Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - The Time Afterward

Episode Date: February 4, 2026

On the night toxic rain turned into grey snow, a waste-plant worker realized the world wasn’t ending anymore—it was settling into something far worse. By morning, the snow would bury the streets, the power would fail, and the last promises of recovery would finally collapse. NoSleep Coffee Valentine's Day BOGO Special: Get a FREE 12oz bag of NoSleep Coffee when you buy a bag at ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠ – Just use promo code VDAYBOGO at checkout. Don't wait! This offer ends February 13th. Huge thanks to BetterHelp for sponsoring the show: Sign up now and get 10% off at⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ betterhelp.com/dns⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This podcast contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised. #creepypasta #horrorstories #drnosleep #scarystories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It was November 18th, 1991, and it was a Friday. Thank God for that, thought Harry Wiseman, wiping sweat from his brow. He was looking for his two-week break. Working for the United States Department of Hazardous Reclamation may not have been the most glamorous job in the world. But God damn if two weeks off wasn't a good deal. It almost made breathing in toxic smoke 10 hours a day, a career worth dying in.

Henry walked onto the conveyor belt and lumbered awkwardly through the piles of refuse until he came to what had triggered the automatic stop. A car door warped and melted to the point that not even the color could be identified, let alone the model, had nudged itself off the line and become wedged in the narrow space between the wall and the belt just before the end. Harry grabbed it by the mangled handle, shook it, gave it a fierce kick with his boot, and then watched it tumble down into the glowing law of the incinerator below. There came a loud buzz, and Harry quickly stumbled back toward the service ladder.

He had only just grabbed the rung when, with a hydraulic hiss and a weary rumble, the conveyor started up again. In front of Harry flowed an endless sea of detritus, liquefied tires and greasy black lumps, hunks of steel, molded together by intense atomic heat that may have been either cars or some long-since vaporous. and the remains of scorched billboards that only twenty-some years ago once advertised such things like Coca-Cola, Madison Square, and Fosters. The incinerator didn't care what it was offered.

Its enormous, glowing maw ate without fuss or complaint and belched arid black smut in return. In a few short minutes, the routine sounds of grinding, hissing, and roaring filled the air of the disposal plant. Work continued as usual. I thought they were going to fix this. John Fremont sneered, as Harry climbed back up into the observation. I tell you, this is the fourth time today someone had to go down there and unclog it. You know how much time we lose until everything gets up and working again? It adds up. Now, the state's put that funding back into reinforcing the domes round Westchester up New York way, remember? Bill Morton remarked as he put out another cigarette. You ask me? They should just build one big one right over the whole of New York and just be done with it.

Ain't like anyone's ever going to be living there again for the next couple centuries. Nah, my old man wants them damn New Yorkers out of here already. Laved Harry as he pulled off the mask and helmet of his maintenance suit. Holly talks about is how the government should just clean the state up so they can all get the hell out of this neighborhood. He glanced at the clock on the wall. In ten minutes, get in the belt. Unclogged isn't going to be our problem for the next two weeks anyway.

And thank the baby Jesus for that, said Bill, already finishing up some end-of-shift paperwork. Me and my boys are going to spend a couple of days down by Cuyahoga River doing some fishing. You know the kinds of stuff you can catch nowadays? He gave a drawn-out whistle and made a wide gesture. Someone back in the summer caught a small-mouth bass about, let's say eight feet long and got two heads on it. Shame you can't really eat him with all that radiation. Ah, Lucy and I aren't planning anything. Or at least I'm not.

John shook his head, unzipping his grease-covered, lead-lined jumpsuit and wiggling out of it. She's been busy at the hospital with the recent storms. I'm lucky she didn't catch anything yet. What about you, Harry? You doing anything? Nah, I just want to get home already. It's been a hell of a past two weeks, and I'd rather get home and crawl in bed. The men spoke about random things, problems with the furnaces, the poor funding by the state, imbecilic co-workers who only got the job because the government would hire anyone who didn't have a birth defect at this point.

They chatted amongst themselves until, at 6 o'clock sharp, the shift change bell rang, and the men hurried from the control room. From there, they tossed their maintenance suits in the laundry cart for deep cleaning, and, one by one, filed in for standard decontamination. It took only about 35 minutes for each man to pass through, recent advancements in radiation scrubbing, and an enormous amount of cleaning chemicals made the process far faster than it did before.

