I-70 Cont. 2

He’d heard about the bunkers that had been built in the last years of the war. No one really expected it would come to nuclear war. The conventional one was bad enough. Only a few of the planned shelters were completed before nukes started falling. They were originally to be used by government officials, industry heads, VIPs, but only a few of those made it. They were built for thousands, but some of the bunkers closed up with only a few dozen people, sometimes just the caretakers and their families.
He’d heard a few crazy stories, people being tortured for decades without mercy by sadistic caretakers, entire underground complexes filled with mutilated bodies, the usual folktales. He hadn’t actually met a bunkerite in person, but going by her complexion and clothes, it looked like he was about to. She spoke.
“Are you the Technician?” The capitalization was apparent, and more than a little confusing.
“Err, what?”
“The Technician? It is written that one of us should meet you here.”
That didn’t help. At all.

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