Canned Chili and Stale Crackers

I run through my morning chores like clockwork. It used to be boring until I found an MP3 player stashed away in a spare bunk. I’ve never been able to figure out who left it in the bunker and I’m not sure if I want to know. I brought it to Sarge (It’s short for Sargent, his military ranking. But his real name is Isaiah) and he gave me some spare batteries then showed me how it worked. I bob my head to the beat as I walk down the long metal hall, checking gauges and dials, marking it all down on my tablet. Water pressure in the filtration system, normal. East and West furnaces running at full capacity, finally. They broke down for like a week and we all had to huddle up in as many blankets as we could find. It was so cold that I thought my toes were going to freeze off. Oxygen filtration system-

No, that’s not right. I flick the gauge of the OFS a few times, thinking that it must have gotten stuck. It jumped all around before settling at half capacity. Some of the filters must have clogged up overnight. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t had anything to eat since nineteen hundred hours. I shake my head, reminding myself that oxygen is more important than food. And if I don’t get this done before Sarge notices the taste in the air, he’s gonna be pissed. I guess it’s my fault, I asked for more responsibility. Changing the filters in the OFS is a two-man job, I’ll need to get Travis’s help with this. I make a note of that on my tablet then check the rest of the gauges. Everything is normal.

“At least it's only the oxygen filters,” I murmur to myself. As if they were listening, the lights flickered then went out. I snap my mouth shut before I could make it worse. I reach for my flashlight but it’s not there. I must have left it back in my bunk this morning. My bunk is on the way to the north generator, that’s where Travis and Sarge will be. I set off for my bunk, hoping to find my flashlight there.

Being in the pitch black isn’t so bad. I’ve lived in this bunker for my entire life, almost fourteen years, I know all the nooks and crannies and- OW!

I stumble back, rubbing my forehead where it had smacked into that low-hanging pipe. I always forget about that stupid thing. After ducking under it, I set off again, a bit more carefully this time. I feel along the wall until I find my door frame and shove it open. I found the flashlight exactly where it is every morning, on the spare bed next to mine, tucked away in a gun holster Sarge had converted into a flashlight holster. I strap it on and flick on the light. Nothing. I flick the switch a few more times but nothing happened. Dead battery. I turned off my MP3 player and took the batteries out. Triple-A, the flashlight takes Double-A. I tapped my fingers on the dead flashlight then remembered something Sarge had taught me. I search around until I find the small robot on the same bed as the flashlight. Travis and I have been trying to fix it up but he’s been so busy lately that it’s been left here to gather dust. I carefully peel the tinfoil off the back of its head. I had used it as a patch for the gaping hole that had cracked open when I accidentally dropped it. After setting it back on the bed, I wadded up the tinfoil and slid the Triple-A batteries into the flashlight, shoving the tinfoil in to close up the extra space.

I flick the switch. The suddenness of it blinds me for a few seconds before my eyes can adjust. My bedroom is like any other in the bunker, six beds lined up on either side with the headboards pressed up against the walls. This bunker was meant to be an emergency evacuation point for anyone that could reach it during nuclear warfare, but the only people living here are Travis, Sarge, and me.

I pause, looking over the beds. Three of them are being slept in and one holds all my little trinkets. The rest have been empty for years. I had found the MP3 player in the last one on the left side. Swallowing thickly, I  think about who it could have belonged to. Who had slept there? Whose bed am I sleeping in? Sarge and Travis told me a dozen versions of how we got here over the years but Travis finally told me the truth. Sometimes, I wish that he hadn’t. I never knew any of them, they died when I was a baby, and yet it’s like their ghosts walk these halls. I can imagine them, Moms and Dads, and kids that were just trying to survive like we are. Travis said there were three hundred and twenty-seven people living here fifteen years ago. Two years later, I was born and there were three hundred and twenty-eight people. Now there’s only three.

I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away. The power is down and the oxygen filters need to be changed. I have to think like Sarge, prioritize. First, I have to get to the generator. Then we need to get the generator working and change the filters. I drop the MP3 player on the bed, it's useless without batteries.

I leave the room, closing the door tight behind me like it would keep the ghosts locked inside. Jogging down the halls, my light sweeps over the concrete floors and walls. I shiver as the temperature starts to drop. The furnaces should still be working but without the generator, the heat won't dispense properly throughout the bunker. We can’t pump heat into the generator room or it’ll overheat, so that’ll be the coldest room in the bunker. I take a quick detour to grab three coats stashed away in one of the dozens of closets.

The generator is in a soundproof room on the northernmost side of the bunker. The door was open but instead of the migraine-inducing hum, the only thing I can hear is a steady flow of cuss words. Travis is kneeling in front of the generator, messing with the wiring inside of it. Sarge is standing behind him, shining his own flashlight where Travis tells him to. I was right, the temperature is at least ten degrees below the hall I had come from.

Sarge turns to look at me when he sees my light sweep over them. “Morning Private,” he says gruffly. He calls me Private but it’s more of an honorary term. He always says that, if the marines are ever brought back, then he’ll make me a real Private.

“Morning Sarge,” I say back. “How’s it looking, Travis?” I offer him a coat. He pauses then takes it from me and puts it on.

“What no hello for the lowly mechanic?” he jokes. He knows that we’d all be dead without him but he likes to joke about it. He says that it’s good to keep a sense of humor, especially since Sarge doesn’t have one. I give a coat to Sarge before pulling on my own. I could have worn one half the size but it’ll keep me warm. Travis turns back to the wiring and says, “Darn things really kicked the bucket this time. It’ll take me some time to get it up and running again.” Travis bangs the side of the generator with his fist.