Back in the early days, in the weeks after the bug, decontamination was a two-hour process. It was a combination of things, slow, clunky equipment, barely trained workers, and the sheer amount of fallout that had been released during the meltdowns and subsequent blasts. It was down to almost a science now, or at least enough that it kept the worst of it away.

After every man was clean and their skin red from purifying steam, they went to their locker rooms, collected their things, and, still chatting about workplace woes, they went out into the parking lot. The others had cars, Erie didn't, so he waited for the bus. He used to own a car, mind you, some years. back. But with the price of gasoline now 75 ration cards to the gallon, and the provisional feds putting an active limit on how many non-essential vehicles could be driven, it just wasn't worth

it. Besides, where was there to drive to, and on what highways? Even for November, it was unusually dark. Only 45 minutes past six, and it felt like it was the absolute dead of night. There hadn't even been time for dusk, just a quick transition from an overcast gray to an impenetrable heavy night. Already the streetlights were on, and the disposal sight behind them shimmered a hellfire orange against the blackness. He was lucky that Alice had made him take his rain gear tonight. Rain drops, slightly warm and smelling of something burnt, fell from a swirling, noxious sky and pattered against his heavy coat, and slid in unusually greasy trails. across the reflective surface.

Even through his respirator, he could taste very faint notes of metal and dust, signs of an incoming rainstorm. The bus arrived at around 6.50, clanking and sputtering. When it got cold and foggy out like this, most engines usually suffered from some kind of trouble. The combination of smog and freezing air was a recipe for disaster.

But today, as loud and clattering as the bus was, It still ran right on schedule. He climbed onto the bus, the blast of warm air welcoming him. There was an overpowering smell throughout, an overly clean, sanitized aroma that spread throughout the cramped compartment to mask the ever-present dirty metallic smell. He paid his charge and walked through the semi-crouted aisle unit. Thanks to a small bit of mercy, he reached his usual seat at the back.

The others climbed aboard and, Once they had taken their seats, the bus started off back into the damp November evening. Undoing his respirator and the suffocating hood that came with it, he leaned back against his seat. It was always a pain to constantly take on and remove his outfit, even for simple things like this. Wearing the outfit all the time, hood and all, was a safe bet to be sure. But it quickly grew hot and uncomfortable. And to avoid wearing it too little was almost. asking for trouble. Allison's cousin tried to cheat with a homemade respirator, made with a cheese

cloth at a surgical mask, and in less than two weeks, the radiation destroyed one of his lungs down to nothing. The bus rattled along the highway, winding past the dark, empty mountains with their thousands of bare trees. They died earlier every year, and those that did manage to bloom again in the spring were growing fewer by the season. He remembered his father, telling him when he was just a boy, the country used to be green for miles in the spring, that the air would smell of fresh flowers and pine needles, and you could lay back and watch the birds flying home from the south to nestle in the interlocking canopies. The old man would always scowl after he said that, and he'd curse those goddamn New Yorkers before spitting on the

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Harry instead turned his attention to the fellow passengers. Each of them was wearing their radiation-proof suits, gloves and all. Some slept soundly, lulled to sleep by the dull grinding of the bus's engine and the increasingly steady patter of rain on the windows. A man sat by himself reading a newspaper, boredly scanning it, in between nodding off. Not that there was anything new to read about. A large-scale cleanup effort around the Buffalo Zone starting in the new year. Cancer upticks suspected to rise following unexpected radiation shifts toward Kansas City.

A story about that woman from Pennsylvania who gave birth to a baby born without legs but had three arms. A woman in a ragged suit. brushing off the dirty rainwater from the shiny surface, was talking to another man beside her about seeing if she could get a transfer from here in Ashtabula to somewhere a little less close to the Pennsylvania border. She understood the work they did was important here, sure, but she wanted to live past 50 and not die of a brain tumor.

An older man, his face worn, and with the remains of a past surgery written in scars on his cheeks and forehead, was telling another older man, he was in a way glad the bug happened, taught people how junk those fancy computers are, he said. You let him run a couple of power plants to save a few dollars. And look at what happened. People get lazy.

