It takes an industrial thermal drill to get through the ice and the frozen steel of the bulkhead door. A sweep of a torch reveals a scene familiar to us now, on our third emergency shelter clear. Hundreds of corpses, piled up and frozen solid. At least there’s no rot reek, not until we start incinerating the interior. But first we have to pick through the room, searching for any clues as to what happened here.
It’s grim work and it offers us nothing more than the other two shelters gave us. People huddled en masse in overstuffed shelters. Bruises and scratches from being squashed in here with the others. No obvious signs of sickness or poisoning. No records of mania induced by isolation, which happens out here sometimes. But not to so many people, all at once.
The generators gave out, with no one to attend them. But that was long after these people died of starvation. Long after we got the signal. But as far as we can tell from black box records, the power wasn’t struggling when these people fled to the shelters and activated lockdown protocols.
They left their heated habitation units, their powered, well stocked central base, and their fenced compound to cower in the shelters. The freezing storm outside is typical of this time of year. The snow is constant year-round. There was nothing wrong with their supplies. Nothing wrong with their tech.
So what scared them so badly they starved themselves to death? What stopped them from venturing a step beyond the doors of their shelters? And whatever it was, did it go? Or is it still here?
Paddy Dobson
22nd November 2022