• If eyebrows could fly, Nik's were in hostile airspace. Well, at least, one of them was.

    "Could you know what you're doing? Please? Standing here watching your ignorance is not exciting."

    No response.

    "I'll take that as a no, then. If you are so oblivious, step back and let me give it a shot."

    The dog looked at him. Nik sighed, and pushed the dog away. He settled into a position as to be able to see what he was doing, and picked up his wrench. The wide, colorful, dazzling array of wires and bolts did him no help. He poked the tool at the crevice, and sat back.

    The German shepherd continued to stare at him, expecting some sort of pronounced conclusion to end his problems, and in such success, potential snacks for the dog.

    Nik scratched his head with the threading on the wrench.

    "Well, that's hopeless. I'll just put it back the way it was." The metal panel slid down, and Nik stood back to look.

    The generator sat.

    Quiet, peaceful, stoic.

    Nik kicked the old steel, and cussed at his toe, for requesting not to do that again, because it hurt. A lot.

    He left the generator alone, and stepped out of the garage, and looked to his house. It liked minute in comparison to the mountains behind it. He felt insignificant just looking, so he turned to look in another, less shrinking direction.

    Grass and dirt stretched for miles, across the empty road. The road hadn't been touched in years. Weeds and grass poked through the tough asphalt with triumphant flourish, spotting the black with greens and yellows.

    Nik sighed, looking at his house and noticing, for the first time in a long while, how shabby it was. Rusty walls were made of old steel welded together, insulated with tires and old car seats. The only part of the house that was solid was it's foundation, a solid 3-foot thick concrete bunker his father had constructed long ago.

    His father had looked a long time for a place such as this. A stretch of land with it's own micro-climate, cycled water, fertile soil. 'The mountains are perfect for this!' he had said.

    Nik climbed the corrugated steel that was the porch, into the rusty brown interior that was the inside of the home. He slapped the power switch up, with a loud clump and a slow whir, as the underground generators started up. The generator in the garage, the spare, was beyond hope. Maybe.

    Nik sat in the ancient recliner, and flicked on the radio.

    Static filled the air. He pushed the tuner dial as far is it could go, in either direction. He found the only station that still broadcast, the automated SOS station, alerting citizens to stay in their homes.

    Nik sat and listened. For a long time.

    After the emergency message had repeated itself 38 times, He gently lifted the radio, unplugged it, and hurled it and the concrete floor.

    The radio was no longer a radio, but parts for something else, now. Nik left it there, and pulled the can of dog food out of his pocket he had retrieved from the empty grocery that morning. He pulled it open, and left it open on the floor for his dog to eat.

    The German shepherd dutifully fed on the old food, quietly. It had been a long time since they had encountered any rabbits or other game. Until then, canned food will suffice.

    The dog had no name. Whenever Nik spoke, he spoke to the dog. There was no one else to speak to.

    The old radios capacitor drained its remaining energy into it's speaker, gently speaking its last ghost phrase.

    "...nuclear warning..."