The Veil of Crimson Dust: Part 1/4
A Solarpunk Story.
By Dylan “Clockwork” Thomas
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Wayland welded the door together, taking care to wipe away any dust that settled there. The dust was all over the country by now. It was hard to find a place in the states where colossal crimson clouds weren’t suffocating people with fits of coughing. The reasons the dust had arrived were obvious, drought, wildfires, habitat loss and human greed. The world was changing and whatever else people said, the future was going to be a rough time, a time that was arriving soon.
Thus many people decided to take shelter in an attempt to ride things out to greener pastures. Those on the coast often bought boats, yachts, barges and anything that could float to try and rebuild their worlds. Many others decided to flee, going to remote towns in Alaska, Canada, new Zealand, anywhere land was cheap and a minor mansion could be built. Legions of people decided to hunker down in gated communities, under the impression that razor wire fences and security cameras could stop the dust. A few like Mr. Nastrond had commissioned large underground shelters meant to be self-sufficient for a short while. One thing is consistent in every case though. The financers always needed people like Wayland to build them.
“How’s that door coming along?” Erik asked.
“The locks are all on,” Wayland said. “Been trying to keep the welds clean so it won’t fail anytime.”
“Geez look at it,” Erik whistled while handling the latch. “Looks like it was meant to withstand a nuclear war.”
“I think it might,” Wayland replied. “I think a lot of this stuff is based on all fallout bunkers. Not sure if the original company is still in business or someone just took it off an old bunker from the sixties.”
“I think Nastrond grabbed a bit more from the sixties,” Erik pointed out. “Look at some of the stuff he’s having me drag in enough Vietnam era guns to take over Texas, loads of meat in cans, not sure why he isn’t bringing chickens or rabbits if he wants meat.”
Wayland shrugged and responded, “Maybe that’s space and feed that could be better spent on people.”
“Maybe,” Erik pondered. “Still, those last few trucks were full of nothing but luxuries. Barrels of wine and scotch, enough media and vr headsets to give everyone two. A complete movie studio worth of junk we’re talking lights, cameras, props, a freaking rendering server. Does he think he’s gonna be making Hollywood blockbusters or something?”
“Pretty sure he is from Hollywood, he’s some kind of director.”
“That… actually makes sense. He’s probably selling some beds to Hollywood bigshots to pay for the place.”
“Makes sense,” Wayland wondered. “I guess all that stuff is just to keep people from going insane down there. Heck I know that I’d start to go crazy if I had nothing to work on.”
“Got a plan for what we’re going to do when we go down?”
“Nope, at least he brought plenty of scotch. I can always take up the family pastime of playing, how drunk can you get before noon.”
“You sound like dad.”
“Hey guys,” A beaming young woman covered in paint chirped.
So how do the rooms look Arya?” Wayland asked.
“Better than your welds,” Arya joked. “At least it’s not all gunmetal gray and concrete. Still I had to buy every last paint can in town to finish today. The whole things looks like inside a preschool or some kind of pride parade.”
“Well they are from California,” Erik pointed out.
“And they brought a shipping container full of guns?” Wayland asked.
“Good point.”
“That door done?” one of the project managers asked.
“Ehh 99%,” Wayland guessed. “I’ll finish it soon. Hey when are we getting the next load of supplies? I’m just about out of mig wire over here.”
“We’re about to have a meeting on just that,” the manager stated. “All three of you come with me to the unloading dock.”
The three of them gave each other a look and followed. As they walked to the unloading lot they could see that just about everyone was there. The last trucks to make it in were unloaded and still there. On top of the munitions truck, Nastrond the project owner was getting out a megaphone.”
“Ok is everyone here?” Nastrond blurted out of the megaphone.
There were some nods and general mumblings of “pretty much” amongst the crowd.
“Ok, Nastrond replied. “As I’m sure all of you are aware we’ve been getting more and more behind on supplies. Our project coordinators have all been doing their best to arrange more material to build the shelter. Prospero Springs is nearly a third done as it stands. I want to thank every person who’s worked hard to get where we need to be.”
There was a bit of clapping from some of the younger workers and people on the management side of the project. Wayland looked over to see Arya clapping with a concerned and confused look on her face. Wayland couldn’t see a single older worker in the crowd clapping. They could all tell from the tone of his voice what would next entail.
“Unfortunately we’ve heard today that our cement supplier has gone dark,” Nastrond stated. “That’s the only supplier we’ve been able to find nearby and with fuel shortages in the world, we have no hope to find another supplier. Every person I’ve contacted has stopped producing building materials at this point.”
Nastrond waited for boos or jeers. There was only silence. The air was as thick with dust as it was with tension.
