[bmwservis]

I was inspired to write a little short-story based on this. With the population numbers and destruction he describes, there's no way they're still advanced. I saw other people on reddit writing stories inspired by this. Maybe I'll post mine on there if making an account isn't a problem. More Fallout than 1984.


Spoiler:
The caves are haunted.

He sat alone in the darkness, his heart still racing. The cool dank air had a pungent odor but his lungs screamed for it. He inhaled and exhaled rapidly, a hard rhythm like the muffled shuffle of the bare feet that had chased him. He knew they would not follow him here. Their fear was too great.

The caves are haunted.

There was protection here, in this labyrinth of concrete and steel. Even the screams above were muffled by the thick ceiling. They sounded faint and distant, though he knew he sat only a hundred feet and a few cracked, mossy steps away from the slaughter.

The Kelta would never follow him here, certain of his inevitable death in the caves. He was safe for a few hours until their raiding party moved on. Cinnati was a wasteland, a mountain of broken concrete, bent steel, and shattered bricks. The raiders would ravish their feminine spoils and offer the burnt flesh of the men to their god, Soshul. Inevitably, Soshul would go hungry as the raiders would use the charred flesh to satisfy their most pressing appetite. The Kernul (the cognomen used by all Kelta raiding chieftains who disavowed any other name on their ascendency to that exalted station) would then mark a concrete slab with the knotted cords and cross of the Kelta, declaring Cinnati annexed by the Kelta Soshulist Republik. The raiders would then move on, probably south to the swampy hills of the Kentuck.

The caves are haunted.

The thought again crossed his mind as his breathing quieted and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see thick, straight shapes ahead of him; a line of evenly-spaced robust guardians that held the ceiling in place for untold centuries. They stood burdened in tribute to the long-forgotten ancestors who had constructed the caves. For a moment, he wondered how strong the ancients must have been to carve this voluminous cavern into the earth and place this line of Atlases to hold up the great weight of the mountain of Cinnati. Why would they build this, he wondered? Did the ancients flee to these tunnels when the sun god crumbled their 'towers to the sky' into the mound of Cinnati Mountain? What amazing relics of ancient hubris could he find in these caves, abandoned for centuries?

His people weren't primitive. Though they lived migratory lives, surviving off hunting and foraging through the remnants of destroyed cities, they were part of the proud Usa Confederation, heirs to the ancients. Though he had never gone further than the twin settlements of Indi and Apolis, he knew far to the west were great cities like Omaha, untouched by the ancient wrath of the sun god. When he was a child, he saw the might of the Confederation: giant silent beings, hairless metal skulls, only steely eyes peering through gas masks. Known as the 'Police' for their distinctive clear shields emblazoned with that name, they marched through Wrightpatt many years ago, a phalanx armed with an assortment of weapons from shovels to spears (railroad spikes attached to long lead pipes).

Intimidation was their strength. The Confederation Police were bogeymen to enemies and Usa citizens alike. While the Kelta raiders armored themselves with random scavenged pieces of metal, the Police wore the equipment of the ancients. While their hulking vehicles and rifles had fallen into disuse several decades before with the paucity of fuel and viable ammunition, their millennia-old masks, shields, and armor remained in pristine condition; a testament to the Confederation's status as heir to the ancients.

But there were no Police here to kill the hated Kelta raiders who pillaged above. They had not been seen in the Ohio for over two decades, despite repeated Kelta intrusions. Many believed that the sun god had returned after centuries and snuffed out Omaha in a flash of light, as he had done ancient Cinnati. The Confederation did not exist, they said, and the known world would descend into the savagery and barbarity of the Kelta Soshulists.

The caves are haunted.

His subconscious repeated the fearful mantra as he sat alone in the darkness. He dared not venture into the dank abyss, superstition eclipsing his curiosity. The cave was silent now, as not even the savages above could be heard. He wondered if they would notice his small frame running to safety amid the concrete slabs above. He couldn't stay down here much longer. The caves are haunted.

He touched his wet brow, noticing his hand trembling. His eyes darted from column to column, wary of a creature emerging from behind the concrete. The caves are haunted. He stood as his heart raced. The caves are haunted. He turned to the cave's entrance, a few dozen feet away. Surely the Kelta would not be monitoring the entrance. There is no sense in remaining in this cursed cave. The caves are haunted.

He darted for the entrance, tripping over the broken steps. As a sting of pain crossed his face and blood entered his mouth, he hobbled into the bright light above. He knew the Kelta heard him. He knew the Kelta were picking up their weapons. He could hear the rattle of their armor and the shuffle of their bare feet. He ran. The caves are haunted.