Footsteps of Annihilation
“Woman and children to the left, men to the right!” a soldier, standing on a wooden pedestal from which he could see the entire crowd and the gates where males and females were being separated, shouted as loud as the lungs in his air and the flexibility of his vocal cords allowed.
There were guards posted on the gates to see that everyone followed the announcer’s instructions. Most of the people followed. Some didn’t. In those particular cases, the guards had to descend from their positions and drag the man or the woman - usually, it was the men who didn’t listen - back to their respective gates.
Pedro was watching this from a distance, as he advanced with the crowd towards the gate, with his seven-year-old boy, Julian, on his lap. There was no way he could let the soldiers take the boy to the other gate. Julian won’t be able to… The man behind him shoved Pedro on the back with his shoulder. Pedro stumbled and almost fell on the man ahead. When he turned back the man who shoved him was already gone.
“Hey! You over there!” cried a soldier to Pedro. “Put the child down! Put him down!”
“But, he’s on medication!” Pedro lied.
The soldier muttered a curse and descended from his position and made his way through the crowd towards Pedro. Pedro’s instinct shouted at him to run. But he wanted no trouble and running would surely push him into it. So he stood, like an obedient schoolboy, waiting for the soldier.
“Sir, I need you to put your son down.”
“But, he’s on medication,” Pedro tried to reason.
“Show me the prescription,” the soldier held out his hand. Seeing that Pedro didn’t move a muscle, he said, “At least show me the medicines.”
Pedro pulled out an aspirator from his pocket and handed it to the soldier.
‘Asthalin,’ the soldier muttered as he read the label on the cylinder inside the aspirator. He shoved the aspirator into the little boy’s pocket and pulled at him.
“No! He can’t do it himself!” shouted Pedro in panic and held onto his son as tightly as he could.
“Sir! Please leave him! He’ll be safe!”
“NO! You don’t understand!”
“Sir, this is an order!”
“But-”
The soldier punched right into Pedro’s gut and pulled the child out of his hold. He put the child on the ground and pushed him between the ladies' crowd. Young Julian was frightened. Tears rolled down his cheeks; he started crying. He shouted, “Papa!” But the crowd shoved him forwards and he flowed away with the river of the women and children. He shouts mixed with other kids’ cries and at some point, it fainted.
Pedro could do nothing. He kept shouting, “I am here! I am here!” to his son, but could do nothing more than that. Then he clenched his teeth winced his eyes and cried. The men behind him kept shoving him until he flowed away too.
-
The nuclear-hideout shelter where the soldiers had taken Pedro, was about thirty kilometers away from the hideout of the women and children. The only mode of communication between those hideouts was through the radio, controlled by the Chief Commander of both the hideouts.
It was half-past ten by the time the last of the men was cramped into the bunker. At about quarter to eleven, the men were lined up and given booklets, which were to be used as identity cards. At half-past eleven lunch packets were distributed. At noon the air raid alarms blared. And at one, three thermonuclear warheads were dropped onto the town alone.
The tremors were felt in the bunkers, even though they were about three kilometers beneath the ground. There was no accurate news about the extent of the destruction. The line of communication with the other bunker was broken. All the men in the bunker were pale with horror, including the soldiers. A week ago, no one would have thought that the war would take this turn. After all, it wasn’t supposed to. What was the UNO doing? Where the hell those peace-maintaining organizations were with their dozens of peace treaties? Why couldn’t they stop that terror?
No one could answer that. Every one of the men was either praying that their wife and children were okay, or thinking of killing himself.
And then the men were lined up once again and were asked to submit their cards one by one for some reason that was not disclosed. When all the booklets were collected, it was found that one booklet was missing. Then there was a headcount and it was found that someone had disappeared. The soldiers became alert and searched the entire bunker for that missing man. They found that one of the air-filtration vents was broken open and the entire bunker was compromised to the radiation.
-
The sun was covered in blood. The blood had seeped into the sky. As the sky moved eastwards, the blood-red fainted into pink and finally into blue. Not the sky-blue but a dark ominous blue. Under that sun and sky, there was a town - or there used to be a town. The town was crowded with debris. The buildings with their tops missing seemed to come out from the ground like broken bones coming out through flesh and skin. The entire town was grey with dust. It had become a cotton ball soaked in the ethanol of radiation. There were three gigantic craters in that fallen town, each of them marking the footprints of the power that Man has harnessed to stamp upon his fellow earth-dwellers. At the eastern and southern outskirts of the town, two large cylinders protruded from the ground, like a cigarette protruding out of a faceless mouth; marking the place under which thousands of people would be found dead because of destroyed air filters, and would perhaps be turned into a statistical figure exemplifying the drawbacks of war like their ancestors in Japan.
In that grey town, now moved men wearing strange yellow suits and sophisticated black masks with devices and instruments in their hands, scanning the town, investigating why the entire population of that town, which was supposed to be alive and well in the bunker, has not communicated the outer world even after a week? They moved debris with the help of humongous vehicles, determined to find nothing in particular. And they dug up the bunkers with those mammoths to find thousands of men lying dead; the cause being not only exposal to the toxic air but bullets through their hearts and brains too. Some men were still alive; soldiers mostly - the ones who were trained to put bullets through hearts and brains. The men in yellow found many other things in the town, outside of the bunkers; the strangest of all being the corpses of a man and a child - not together but miles apart - who was suspected to be, after examination, dead because of inhaling so much dust. There was nothing with the boy that could have been used to identify him; only an aspirator with a cylinder of Asthalin. As for the man, there was a wallet with him and in it was a driving license bearing the name of the man Pedro Fernandez.
