Creative Writing: The Fallout Essay

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“Get up off your feet!” yelled a unknown man.
I didn’t know what happened, but worse, I didn’t know what was happening. The sounds of footsteps neared my body, but I was too hurt to react.

“Ok, looks like you need some assistance then.” Said the man.
Suddenly, I felt a set of hands grip my left side and violently flip me on my back to see a wooden rifle stock smash into my cheek bone… This wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out, I came too close this time. But I guess the sayings true, ‘War, war never changes.’

Rolling down down I-94 to Dearborn from Detroit would normally be something considered normal, by normal people. But in this new world, this terror filled world, normal is a thing that can’t be found. A radiated world with no escape except for your final fate. Detroit Motor City turned ghetto, turned wasteland. The nuclear war that our government got us into with the North Koreans had devastating effects to our country and we were practically left for dead, in a place some would call a dust bowl, for some it’s still the good old U.S.A. For me, I had hopes of leaving this country, hopefully to the north, Canada was less affected by the blasts but was still affected by strong amounts of radiation carried through the air and wind like the rest of the world. Sealed off from our country, shunned from our governments actions. I usually made trips to Dearborn for supplies, although very dangerous. Their wasn’t much life in these parts anymore.

I neared an exit and pulled off the highway then rode down a lonesome road filled with empty cars and rubble on the street. I came to a stop when I arrived at a spot check, mandatory to enter the small settlement. Two flatbed trucks were blocking the road in, accompanied by guar...

... middle of paper ... and we were back downtown.
“What was that about?” I asked Leot.
“Damn bandits, wasn’t my first encounter, and hopefully the last. We’ll have to make our way to the docks than that’s it.” replied Leot.
I took his advice and I drove to the abandoned dry docks near the Detroit River. We got off the motorcycle and took what we had left.
“The entrance to the tunnel should be over there.” said Leot as he pointed to a small rusted shack.

We walked to the shack to find a sewer grate and a sign that said ‘Entrance To Canada-US Emergency Tunnel’.
“Well I’ll be, Leot.” I said surprised.
“Let’s get going buddy!” said Leot with excitement.
I took one final look at the half collapsed buildings of the city with the falling sun in the background, an end to this lonesome road. I walked back into the rusty shack then stepped down into the darkness of the tunnel.

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