Needed something to kick them in the rears after all. The only other ambiance was the radio, playing through outdated speakers across the length of the bus. A professional sounding man, presumably miles away from the worst, of the radiation spots, perhaps Nebraska, where the air was still breathable for the time being, was delivering a report on the weather. And we're looking at a severe cold front coming from the East Coast, continuing into the

known future. Heavy brains are expected, with chances of snow steadily increasing. Remaining civilians in the habitable regions of Massachusetts are advised to prepare in the event of snowfall. On the West Coast, the ban on unnecessary motor traffic is still in place residents of New Mexico and Arizona, following unrelenting heavy smog from the California exclusion zone. State officials assure citizens that they are working closely with provincial authorities to come to a solution regarding the problem. Radiation levels rose 11.76% in Wyoming last week, has studies from the Department of the Environment have shown. The voice rambled on. No one seemed to really give it mind, considering the voice spoke about things they already knew.

They passed a department of hazardous reclamation truck parked on the side of the road. Men in radiation suits, light fluorescent green shapes that weaved in and out of the fog, walked alongside the road. Even in the darkness, the passengers could make out the shape of an enormous animal, hairless and dead. Its flabby pink skin covered in radiation burns and its jaw, a groathe. mess of malformed teeth poking from a gnarled snout. A small child asked his mother what the thing was,

and it took a few moments to answer that it was probably a black bear. Harry watched as the boom of the truck's crane arm lowered in preparation to hoist the mercifully dead animal into the truck bed and take it to the plant for incineration. Junk and Roadkill, Roadkill and junk. All the same at this point. Roadkill was too dangerous to let pile up. It spreads disease like termites through wood.

God knows an outbreak was the last thing anyone needed. There had been one no less than five months somewhere out west, typhoid or some sort of mutation on Lyme disease if he remembered correctly. The news had been full of open graves and men in heavy suits, like neon-green harbingers, tossing naked corpses into deep pits for a rudimentary bonfire. Harry remembered sitting on the floor of his childhood home, no more than four years old. He was scribbling on sheets of paper with crayon while his mother watched the news.

It was a warm summer day, and he could smell the lilacs from the big bush outside the window. He didn't really understand what the man on TV was saying that made his mother so upset. The man stood, surrounded by firemen and policemen, as well as funny-looking men with long rubber snouts, that reminded a young Harry of elephants. They all ran around behind the newsman, and they shouted and yelled incoherent things that sounded more like gibberish. Big words were thrown around.

Words he couldn't even begin to understand. Computer bugs, Indian Point, three-mile, nine-mile, Sanon-Fro, Fitzpatrick, software failures, meltdowns. His mother, an ordinarily calm and precise woman, sat on the couch talking to a stranger on the phone in between fits and sobs. His father was hurrying back and forth in the house, taking large boxes in and out of the family car. He was ranting about needing to leave by the end of the week, or else they couldn't leave at all.

Something about the air would be too bad to breathe, and that the highways would be backed up bumper to bumper. But the air still smelled like summer to Harry. The smell of fresh-cut grass and lilacs was still sweet. and the sky was baby blue with not a cloud in sight. He had no idea what his mother and father were so worried about, nor did he understand why, in the middle of the night, his mother picked him up out of bed and carried him to the car amidst a cacophony of sirens.

The bus pulled into the development around 20 minutes past seven. There was a steady rain falling now, and the street lamps flickered dimly in the increasing fog. One hundred and eighty-five houses crammed side by side, cubic shapes lined with stainless steel siding in neat rows, made up the state-owned development. Up and down the cracked and battered streets, there were windows lit, air purifiers humming, and every few houses, some early birds had put up their Christmas lights that twinkled in colorful flashes through the dense miasma. in some barren yards atoprusted flagpoles blew the most current design of the American flag, with 42 stars faded into incoherent circles on tattered stripes.

A regular Norman Rockwell painting, thought Harry. He wondered what neighborhood this was before the provisional government repurposed it for worker housing, before the refurbishing. The bus lurched to a halt outside of the small, worn shelter at the intersection of first and third. Bundled up in their hoods, respirators, and whatever else they believed

would keep as much of the toxic downpour away, hairy and a group of fellow workers thanked the driver and shuffled hesitantly out into the mess outside. They hurried as quickly as they could, Teflon-lined boots splashing through radiating puddles and cratered sidewalks, and heavy coats flapping in the bitter cold wind. Some had already begun,

begun coughing as the dust and the fog, carried all the way from New York and to Pennsylvania, seeped through their overworked respirators. Others, like Harry, felt a cold stinging in their eyes as the rain buffeted down on them as metallic as knives. Guided by the streetlights, the group stumbled its way down the street, growing smaller with each house it passed. At a house numbered 67, Harry sprinted across the muddy clay of the yard and jumped onto the metal porch to shelter. He took a minute to catch his breath and shook off any excess water in a similar style to the now rare golden retriever before heading inside. Harry, is that you?

