.
Any shelter beyond 88 had been cut off from the food supply for almost four years now, the efforts to break through the rubble were all unsuccessful at best and lethal in mot cases. They were all presumed dead or worse, scuttling about on the frozen surface like the rest of the unlucky ones, limbs little more than blackened frostbitten nubs with long dark pink icicles protruding from wherever they'd bled most. their faces were much the same, a mess of blackened skin and thick reddish-pink ice (or sludge, depending on how fresh they were) covering whatever facial features may have survived.
Back in their old shelter they could sometimes hear the faint ticky-ticky noises of the unlucky ones as they walked over the roof, trying to find a way inside and failing. At least now, without the colony there to maintain the place, they might have a better chance. Nobody quite knew what happened to the unlucky if they thawed so there was the possibility that they weren't the savage abominations that they looked to be at first glance. They might be perfectly civil but you'd have a hard time finding someone willing to even be on the same floor as them, let alone speak to them.
The new shelter had thicker doors and made them feel safer about the fact that they were only a few metres from their old one and could still be reached by anything strong enough to break down the front door (which, for some of the frost-changed creatures, would be painfully easy). While they had explored some of the new shelter, the former colony having abandoned it to go and attempt survival on the surface and failed to come back after eight years, there were still many floors they hadn't touched.
Two teams were formed from a mixture of quite strong and average people so that the weakest wouldn't be sacrificed and the strongest could defend the majority and ensure maximum survival potential. Team one went up, to the top three floors that were barely given a cursory glance for life before being declared liveable, and team two went down to the basement level to check for surplus supplies.
Neither team made it back to the "safe" floors, not a single one of them. Death was the likeliest option but they had never made a sound, not so much as a little peep for help and the stench of decaying flesh was nowhere to be found. The remainder of the colony chose to join one of the lower numbered shelters and bulk up their watch team instead of staying somewhere that swallowed people with no sound.
After this, shelter 19 was crossed off the growing list of active habitats and more names crossed off the survivor's list.
No comments:
Post a Comment