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I'm with Dad, and Bro, and friend Laura and we are in an RV (sidenote: Laura and her husband have been at Burning Man in an RV for the last several days) parked atop a hill overlooking the San Antonio skyline (why SA?). The sky is clear, and it's very hot and dry. Somehow we, and many others parked along this hill, know that nukes are headed for San Antonio, and we are grimly waiting to witness this. I see a puff of smoke that gets some people alarmed; but it turns out to be a false alarm. People start to relax, when all of a sudden it hits. The puff of smoke was nothing; this was a giant looming tower of light and smoke, expanding to engulf the entire skyline. Before we could do hardly anything, the shock line was rushing towards us. I had enough time to duck under the dashboard while Dad started the vehicle and started to drive away. I looked out and the once clear day was a haze of yellow smoke and rushing debris, and I could see nothing else.
As Dad drove, I wandered to the back of the RV to assess my situation. I looked around; it was a huge RV with enough supplies in it for a year. I think it was about the size of an efficiency apartment inside; cramped for 4 people, but liveable. Suddenly I was seized with a compulsion to open the door; I had fallen for some illusion that it opened to another room. I opened the door, and caught a brief glance of the room before the illusion dissolved. I glanced at the rushing yellow smoke and Laura yelled "What are you doing? You're letting radiation in and we'll all die!" I slammed the door shut and contemplated the idea of death from radiation poisoning.
We continued to drive, and despite everything I was optimistic. I thought that I would be able to pull through this alive, even if I lost a few teeth. We saw other camps of people as we drove, and looked for news of what had happened, and I remember thinking that I might never know how many cities had been hit or who was still left. We were cut off from the rest of the world in a way that a person from my generation could barely conceive.
As Dad drove, I wandered to the back of the RV to assess my situation. I looked around; it was a huge RV with enough supplies in it for a year. I think it was about the size of an efficiency apartment inside; cramped for 4 people, but liveable. Suddenly I was seized with a compulsion to open the door; I had fallen for some illusion that it opened to another room. I opened the door, and caught a brief glance of the room before the illusion dissolved. I glanced at the rushing yellow smoke and Laura yelled "What are you doing? You're letting radiation in and we'll all die!" I slammed the door shut and contemplated the idea of death from radiation poisoning.
We continued to drive, and despite everything I was optimistic. I thought that I would be able to pull through this alive, even if I lost a few teeth. We saw other camps of people as we drove, and looked for news of what had happened, and I remember thinking that I might never know how many cities had been hit or who was still left. We were cut off from the rest of the world in a way that a person from my generation could barely conceive.