There were guards posted on the gates to see that everyone followed the announcer’s instructions. Most of the people followed. Some didn’t. In those particular cases, the guards had to descend from their positions and drag the man or the woman - usually, it was the men who didn’t listen - back to their respective gates.
Pedro was watching this from a distance, as he advanced with the crowd towards the gate, with his seven-year-old boy, Julian, on his lap. There was no way he could let the soldiers take the boy to the other gate. Julian won’t be able to… The man behind him shoved Pedro on the back with his shoulder. Pedro stumbled and almost fell on the man ahead. When he turned back the man who shoved him was already gone.
“Hey! You over there!” cried a soldier to Pedro. “Put the child down! Put him down!”
“But, he’s on medication!” Pedro lied.
The soldier muttered a curse and descended from his position and made his way through the crowd towards Pedro. Pedro’s instinct shouted at him to run. But he wanted no trouble and running would surely push him into it. So he stood, like an obedient schoolboy, waiting for the soldier.
“Sir, I need you to put your son down.”
“But, he’s on medication,” Pedro tried to reason.
“Show me the prescription,” the soldier held out his hand. Seeing that Pedro didn’t move a muscle, he said, “At least show me the medicines.”
Pedro pulled out an aspirator from his pocket and handed it to the soldier.
‘Asthalin,’ the soldier muttered as he read the label on the cylinder inside the aspirator. He shoved the aspirator into the little boy’s pocket and pulled at him.
“No! He can’t do it himself!” shouted Pedro in panic and held onto his son as tightly as he could.
“Sir! Please leave him! He’ll be safe!”
“NO! You don’t understand!”
“Sir, this is an order!”
“But-”
The soldier punched right into Pedro’s gut and pulled the child out of his hold. He put the child on the ground and pushed him between the ladies' crowd. Young Julian was frightened. Tears rolled down his cheeks; he started crying. He shouted, “Papa!” But the crowd shoved him forwards and he flowed away with the river of the women and children. He shouts mixed with other kids’ cries and at some point, it fainted.
Pedro could do nothing. He kept shouting, “I am here! I am here!” to his son, but could do nothing more than that. Then he clenched his teeth winced his eyes and cried. The men behind him kept shoving him until he flowed away too.
-
The nuclear-hideout shelter where the soldiers had taken Pedro, was about thirty kilometers away from the hideout of the women and children. The only mode of communication between those hideouts was through the radio, controlled by the Chief Commander of both the hideouts.
It was half-past ten by the time the last of the men was cramped into the bunker. At about quarter to eleven, the men were lined up and given booklets, which were to be used as identity cards. At half-past eleven lunch packets were distributed. At noon the air raid alarms blared. And at one, three thermonuclear warheads were dropped onto the town alone.
The tremors were felt in the bunkers, even though they were about three kilometers beneath the ground. There was no accurate news about the extent of the destruction. The line of communication with the other bunker was broken. All the men in the bunker were pale with horror, including the soldiers. A week ago, no one would have thought that the war would take this turn. After all, it wasn’t supposed to. What was the UNO doing? Where the hell those peace-maintaining organizations were with their dozens of peace treaties? Why couldn’t they stop that terror?
No one could answer that. Every one of the men was either praying that their wife and children were okay, or thinking of killing himself.
And then the men were lined up once again and were asked to submit their cards one by one for some reason that was not disclosed. When all the booklets were collected, it was found that one booklet was missing. Then there was a headcount and it was found that someone had disappeared. The soldiers became alert and searched the entire bunker for that missing man. They found that one of the air-filtration vents was broken open and the entire bunker was compromised to the radiation.
-
The sun was covered in blood. The blood had seeped into the sky. As the sky moved eastwards, the blood-red fainted into pink and finally into blue. Not the sky-blue but a dark ominous blue. Under that sun and sky, there was a town - or there used to be a town. The town was crowded with debris. The buildings with their tops missing seemed to come out from the ground like broken bones coming out through flesh and skin. The entire town was grey with dust. It had become a cotton ball soaked in the ethanol of radiation. There were three gigantic craters in that fallen town, each of them marking the footprints of the power that Man has harnessed to stamp upon his fellow earth-dwellers. At the eastern and southern outskirts of the town, two large cylinders protruded from the ground, like a cigarette protruding out of a faceless mouth; marking the place under which thousands of people would be found dead because of destroyed air filters, and would perhaps be turned into a statistical figure exemplifying the drawbacks of war like their ancestors in Japan.
In that grey town, now moved men wearing strange yellow suits and sophisticated black masks with devices and instruments in their hands, scanning the town, investigating why the entire population of that town, which was supposed to be alive and well in the bunker, has not communicated the outer world even after a week? They moved debris with the help of humongous vehicles, determined to find nothing in particular. And they dug up the bunkers with those mammoths to find thousands of men lying dead; the cause being not only exposal to the toxic air but bullets through their hearts and brains too. Some men were still alive; soldiers mostly - the ones who were trained to put bullets through hearts and brains. The men in yellow found many other things in the town, outside of the bunkers; the strangest of all being the corpses of a man and a child - not together but miles apart - who was suspected to be, after examination, dead because of inhaling so much dust. There was nothing with the boy that could have been used to identify him; only an aspirator with a cylinder of Asthalin. As for the man, there was a wallet with him and in it was a driving license bearing the name of the man Pedro Fernandez.
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