Alice's voice came in from the kitchen, her voice echoing off the utilitarian walls. You're just in time for dinner. The smell of meatloaf or a cat. carefully blended mixture of soybean and protein pasts with artificial beef flavoring, was enough to prove her statement true. Perry hung his sopping wet jacket and respirator in the vestibule, and walked into the tiny living room, taking an appreciative breath of the clean, recycled air.

Thank God, I'm starving, Al. Perry stepped into the kitchen and saw Alice, dressed in a simple, plain apron, taking a very small cube of brownish pale mush out of, of its pan. She had gotten back from her own work at the local school only an hour ago, as indicated by the knapsack of folders and paperwork slung over the back of her chair. He walked to her, wrapped his arms around her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. How was work for you today? Did you take care of that McKimson kid?

No, he took care of himself, she sighed, both with relief and nervousness. his family moved out to Indiana to be with Claire's sister. They just up and left, too. I had no idea until Emily told me. Ah, that explains why Jack wasn't at work today. You know, that makes the fourth guy in the past three months that just took off? Bill told me. Leland and his wife ran out in the middle of the night,

left with only the clothes on their back, just whatever they could fit in their suitcase. I can't say I blame them. Alice shrugged as she placed the foe, loaf on a serving plate. I mean, with everything you hear on TV, I heard that they're planning to evacuate people out of Utah and into Colorado. And Utah was supposed to be safe from all the radiation in California, remember? And I heard from Melissa, we're supposed to be getting hit with snow. That's just typical media bull. Harry gave his wife's shoulders a playful squeeze, shaking his head.

If we do get any snow, we'll be a hell of a lot better off than those folks out in Boston and We got food, water, and we got the cellar in case things get bad. Alice gave an anxious but tender smile and kissed Harry softly. And maybe after we get hit with radioactive snowstorms, the sun will finally come back out, and it'll be just like spring again. Hey, if you can laugh about it, then there's nothing to worry about him. Harry got changed, and the two sat down to eat. It was a tiny portion of meat love, something Alice had come.

gotten from one of their neighbors, who couldn't afford to take a thing as perishable as faux meat with them. There were also a few scant beans and a bag of cookies so processed that it was debatable if they could be called cookies at all. They spoke of the usual things, work at the disposal plant, the upcoming weather, news on relatives. Alice's parents were living closer to the Kentucky border in West Virginia, following an increase in radiation levels all the way. toward Braxton. Perry's aunt and uncle were living in a government refugee camp somewhere in northern Wyoming, the last he heard. And his parents were still in Knox County for the time being. Any other relatives they still had left were in flux somewhere, drifting from state to state

to what last habitable lands were left in North America. Alice mentioned how hard it was to teach the kids in the classroom about things like the color of the sky or different seasons. What did it matter? The other teachers told her, when it felt like the middle of winter all year round, and the sun wouldn't come out for another 20 or so years, if that. Harry would have suggested a nature field trip, but, upon remembering the hairless bear carcass on the highway,

he decided against it. After dinner, they sat and watched the television, a big, cheap, boxy thing standard in every government-funded house. It only got five or six channels when the weather wasn't too. miserable, and even then, only about three of them came in clear. They watched the news, now broadcasted out of the overcrowded Salt Lake City, considering the major news centers like New York and Los Angeles no longer existed. The news, delivered by a professionally dressed woman doing her best to sound painfully

optimistic, covered recent events. The containment domes in New York and California would be reinforced by the new year. Reclamation efforts for Nevada were to be pushed back, following the summer's severe weather outbreak, and there were talks of rationing on wheat, corn, and soybeans starting in December. In a bit of good news, joint evacuation efforts between the United States and the former United Kingdom were hopefully going to start in February, provided the winter wouldn't be as bad as last year. By the beginning of the new year, over 3,000 lucky Americans would be hurried onto a naval cruiser and sent to either Cornwall, rural Manchester, or to repopulate the newly re-annexed

Ireland following the end of decades-long internal tensions. You know, I heard a funny rumor this morning, Harry. Oh, yeah? I heard that the reason it took everyone so long to start shipping everyone out is because they wanted all the weak people to die off first. Alice spoke sheepishly, as if she herself found the story somewhat ridiculous. The old people and the real sick would die off first, and over time, anyone who wouldn't be strong enough to survive, the leftover radiation would die too. Then it would only be the strongest people left.

