A tool slips from my hand. I had practiced splicing this cable for months while waiting for the radiation to drop to an acceptable level. There would never be a safe level again in my lifetime.
It’s fixed. I walk back through a field of mummified bodies. They laughed at my fallout shelter. Then the bombs came and they begged to come inside. When I turned them away, the cowards cut my cable.
Inside, I take off my suit. A long shower gets any remaining dust off.
Dressed in fresh clothes, I turn on my computer. I’m back on the Internet.
It would be nice if post-apocalyptic visions could persuade political leaders living in the halcyon days of the pre-apocalypse to ban nukes. Grimly good story.