“We need to make a decision,” Nastrond said. “We just got the electricity and hydroponics installed so at the moment Prospero Springs can support some people. We’re also lucky that most of the people with promised spots haven’t shown up, fuel shortages again. Now we need to make the decision, amongst us the present. Who will have a spot in Prospero Springs?”
“You told us that we were all promised a spot!” Someone shouted.
“I did,” Nastrond replied. “I was also promised concrete, supplies, and tools. We’ve all been lied to, We’re all breaking our promises for one reason or another. I’m going to try and make this right though.”
“We deserve a spot!”
“And you’ll have it,” Nastrond replied. “I’ve been told we have enough room for five hundred people, and we’re going to split them up fairly. You’ve all worked hard, you all deserve it. We’re going to hold a vote.”
There was a minute of silence before people began shouting questions, Nastrond began answering some of them.
“We’re printing out numbers and randomly giving them out. We’ll use a random number generator, people can trade numbers if you want as long as everyone agrees. We’ve counted everyone here, Everyone will have a number painted on their hand and given a slip. Trading will only happen under supervision of management and video-feed that anyone can access. Line up and take a number.”
There was a massive shove to get to the shipping container with the markers. Two people were set up with a laptop with a spreadsheet and an ink stamper. There was a surge of people gunning for the area. It took a good deal of yelling with the megaphone and threats to remove people from the lottery if they didn’t get in line. Eventually something almost resembling a line was formed. Once in it, people were quiet other than a general mumble of complaints and an uneasy hacking from many as the dust storm picked up. Wayland got in line with Arya and Erik, they all had a vague sense of unease. Eventually they got their numbers, a slip of paper and one written on their hand. Alot of people picked at their hands uneasily, grabbed fists and clenched their tickets.
“Does everyone have one?” Nastrond shouted. “Please remember we’re checking both people’s hands.”
There were a few people who got out of the line when he said that.
“Nine hundred and twenty tickets have been issued, if we have everyone, we’re going to start calling numbers.”
They got out the computer program and began rattling off numbers. One by one people walked forwards to claim a spot. Every time, this happened the project managers recorded them stating that they wanted a spot inside and were then told to gather their things and get ready for entry. The security personnel escorted them wherever they needed. Most people only had a few things in their cars or in bags/tents/cubbyholes. Nearly everyone was a worker who had to move to this job so most people traveled light or out of their car. And with gas becoming scarcer and scarcer, more people just started living out of backpacks and duffle bags. Many got rides from strangers in exchange for chipping in for gas, if you could find gas.
“Ninety eight!”
“Here!” A plumber in front of Wayland waved their ticket up. Immediately an electrician tried to grab the ticket from them and punch them in the face. Both people were grabbed instantly but another person in the crowd tried to steal their ticket. Immediately nearly every person in front of Wayland was tased by the security personnel. The people involved were separated from each other and cuffed to a big rig truck in the parking lot.
“People please remember that tickets have to be exchanged in front of us or we won’t let you in,” Nastrond announced. “Ok Next up is four hundred and thirty six.”
Another yelp of excitement from the crowd, another round of disappointed sighs by nearly everyone else. Wayland wasn’t sure what to think, he knew that statistically he would have a place inside the shelter. But statistics had a tendency to not work out when you needed to count on them. Wayland looked over at his family, Erik had gone white knuckled from clenching his fists too hard. Arya was scanning the crowd about ready to panic. Wayland prepared himself for the worst to happen, none of them would get in, they would all die out here. Out of the three of them, all their vehicles had maybe a half gallon of fuel. With no trucks on the road, no public transportation and a sea of dust surrounding them. Wayland thought about where they were in the world. On the eastern edge of the rocky mountains in northern Wyoming. There were forests above the mountains but they were on fire half the year. There was at least some water in the mountains though. The entire shelter was fed by an underground river with a peloton wheel turbine carefully built in the lowest level providing power. Wayland pondered how to dig a well in the mountains, or to dam up a seasonal creek. He was so absorbed that he almost didn’t notice Erik’s hand shot up.
“Here I’ve got three hundred and ninety one,” Erik screamed.
“Please come up and confirm your ticket.”
Erik walked forward. Wayland snapped back to reality, he needed to be aware that his number could be called at any moment.
“At least Erik’s getting in.”
“Yea,” Wayland replied. “You know I bet less than a hundred people have been picked.”
“I think we might get in,” Arya hesitated with a lopsided smile.
The rest of the numbers were called out over several hours. The sun was low in the sky, the pollution and dust had turned sunsets to a nearly blood red to purple color.
“That’s all the tickets we have, If you want to trade we’ll be here all night.”