Where did you hear that from? Bobby. Bobby Jones. When I met him at the market the other day. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. Nah, don't listen to Bobby. The radiation's got him so bad he couldn't tell his ass from a hole in the ground. He'll say anything to get attention. Well, he should have hurt him. He said that the government could have been evacuating people as early as 83, but they wanted to lower the population first.

He said something about the population in 1977 being 314 million, and they wanted to wipe everyone out and start over. Harry held his wife closer, ruffling her hair in an affectionate, comforting way. Bobby doesn't know what he's talking about. You know, last week he was telling Paul up the block that the government blew up all them plants on purpose. The Soviets were going to do it first, and Uncle Sam just wanted to beat them to the punch.

Alice gave a weary, sad smile. Yeah, that does sound a little stupid when you say it like that. It's just, I don't know. I'm getting pretty sick of seeing the same things when I look out the window. Gray sky, brown grass, black trees. There's no color anymore. I'd love to be somewhere where there's

actual color again. I know, Al, I know, Harry kissed her forehead tenderly. I bet that by June, you and me will be on the next boat to jolly old England, and we'll leave all the poison and radiation suits and garbage behind. I bet it will be warm and sunny over there, just like when we were kids. The anxiety in her eyes still glistened brightly, and Harry held her close. The two of them listening as the rain pounded down on the metal roof above them. He wished as desperately as he could that he had something comforting to tell her. After the evening was done, Alice decided to head in early. She had a long day, and these silly rumors weren't exactly something she wanted to sit up with.

The rain always made her tired. Harry kissed his wife goodnight, told her that everything was going to be fine, and then helped her into bed. For about ten minutes, Harry sat, listening to the rain. hearing the clattering of raindrops, as toxic as asbestos, on the roof and ignoring the smell of copper and dust that crept in ever so slightly through the windows and doors, it was a monotonous noise, an endless, toxic rhythm that added an almost oppressive sound to the otherwise empty living room. It wasn't until he got the phone call to come over to Bill Morton's house for an evening of late-night poker that he decided he needed to get out for a while. Monroe and its surrounding three counties remain hazardous to long-term human development.

Officials believe that the counties of Wexford and Huron will be available for resettlement as early as 2020. In other news, the controversial New Nuclear Family Act remains in effect despite small but vocal outcry. The NFA, long-called an act of necessary restraint by the United States provisional government, forbids more than one child per household in a bid to conserve remaining national resources. Proponents of the NNFA claim that it offers a compromise between ensuring steady population growth and careful waste-free allocation of livable land and humane housing. The radio, as heavy as a brick and hideously plain, crackled and hummed on the shelf above the poker table.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke, wispy gray clouds, cheap and smelling of plastic, swirled around the single bare bulb that hung from a thick wire above their heads. The four men sat around the table, each with a cigarette hanging from their lips and battered, worn playing cards in their hands. The pot was around $50, a handsome sum of change that could purchase anything from a gallon of pure water to half a jerry can of gasoline. What's that they're saying? Bill Morton asked, half looking up from his cards at the radio. Only one kid per house? Yeah, it's this new thing they've been putting into effect since the start of it?

of autumn. Leroy Montauk shrugged and ashed his cigarette, careful not to spill the tobacco inside no matter how cheap it was. Supposed to help keep rationing under control. It doesn't affect me. I can't have kids anyway. I heard it just affects new families. You know, people who finally have time to get in bed together in between all the moving around and resettlement. John Fremont looked at his cards and shuffled them with an air of strategy. Nah, they wouldn't do that even if they could. stomached another sip of his beer, a pale, grainy swill that was cheaper than the tobacco and their cigarettes, but still beer nonetheless. I heard most of the armies stationed out in the major

cities, Salt Lake, Kansas City, Louisville, places like that. There's enough overcrowding there to eat up whatever manpower they got. They're not going to come down to some podunk government town in the ass end of Ohio, just to nab a couple of kids, you know, said John, considering if he should go all in or fold. I can't say I blame them. Wanted to limit how many kids people have? I mean, I'm all for trying to repopulate the country and all. But Christ, we're not exactly dealing with the full surplus here.

These sigs cost me 35 ration cards, and there's only five in a pack. Back then, I heard you used to get 12 for 50 cents before everything got blown to shit. Well, how are they going to stop people from having more kids? Harry asked. They're going to put a guy in a hand. Sammy down Army uniform and a pellet gun at every bedroom? And have him shoot the guy in the crotch if he wants to get frisky? I don't know.

