The Misfire:Book 1 (Newt || A TMR Fanfiction)

14. Memories: Underground

(A/N: Ok, um don't get confused w/ this chapter just bear with me I don't know how this works....fck)

I sat alone in a small and quiet room dimly lit by a single lamp. The old, brown couch squeaked everytime I moved. Even the slightest twitch would result to an annoying creak. Infront of me was a round wooden table with a radio on top. I hugged my knees closer to my chest as I listened.

"Major cities.....cities.... ly apart...."

I lowered the volume as the static noise and disoriented voice became worse.

"The World In Catastrophe..........ment are look-"

I switched it off as there was no way I would understand the emergency broadcast. I exhaled heavily and slumped on the couch. There was not much to do here but stare at random things around me. I looked at the corner when the door leading to the ceiling opened and a gruff old man came down the wooden stairs.

"Pa?" I called as soon as I stood up, "Is that you?"

"Of course it's me. Who you expecting? A leprechaun?"

"L-leprechaun? What's that?"

He grunted and didn't bother to answer, placing a bulky sackcloth on the floor. I got on my feet and walked towards him, hugging him tightly. He stroked my hair before letting go, pointing at the cloth bag. Instictively, I rummaged through his findings: rope, matches, a pair of socks, blue blanket, several canned goods, pliers, flashlight, batteries and empty bottles. I carefully unloaded them all and arranged them at the table nearby and at the cupboard. Papa sat on the couch when our rusty kettle cried. I almost forgot I boiled water a while ago.

"Goddamn b-bandits. Messed up my hoarding. I'll check the ruined b-bakery tomorrow and see what I can find."

"No. Please stay." I replied while pouring water into a gray cup, mixing with bit of ginger and the last supply of honey we had. I carefully handed him the drink before sitting beside.

"Thanks," He mumbled, about to taste it but scalded himself instead, "Ah shit, that's hot."

This had been my life ever since; concealed underground in a wooden lodge together with the only person that has been with me since the beginning, my papa. He told me that the disaster forced people to survive and bury themselves away from the harsh plague that wiped out most of humanity. Papa told me that the plague killed mom and the only thing left was a photo of her pinned on one of the walls in our shelter.

I glanced at his soiled arm and saw that a bandage was clumsily wrapped around it. I pointed to his injury and stared at his sad eyes.

"Bastard tried to take my stuff." He stuttered. I flashed him a faint smile, reassuring him that things would be alright. He just grunted and stooped down.

We had this routine that everytime before I slept, he would tell me stories, about how the outside was beautiful before the disaster. But he'd spare too much details in fear of having my curiosity getting out of hand. I would ask him all the time about how the outside was now but he would reply the same thing always, "dangerous".

Papa reached for the radio and turned it on, adjusting the knob while trying to have better reception. But it was old and always malfunctioned.

"Damn box! Can't be of use these days." He complained as he repeatedly smacked the radio lightly. The static noise started to become worse.

"....immunes... last ho....humanity..."

"Useless piece of shit!" He groaned in frustration and slapped the radio off the table, knocking it to pieces. His hands were shaking and I held them, trying to make him feel better. I stared at his eyes and began to whimper.

"No (Y/N)! Don't even t-t-think of crying. You know how much I hate that!"

I bit the inside of my cheeks while struggling to keep my tears from falling. Papa claims that the world made him that way. When he got mad, I would just hide beneath one of the tables and wait for him to calm down. But he never tried to hurt me. After all, I was the only family he had.

"Don't cry," He said half-angrily, "If you cry, I'll panic. And if I....if I panic, I'll scream. When I scream you'll scream too, like an idiot."

"I'm not crying, I promise." I turned to him and exaggerated a smile. "See?"

Papa shook his head in annoyance and sipped his tea, causing me to lean back on the couch, failing to make him crack a smile.

"Stay. Please."

Several times, I would force him to remain here at the basement and warn him about something bad was going to happen outside and he would always listen until one time he didn't and something happened to him. He got beaten up by a dangerous gang when they were fighting for a box of supplies. When he returned to the lodge, his head was bleeding and I fainted when I saw it. After that incident, papa always asked for my permission before going out to scavenge. He'd tell me that the only ones he trusted were me and our dead dog, Ridge, who I never met actually.

As a result of being cooped up underground, I was never taught how to read, fix my hair, play or even talk properly, but he only taught me how to stay alive. The only means of me learning how to speak was through that radio, but now, it was completely ruined. There were magazines and photo albums at the bottom drawer of the closet but I had already gone through all of them and it started to bore me. Food was scarce and I learned to convince my appetite that a few crumbs were enough.

The routine was the same everyday. Papa would go outside everyday to hunt for supplies and food, while I was left alone, listening to a nearly broken radio. The single room was small and filled with cupboards and tables, no other options for me. I have never left the lodge before although I wanted to help him but he'd get mad. He kept telling me that being here was safer than being outside. I never understood why since he never was too detailed with anything. My papa was a man of fewer words, I guess.

Papa got on his feet and walked to one of the dusty cupboards, opening it and taking out a metal box, placing it on a table nearby. He called me and I complied. He took out a few vials and filled a syringe, positioning it on my elbow before plunging it's sharp needle into my skin. I flinched and bit my lip. He patted my head before returning those materials back to the cupboard.

"You'll be alright," He heartened as he laid down on the couch, "Everything will be alright."