“Take it easy with that. We don’t need it anymore damaged than it already is,” Sarge says.

“Don’t you think I know that Isaiah?” Travis snaps. He looks tired, he must have been up all night trying to reroute the power from the south generator to the essential systems. If he can do that, it’ll take a lot of pressure off the north generator and he might get it working again. Sarge has been as stressed about the generator as Travis. There are sensors above the bunker to monitor the fallout. I took a peek at it yesterday and if we go up there right now, we won’t last a week breathing in that toxic air. This generator is our only shot at survival. Travis ducks his head down into the wiring, murmuring something that I can't make out.

I can’t tell them about the filters, they’re already stressed with everything going on right now. It's usually laid back but over the past month, the north generator has been kicking it more often than not. 

Prioritize. The generator is more important and Travis will need Sarge’s help. Travis taught me a little bit about wiring but nothing on the level he would need to help him with this. All I could do was hold up another flashlight, and then who will change the filters? It's a two-man job but I should be able to do it on my own.

“I’m gonna check the rest of the gauges,” I say even though I already have. I just needed an excuse for where I’m going. Before they can contradict me, I head out, making my way to the OFS room at the center of the bunker. I shove the door open and the cold immediately hits me. My breath comes out in a puff of white. I zip up my puffy coat, rubbing my hands together for warmth. I forgot the heat doesn’t get pumped into here, either. Emergency red lights glow with life up high on the plain walls. I leave the door open, hoping that some of the heat will make its way inside. The room is perfectly square with a pillar in the center of the room. That pillar is the OFS. I find the access panel on the side of it and pull it open, shining my flashlight around inside the hollow tube.

Forty handles stare back at me, each one connected to a filter. All of which needs to be changed. I take a frosty breath then get up and walk to the storage room, that’s where the extra filters will be. I throw open the door, shining the light over the filters. They’re about three inches long and two inches thick, each one framed in grey metal. The filters themselves are made up of layers of pure white fabric-y stuff. I load as many as I can into my arms and pile them by the open panel, taking trips back and forth until I’m sure that I have enough. I take a breath then slide into the OFS. When I’m halfway in, something tugs me back. I pull against it but it holds firm. My coat is stuck on the panel. Too big for me and too big to fit inside. I slide back out and take it off, shivering as the cold air reaches the bare skin of my arms and the back of my neck.

I slide back into the OFS. I grab the first handle and unlock it, which is a two-handed job, sliding it out of place. It’s jet black, as black as the halls with the lights out. No wonder it's only running at half power. I slide the fresh filter into place and get to work on the next one.

What feels like hours later, I’m on the last three. I reach up as high as I can but my fingertips only brush the very edge. I’m not tall enough. If I don’t get these last filters off before the power starts back up, the black filters will contaminate the rest then we’ll have this same problem again in a week or two. I stretch up on my toes but I can’t reach it. Without warning, I feel a hand on my back. I scream but I can't move away from it in such a small space.

“Relax, Private. It’s just me,” Sarge says. I could tell he was trying not to laugh. With my heart beating at a million miles a minute, it was hard to find the humor in this.

“S-S-Sarge?” I sutter, my teeth chattering. I manage to turn around to look at him. “H-How did you k-know I was here?”

“You said that you were checking the gauges, which need power supplied by the generator to work.” I feel like banging my head against the wall of filters. “Private, your freezing. Come on, get out of there.”

I shake my head. “I-I’m not done yet.” I look up at the last filters. “T-They’re too high. I c-can’t reach them.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” Sarge says. Before I can ask him what he means, he hands me some filters then grabs my waist and lifts me up.

“Whoa!” I grab the filter handles to steady myself and quickly switch out the old ones. Sarge puts me down and helps me out of the OFS. I pull on my coat as we leave the OFS room, hugging myself for warmth.

“Why don’t you head down to the cafeteria and get yourself a hot meal. I’ll see how Travis is doing.” I nod, my stomach agreeing whole-heartedly. We headed off in different directions. The cafeteria is the largest room in the bunker, made to hold a few hundred people at a time for daily meals. I walk across the quiet expanse with my flashlight casting strange shadows. My steps echo across the floor and the screeching of the hinges of the backdoor is ear-splitting. This is where all the food is.

I pause in the doorway, thinking about how tired Sarge looked when he came to help me. I grab three canned chilies, a can opener, spoons, and a roll of what must be stale crackers then headed back to the north generator. I found the two of them hunched over the generator’s open panel. Suddenly, the generator let out a loudening hum. Sarge and Travis stand up and back away like they’re afraid that any sudden movements would shut it down again. I’m just as still.

“Finally!” Travis suddenly shouts. Sarge jumps at the abruptness of it then barks a laugh. I knock my boot on the doorframe and they both look back at me.

“I’ve got chili and crackers,” I say cheerfully. With them both working so hard to keep us alive down here, the least I can do is smile and act like I’m not going to gag on the crackers. They both smile. We close the door and the hum imminently goes silent. Travis cracked the door open, just to be safe. I sit down and set the lantern that I had grabbed on the way here on the ground, flicking it on. It lights up the entire hall. They flick off their flashlights and sit down around the lantern. I open up the cans and pass them out. After a day like this, I think we all needed that canned chili and stale crackers.