Leroy spat out a hunk of unprocessed tobacco, a grayish-brown clump of fuzzy leaves made from various filters and synthetic nicotine. People would probably just stop doing it on their own. What kind of parents would they be if they brought a kid into a world? Where most of the country is an irradiated crater, and it's always dark and cold out? People keep having kids, I'm sure.

Your, my grandfather, at least as much as I remember him, used to tell me folks were pumping out kids even when we were over in Europe killing Germans. Even when the whole world was trying to kill each other, kids were still being born left and right. Harry tried to sound optimistic, but he had to admit, deep down, Leroy was right. What kind of world would this be for a kid to grow up in? The radioactive clouds blocked out most, if not all, of the sun. and even in summer it never rose above 30 degrees.

Most of the food they ate was pre-packaged and fake, mass produced as cheaply as possible to feed the overcrowded tenement buildings and cobble together government housing projects. Real vegetables were a blessing, and whatever meat scraps they could glue into something decent were both wildly expensive and far too rare. Playing outside was the thing of the past. How many stories had he heard? heard of mothers leaving toddlers unattended, only for those children to find their way outside unprotected and develop intense radiation sickness.

Speaking of kids, John looked over at Bill, who had been staring silently at his cards for the past several minutes. Where's Ray and Stevie, Bill? I thought they'd still be up. Oh! Bill shot up like a scared lemming. Oh yeah, they're asleep with Nina already. They've got a big day tomorrow, since we're heading out to see their grandmother in Athens. I've been saving up my gas since last summer just to make the trip, and they're damn excited. Harry looked from his deck of cards, an inkling of suspicion,

suddenly swallowing his thoughts. Hadn't Bill mentioned that he was going fishing earlier? Harry certainly didn't remember him saying anything about visiting a grandmother in Athens. I'm still surprised you're going anywhere, John spoke up. Especially with weather like this, it'd be better off sticking around here. God knows what'll happen if you get stuck out there in a snowfall. Oh, we'll be fine. We got more than enough supplies, or at least just enough to make it to Athens. My car's got a full tank, so we could drive through the morning without having to stop.

What about coming back? Ain't like there's any gas stations on the way there. Bill's voice faltered a bit, but he seemed to keep his cool. I'm sure they'll be willing to loan us some gas once we get down there. I got a few ration cards saved, so I could be able to scrape by. That's why I didn't put so much in the pot, so I could have as much as I need. What if you don't? Leroy shuffled his cards casually, though not without some hint of suspicion.

Hell of a walk back if you run out of gas, and during winter too, no less. Well, uh... Bill swallowed and looked down at the table, eyeing the stack of ration cards and pocket change in the middle of it. If we do get stuck down there, it'll be all right. Athens has some nice folk left, or so I heard. We just have to wait it out there until we'd be able to come back. No sense in trying to get back through a wall of fallout, right? What about your job? Harry asked.

You know it ain't like anyone's going to come clear the roads. Once you're snowed in, you're down there till it thaws. Management here at the plant ain't going to be too happy to know you're stuck in Athens on vacation. Management will understand. I've worked there for seven years, burning trash from New York City to Harrisburg and to goddamn Atlantic City. He chuckled nervously.

His tone, a desperate attempt to shake off his nerves. I'm pretty sure they could overlook one vacation, even if it lasts a little longer than planned. Harry looked over at the man across from him, studying him. If Bill were genuinely invested in the poker game, his face would have been an emotional tell. He had been unusually nervous all night, acting as if he were hiding something from them. But a man who had something to hide wouldn't invite three of his neighbors and coworkers over for a poker game, would he?

Say, Bill, you mind if I grab another drink? Erie shook his near-empty beer can. Or is this all we got left in the reserves? No, no, you can help yourself. Bill grinned widely, though it seemed more forced than natural. In fact, I'll come with you to grab it. There's something Nina wanted to give Alice. John promised to keep Leroy from looking at Harry's cards,

though for Bill he joked that he made no such promises. The two men walked together down the cramped hall toward the kitchen. When they arrived, Bill hurried over to the bare, unfurnished dining table, where a battered but still functioning sewing machine sat waiting. Here, here! Bill eagerly picked up the heavy black machine, careful not to knock off the already loose casing that covered the delicate mechanical interior.

