I was underground when the bombs dropped.


My husband was out at work and called to say something was up. Up in the sky and on its way down I expect, that’s what happened anyway. He worked for the government, never told me what he did exactly. He came home from work one day and insisted we build some super advanced bunker beneath our house. Ridiculous really, I laughed and suggested he go on that stupid show about those people who prepare for the apocalypse.

I guess it wasn’t so stupid after all.

Anyway, the bunker was built with all this hi-tech equipment that set me on edge. My husband showed me how to work it all – just in case – and I didn’t pay that much attention. After all, what’re the chances of the world ending tomorrow? He spent the night filling the bunker with essentials, and some not-so-essentials, that annoyed me. He should have been spending the evening with me watching Eastenders on the sofa with a coffee.Last Eastenders I ever watched as it happens.

So I was on the phone and it cut out. Line went blank. It wasn’t so unusual, signal near our house is rubbish. That’s what you get for living in the country. But I was a bit freaked out. I followed his instructions, stupid as they sounded, and packed the Go-Bag he’d left beneath the bed. Flicked the news on while I packed, everything seemed normal but then I got another call.

My husband again.

He told me to go into the bunker and lock the door. I thought he was joking and laughed a profanity down the phone. You winding me up you ******? He wasn’t joking apparently, said he wouldn’t be home, he was needed at the office for containment. I should’ve told him I loved him, but I was doing this thing where I make everything a joke and wasn’t about to let my resolve crack.


I went to the bunker and locked myself in. It was a bit of an adventure until the bombs dropped. Three I reckon. BANG. BANG. BANG. I guess more of a boom? I don’t know, it was loud anyway. Break your ears loud. The kind of loud that crashes into your mind and sits there buzzing for hours… or days. Or forever. I can still hear that sound. I suppose I always will.

It took a while for my brain to start ticking over again after that. When it did I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialled my husband’s number but there was nothing. No dialling tone. Nothing.  Just that slightly menacing silence that’s been my only company these ten years.


Part 2 next Monday! 


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