Hey buddy,You have to be in the Christmas spirit

CHAPTER FOUR — SEALED IN

The thudding overhead didn’t stop. It became a steady patter—soft at first, then heavier, like someone pouring sand over the entire roof.

Only it wasn’t sand.

Norther pressed his ear against the ceiling. “That’s fallout dust. It’s settling thick.”

Randomiser’s voice trembled. “Thick as in… we can’t leave?”

“To leave now,” Norther said slowly, “we’d have to walk straight into radioactive particles. It sticks to skin. Hair. Clothes. Lungs—”

“Okay!” Cornball clapped loudly, cutting him off. “Let’s not give everyone nightmares while we’re already living one.”

Goober curled into themselves, knees drawn to their chest. “I don’t wanna go out there anyway. It sounds… wrong out there.”

It did sound wrong. The world above was muffled, too quiet except for the ashstorm scraping across the roof. Even the sirens had died out, leaving only a low, distant hum—like a city holding its breath.

Toady broke the paralysis.
“Vents. Someone help me check them.”

The basement had two old air vents: one near the ceiling and one along the back wall. Both were caked in dust and rust.

Mewo climbed onto a crate to reach the one overhead. “If anything falls on me, I’m suing the apocalypse.”

She ran her fingers along the grate. A powdery gray substance smeared across her skin.

“Is that…?” she whispered.

Norther grabbed a flashlight and examined it. “Not fallout—it’s old dust. But that vent leads upward, so we need to seal it anyway.”

Toady was already dragging boxes, old floor mats, anything heavy. Nobleranger helped wedge a thick table in front of the lower vent until it was airtight.

Corpse.Bride tied her sleeves around her mouth like a makeshift mask. “We need layers. Otherwise the particles can slip through.”

Shira mimicked her, pulling her hoodie strings tight around her face. “I feel like I’m in one of those dystopia animes Norther likes.”

Norther managed a weak smile. “At least those characters have plot armor. We’re… improvising.”

Randomiser, rummaging through a supply closet, suddenly brightened. “I found duct tape!”

The group converged like he’d just discovered holy treasure.

“Use it,” Toady said. “Every seam. Every crack.”

For several minutes, they worked in tense silence. The scrape of tape, the occasional cough, the shifting of boxes—it was all strangely loud in the enclosed space.

When they finally finished sealing off the vents, the room felt smaller. More claustrophobic. But safer.

Mewo hopped down from the crate. “Okay. Vent problem handled. For now. What next?”

“Supplies,” Curator said. “We need to know how long we can stay down here.”

They opened cabinets, pried open cardboard boxes. Inside were old event materials—pamphlets, broken clipboards, forgotten decorations. Nothing useful.

Nobleranger kicked gently at a rusty locker. It creaked open.

Inside were three cases of bottled water.

“Oh thank God,” Cornball breathed. “Finally, something not disastrous.”

Shira cheered weakly. Corpse.Bride hugged a water bottle like it was a newborn.

Randomiser opened an old fridge in the corner. A wave of rank air hit him.
“Nope—nope—that’s a crime scene—someone kill it—”

Mewo shoved the fridge door closed with disgust. “Whatever’s in there predates the Cold War.”

Norther gathered the water onto a table. “We ration these. No more than a bottle per person per day. Less, if we can manage.”

“What about food?” Goober asked softly.

Silence.

No one had found any.

Curator exhaled slowly. “We might have to live off vending machine junk.”

Everyone turned toward the dusty vending machine humming in the shadows.

The glass was cracked but intact. Inside were rows of ancient chips, expired granola bars, and questionable sandwiches sealed in plastic like artifacts.

Cornball squinted. “Those sandwiches look older than Norther’s entire family tree.”

“That is uncalled for,” Norther muttered.

Toady picked up a metal rod and smashed the vending machine lock with surprising ease.
“Emergency rations,” they said. “Expiration dates mean nothing if we’re starving.”

Randomiser poked one of the bars. “If I die from eating this instead of radiation, I want that documented.”

Goober managed a shaky laugh. “Same.”

As they piled the snacks onto the table, the room grew dimmer—the single bulb flickering again.

Corpse.Bride looked up nervously. “Please don’t go out. Please don’t go out.”

The light sputtered.

Once.

Twice.

Then steadied.

Everyone exhaled at once.

Shira sat down against the wall, hugging her knees. “So… how long do we stay down here?”

Norther sat beside her. His voice was gentle. “Fallout can be lethal for the first 24 hours. After two days, it’s safer but still dangerous. After a week… maybe survivable.”

Randomiser paled. “We’re stuck here for a week?”

“Minimum,” Norther said quietly.

Mewo paced. “A week in a basement with vending machine food and a dying light bulb. Awesome. Peak teen experience.”

Cornball sat cross-legged on the floor. “Look… we’ve survived the first blast. That’s something.”

Untitledgoober whispered into the dimness, “Do you think… anyone we know made it? Our families?”

No one answered.

Because no one knew.

And outside, the fallout thickened.

Gotta love a good dystopian movie