This is for you. For Alice, I mean, from Nina. Nina's sewing machine? She wants Alice to have it? Is she giving up her sewing hobby? No, no. It's just a... Bill seemed to struggle to find the right words for it. She's not going to need it anymore. It would be better off with Alice. But I don't understand.

Wouldn't Nina want to trade her for something? This is a pretty valuable gift, and I don't think Al would feel right just taking it. Look, soon we won't really need it. Bill pushed the machine into Harry's arms, as if the very thing brought him pain just holding it. Nina would be... We would be a lot happier knowing if someone actually got use of it after we're gone.

Harry looked at the sewing machine, squinted his eyes in suspicion, and looked at Bill. Gone? Bill, you're only going to Athens for a couple of days. Yeah, but we just... Well, if anything were to happen to us, it at least would be in good hands, see?

You can never be too sure nowadays, and I know Alice always likes to hang on to old clothes as long as possible, so it'd be good with her. You're not making any sense, Bill. For God's sake, you're acting like you're... The thought suddenly struck him. like a stone in the head. Oh, oh. Bill Morton grimaced and looked out the reinforced glass of his modest shelter, seeing the rain splatter against the smeared frosted glass. He seemed to consider

something just beyond the filth smeared glass, a sort of beautiful horizon that existed in the myasma of nuclear fog. His voice sounded pained. His fists clenched to the sides of his hips. It's not like we want to leave, Harry. Nina and I, the kids, this has been the only place we've known for seven whole years. We've got friends here, and you've all been so good to us, but... He swallowed hard again. You and I know it's getting worse every day out there. We'll head west.

Try to outrun the worst of the radiation while we can. Bill put his face into his hands and dragged them down across his cheeks. I heard there was a settlement. out near Indianapolis, where it ain't too bad for the time being. From there, we'll just have to figure it out when we come to it. Why don't you just stay here? We got food here, shelter, or at least enough that you don't have to go scrounging for it. Like John said, he'd be driving around in God knows what kind of weather. You know how bad the winter gets? I know that, but at this point, it's not really a matter of why as it is when, you know?

Five years ago, they told us that by 1990, most of the radiation would have cleared up, and we could start repopulating the major cities again. I heard on TV that birth defects have shot up 150% in Ohio alone since 89. We were told that we'd have reclaimed most of Pennsylvania and most of the South by now. The Georgia plant had to be abandoned last summer because the radiation from Brown's Ferry wasn't dying down like they've said. Hell, we've been. working reclamation for seven years, and we still haven't made a goddamn dent.

Bill clenched his fists, and then, in slow defeat, he unclenched them again. They can say whatever they want to say, but it's not going to get any better. Not for a long, long time. It won't be long until we'd all have to evacuate anyway. Radiation's getting worse and worse every month. Harry set the sewing machine on the counter, placing a hand on Bill's shoulder. He searched for something, anything that he could say to convince him that what he was thinking about was insane, that he would be safer, at least by some small margin, just staying where he was instead of taking off to unknown parts. But there was nothing he could say. Everything Bill had told him was an undeniable fact, and he had nothing to refute it.

What about the kids? Ray and Stevie, where will they live? Here. they at least got a roof over their heads and a school to go to. Not many kids even have that privilege. No offense to Alice, Harry, but at this point, what good is a school going to do? What are they going to learn about? Before the bug happened, there were things to learn about, real things, animals, history, science, biology, geography. Now what do they learn about cities that are now giant toxic craters,

animals that are halfway to extinction. Last week, Ray came up to me and asked me what it felt like to have sunshine, actual real sunshine. Bill bit his lip, which by now had begun trembling. Again, he looked to the window, watching as a cold gray fog descended onto the narrow development streets. His eyes seemed to follow the dim, pale white spheres of the lampposts,

those flickering balls of light that were, would every few seconds be swallowed by the dense cloud? God, I remember... A muffled sob caught in his throat. I remember what the sun felt like. Don't you, Harry? I can't imagine how they teach it to kids nowadays. A big yellow ball that sat in the sky and made everything hot?

Do you think they'd believe that? I don't know, Bill. Harry watched as Bill leaned against the counter. His body covered in minor burns and scrapes. Everyone looked so worn nowadays, he thought. Often, he'd find Alice looking at old magazines, dirty with soot and faded with age and weather, and she'd be staring so longingly at the models on the cover.