It had been several hours, after the final ticket had been called out madness erupted. Shouting, pleading, threats, people begging others to trade. Nastrond yelled back that even he didn’t win one and that he’d do what he could for the people without a spot. After what felt like another hour of yelling, the crowd began to dwindle as people wandered off. A few people with working cars just began to drive off. Many people bumed rides off them to get into town. Arya and Wayland met up with Erik at his pickup truck.
“Hey,” Erik remarked, not taking his eye off the ticket.
“Well…” Wayland sighed. “Good for you I guess. I’m glad at least one of us got in.”
“Yea…”
“...”
“One of you should go instead.”
“What?”
“I thought alot about this,” Erik said. “I think I have the best shot out of the three of us to survive out here.”
“Playing shooters for twelve hours a day does not make you some kind of survival expert Erik,” Wayland snapped.
“Yea but I’m just going to go crazy in there anyway,” Erik said. “Shut up and let me do a nice thing. Let’s be real, I'd last for five days before losing it and start trying to tear down the walls to go outside.”
“Then you’d just want to go back inside,” Arya pointed out. “You’d be like one of our cats.”
“Ok listen to me,” Erik pleaded. “I think working down there the past few months has given me a major case of claustrophobia. I feel like around every corner I’m going to find death ready to smother me with a pillow.”
“Do you really feel like that or are you-”
“YES WAYLAND,” Erik shouted. “I’m not going down there.”
Erik marched over to where Nastrond and the project managers were exchanging tickets. Surprisingly there were quite a few who were doing it. People offering to sell their tickets for everything from their cars, property, cryptocurrency, even someone offering a 401k that could buy a ranch. No one seemed sure what anything was worth.
“Trading a ticket?” Nastrond asked.
“I want to give it to one of my other family members,” Erik said.
“That’s fairly noble of you,” Nastrond noted. “So who to?”
“Erik looked at both of them, “Wayland you’re the person who originally found this job, want a finders fee?”
“Erh,” Wayland looked back at Erik and Arya.
“If I can but in,” Nastrond said. “He doesn’t look partially eager.”
“Well…” Wayland started.
“Out of the three of you, which is the youngest?”
Both Erik and Wayland turned towards, who seemed to be wishing she was anywhere but there at the moment.
“Guys I’d feel bad if I took the option from either of you.”
“Sounds like either of them don’t quite want it,” Nastrond replied. “Plus if neither of them want it, it'll just go to some other random person. Don’t you want all of your effort to be worth something?”
“Err,” Arya grunted while looking between Wayland and Erik.
“Just think about it,”
The three of them stood for a minute eyeing each other over. Everyone felt like they should say something and no one did for the longest time.
“We’re going to close up pretty soon,” Nastrond said. “Still a few things to finalize.”
“Arya, please take it,” Erik said.
“... ok.”
They confirmed with Nastrond, and Arya began moving her supplies inside. Erik wound up getting the keys to her old car, the gas in the tank was probably worth more the the entire rust bucket.
“I’d say take care of it but I don’t think that’s all that important,” Arya joked.
“We’ll miss you,” Erik replied. “I promise to only wreck it a little.”
“The bunker has wifi, I’ll try to be in contact when possible,” Arya said.
“Thanks,” Erik consoled. “That means alot.”
Over the next few days everything was packed in the bunker that would fit. Entering and exiting the bunker had a complete decontamination procedure, and a few people who had mild illnesses were quarantined in the partially built section. Wayland and Erik helped out with the last few things to install and haul inside. They wanted to give Arya the best shot possible.
When Arya entered the shelter for the final time, there were tears, promises things would be ok, and a lot of wondering what the future would bring. By that time the parking lot had nearly completely been covered in dust. If you didn’t know where the shelter was, it might have been impossible to find.
“Thanks both of you,” Arya blubbered. “For everything.”
“We’ll see you again,” Erik said. “This is only til the dust stops.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Wayland said, giving Arya a goodbye hug. “Just be strong for us.”
“I will.”
Arya entered the shelter door. Erik and Wayland watched it as the final people entered.
“So got a plan?” Erik asked.
“Nah, just a couple of ideas,” Wayland replied. “I think we should get with the last few people in town and plan out our next moves there.”
“Hmm,” Erik said.
“Thinking?”
“Yea,” Erik replied, not taking his eyes off the door.
“Worried?”
“Yea.”
“... I can tell it’s more than nothing.”
“Erik sighed and turned to Wayland. “Just noticed something, what do you think the man to woman ratio was for people working on the shelter.”
“Fifty fifty-ish.”
“And for who entered the shelter?”
“... Maybe forty sixty?”
“...”
“Coincidence?” Erik wondered.
“I hope so.”
The two brothers took their eyes off the door and began walking to town. The dust storm was already caking their clothes in reds and browns. Erik began coughing and they picked up the pace.
