We saw the bunkers from the safety of our boat. Most of them seemed to have survived but they're all seventy something feet below sea level... at our last count. There's been plenty of rain since so I reckon there's at least a dozen feet more on top of that.
My dad chose to keep us out of the bunkers, said we'd survive on our modified tanker with plenty of fish and whatever seedlings he'd smuggled away the past few years. He said someone needed to keep an eye on things from the surface and that is now down to us.
I don't even know if the people in the bunkers want us to look out for them but here we are, watching the air stacks for any signs of distress and helping wherever we can. We can't get anybody out, not now that they're so far down, but we can send food parcels and medicine down.
Bunker WestPointJ is my favourite. They rigged a drone to deliver messages up to us to reassure us that all is well and to ask for fresh vegetables when we have any spare. In return they broadcast about us to the other bunkers, acting as a relay for thousands of survivors.
We used to get called all over the place, barely any time to rest between helping one bunker or another but now things a lot quieter. Dad says its because the thrill of surface survivors has worn off but he sends a lot more messages to WestPointJ and he's never happy with their replies.
I think it has something to do with the smoke we've been seeing from the air stacks or the darkness spreading out into the water below and into the fish, making their meat black and gooey. Something is happening right beneath our feet, too far down to understand and too far down to stop.
My dad chose to keep us out of the bunkers, said we'd survive on our modified tanker with plenty of fish and whatever seedlings he'd smuggled away the past few years. He said someone needed to keep an eye on things from the surface and that is now down to us.
I don't even know if the people in the bunkers want us to look out for them but here we are, watching the air stacks for any signs of distress and helping wherever we can. We can't get anybody out, not now that they're so far down, but we can send food parcels and medicine down.
Bunker WestPointJ is my favourite. They rigged a drone to deliver messages up to us to reassure us that all is well and to ask for fresh vegetables when we have any spare. In return they broadcast about us to the other bunkers, acting as a relay for thousands of survivors.
We used to get called all over the place, barely any time to rest between helping one bunker or another but now things a lot quieter. Dad says its because the thrill of surface survivors has worn off but he sends a lot more messages to WestPointJ and he's never happy with their replies.
I think it has something to do with the smoke we've been seeing from the air stacks or the darkness spreading out into the water below and into the fish, making their meat black and gooey. Something is happening right beneath our feet, too far down to understand and too far down to stop.
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