Women who didn't have radiation burns were early-onset cataracts. Women who had perfect white teeth and hair that didn't fall out at the age of 25. Women with a life expectancy past the age of 40, and who lived in warm, comfortable houses with bright beautiful gardens. Alice would sigh and mention in an offhand way that she would have liked to have been a model if there was still a demand for such things anyway. It had only been a few minutes,

but to Harry, it felt like they had been in the kitchen for hours. He saw the empty cabinets, with what little food had been stored in them long packed away, and except for a few beers the refrigerator was, bare, without the usual trappings of humanity, the debris and clutter that served as a reminder of a lifelong forgotten. The home looked so bleak, not even a home, really, but a basic shelter. No one was ever meant to truly live long-term in these, but alone even raise a family. Well, I mean, I suppose I can't really stop you from taking off. Harry rubbed the back of his head meekly.

I try to tell you about the law they put in for deserters, you know, hanging and all. But I don't think they even care enough to put it to use nowadays. I'd be surprised if there were even enough troops left to actually do it. Besides, you ask me, I think they stopped doing it, because after a while, people found they had nothing left to lose. Harry cringed at the thought. I'm sure you have enough supplies till you reach Indiana, or wherever it is you're going.

A full tank, about a quarter in reserves. If we can't take the car any farther, either we'll sell it off or just leave it. Bill nodded his head slowly. We're down to the essentials, really. No point in bringing anything we couldn't carry if we had to. You, uh, want me to give you anything? I'd feel awful just sending you off without something to help you along. Nah, you've got a big heart, Harry.

The metaphorical kind. not the defect kind you hear on the news. Bill gave a low, morbid chuckle. But I've been bounced around before. Relocated, hell, three or four times before I wound up here. I'll be fine. I'll make sure Nina and the boys are safe. That's the best you could ask for.

Bill looked back down the hall to where the sitting room was, where John and Leroy would be waiting for them. You want to stay a little longer, Harry? I got a few more beer. to get rid of. Perry looked at Bill, taking a few moments to look him up and down. It was as if he was committing him to memory, from the weary, resigned glint in his eyes to his crooked posture. He considered for a moment staying, sitting back at the table and enjoying the rest of the poker game as if nothing was wrong, as if the man in front of him wouldn't be gone in the

dead of night to run blind through the last dying gasps of a once familiar America. But Harry couldn't bring himself to pretend. Instead, he told Bill that it would be best for him to be getting home before the weather changes. Night was always colder, and the rain was picking up. Alice would be worried. The two men thanked each other for the evening, with Harry giving Bill a masculine handshake and the most sincere best of luck that he could muster. He slid the men a few extra rationing cards into his pocket as a good luck charm,

and assured him Alice would enjoy the sewing machine. He then walked into the sitting room and wished John and Leroy a good night before taking his coat and radiation mask. And so, alone, Gary Wiseman stood on the porch of his neighbors soon to be abandoned house. It was half past ten, and the rain was picking up with a disturbing intensity.

The dark sky, with the moon choked by a thick cloud of radioactive smog, drifted with collected precision towards the west, glowing a sickly yellow. Even through the filters of his mask, he could taste the copper, the rust that perverted the air and saturated every inch of soil. Through the dense, impenetrable fog, he could see the lights of his house, flickering like irregular Morse code. He stared upward, hoping for one brief moment that he might see a trace of the real night sky. The one blanketed in millions of tiny, speckled stars and a crescent moon

he could see from his bedroom window. But, of course, there were none, and most likely, wouldn't be for a very long while. But something did fall from the endless void, a tiny, almost unnoticeable speck that twirled down onto the lens of his mask. At first, Erie didn't recognize what it was, until another speck landed directly beside it.

A snowflake. A small, wet, gray snowflake of ice and ash. Harry rubbed his gloved fingers on his lens and found that there were more coming down. Slowly the thick, greasy raindrops were being replaced by snowflakes, each one getting noticeably larger and rougher like shreds of paper.

He watched as the snowflakes, as toxic as the rain, landed on the sidewalk and stuck together in wet clumps. Snow, the word trailed off on his lips, like even he didn't believe what he had just said. In an hour or perhaps even less, the entire street would get about two or three inches. By the middle of the night, it would have gone up to eight.

It was far too cold out for it to melt right away, so it would stick in drifts and cover the sidewalks and porches. The remaining land would be impossible to shovel out. God only knows how the farms to the south and the west would handle it. Shortage is likely, and if it built up on the wires, power outages would be expected. Harry Wiseman tightened the gas mask around his face, adjusted his heavy coat, and walked off into the fog toward home. His silhouette disappeared into the blizzard.

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