Trumpet watched the mouse scurry across the tile and disappear into an imperceptible gap in the corner. He was so surprised by the rodent that it wasn’t until it had disappeared that he exclaimed, “A mouse!”

Alder nodded but stayed focused on whittling the branch in his hand. He had been at it so long, Trumpet was surprised to see there was anything left. Alder diligently sent his knife slicing shallowly into the wood before skimming off a sliver, slightly rotating the stick, and repeating the process. His preoccupation did not prevent him from responding, however.

“Was it the one with the white stripe on its back?”

Trumpet shrugged with ignorance and disbelief.

“I don’t know, can’t say I was paying attention to those details. You knew we have mice in here?”

Alder kept whittling and nodding, not bothering to shift his view from stick to Trumpet.

“Sure, sure. Been here for about a week. The one with the white stripe is my favorite. Name’s Percy.”

Trumpet’s shoulders and hands were still raised in a shrug, now from the confusion of not fully processing what Alder was saying. He stayed frozen in expression and posture, expecting Alder would expand on his commentary, but the man just kept putting knife to stick. He always had quirks, and Trumpet thought he was used to them all by now. Yet, Alder’s obliviousness to the situation, one that had apparently been going on for a week or longer, brought about a new round of frustrations.

“How many have you seen?”

Now, Alder stopped whittling and looked up with a sigh.

“Well, let’s see. There’s Percy, Merrimac, Opal, and Mitzie, oh, and Nimrod, but he seldom ever shows. You know, it’s actually been a few days since I’ve seen him, could be he moved out.”

Now, it was Alder’s turn to shrug, and then he went right back to whittling.

Trumpet’s mouth hung open. He could not believe this was an actual conversation he was having with another adult man, a highly trained adult man no less. They had protocol to follow for an event like this, but that should have been enacted upon first sight. His frustration began to poke out.

“Alder, why didn’t you say something right away?! You know we have to immediately take care of any rodent infestation. They can mess with the systems and who knows what else.”

Trumpet watched as Alder continued to nod and whittle, nod and whittle.

“You know, I think we’re going to be okay. They’re just running from corner to corner. They’re staying away from the important stuff.”

Trumpet was forced to counter Alder’s involuntary nodding with several aggressive shakes of his head.

“Okay, but they got in somehow and they’re probably going in and out bringing in all sorts of contamination from the outside. Once they disappear, we can’t possibly know where they’re going or what they’re up to. I swear, Alder, if they’ve horked up the internals…”

Trumpet cut himself off when he saw Alder stop whittling and hold up the stick, which was now no more than the size of a pencil.

“Do you remember how big this was when we first came down here? It was huge, right, felt like it was a whole branch straight off a tree?”

The abrupt change of topic caught Trumpet by surprise and his mind wandered to those early days. He could not believe, in that moment of terrible moments, that Alder had delayed their lockdown to retrieve a branch he saw on the way in, but something in the way Alder regarded the transformed wood suddenly got Trumpet thinking about how far they had come. His gaze passed from the stick back to Alder and caught something in his eyes. It may have been nostalgia or sadness, but either way, it was the most life Alder had shown in weeks.

“Four-hundred and thirty-five days. That’s how many days I’ve attacked this thing, always thinking, ‘It’s gonna take shape. I’m gonna make something real nice out of this.’ And look what I made! I made a smaller stick. All that to make something less significant.”

Four-hundred and thirty-five days was how long they had been sealed underground and behind thick doors. It had been that long since everything went to hell. Trumpet twirled these thoughts around in his head and wondered if he had another four-hundred and thirty-five days of following protocol or if he would end up nodding at a stick too.

His mortal contemplation was shattered by the sound of klaxons blaring throughout the facility. He snapped back to duty and checked the nearest screen for any incoming messages. Beside him, Alder slowly rolled into position, stick now between his teeth. They shared a glance and focused back to the screen as a message typed out:

ALERT ALERT INCOMING MESSAGE FROM CENTRAL COMMAND

FOREIGN LAUNCHES DETECTED RESPONSE AUTHORIZED

LAUNCH CODE Z A 3 5 C 6 B W 8 9 4

TARGET SPEARHEAD

CONTINGENCY OMEGA

After a short pause to come to terms with their orders and mentally prepare for the next steps, Trumpet and Alder took turns reading the launch code for the other to input. Once the console indicators flashed green verifying the code’s validity, they individually checked and input the target associated with the codename “SPEARHEAD”. The next row of console indicators flashed green to acknowledge they had independently entered the same target.

Having cleared the initial hurdles, both men retrieved the keys attached to chains around their necks and maneuvered to opposite ends of the room to their respective launch controls. Trumpet inserted his key, which unlocked the arming switch. He turned the switch and announced, “Cypher One, ready.” Across the room, Alder did the same and announced, “Cypher Two, ready.”

With the silo’s payload now armed, both men had one last unique code they needed to enter before launch ignition could be activated. Trumpet entered his code and grabbed hold of the switch that would launch a rocket to the far side of the world. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and announced, “Cypher One , launch,” but he could not turn the switch; it remained locked. Trumpet spun around to check that Alder was not encountering issues. He saw the man hunched over the launch console, shaking his head.

“You know what ‘Contingency Omega’ is, right? It’s the end times. There is no contingency. There’s no plan past this. All that time, and we end up with nothing.”

Trumpet admitted to himself that he had not really thought about what came next. Their training had worked. They did everything they needed to do without a second thought. Now, however, there were cracks, imperceptible gaps.

“Alder, we don’t have the full picture. Omega calls for…”

“Another year. Another year down here and then we can leave to try make the best of things.”

“We don’t know what’s all happening. There could be new orders that come through, or this could all be a feint. You know Command can still disarm after we launch.”

Trumpet slowed his thoughts and softened his tone, “Alder, enter your code, and activate your switch. Our job is simple. We just need to follow our training and we don’t need to think too hard.”

He saw Alder type in his code and saw his shoulders tense as he activated his switch. A resigned, mournful voice announced, “Cypher Two, launch.”

Trumpet turned back to his console and tried again, “Cypher One, launch.” This time the switch turned and the process was complete. He expected to feel a rumble throughout the room as the missile jettisoned into the unknown, but there was nothing. That was when he saw the flashing red lights on his launch console. Alder must have seen the same, because they both immediately darted back to the main monitor to catch a new message.

ALERT ALERT LAUNCH FAILURE

SURFACE DOOR FAILURE

SECONDARY IGNITION FAILURE

FAILSAFE DISARM FAILURE

ALERT ALERT SILO INTEGRITY FAILURE

WARHEAD COMPROMISED

TIMED SECURITY DETONATION 20 MINUTES

OMEGA CONTINGENCY ACTIVATED

EVACUATION RECOMMENDED

ALERT ALERT LOCKDOWN RELEASE FAILURE

DOOR STATUS SEALED

SURFACE STATUS SEALED

LIFE SUPPORT STATUS CONTAMINATION SHUTDOWN

Trumpet sprang into action, pulling a thick manual out of a locker and frantically flipping through pages to find troubleshooting or restart procedures, anything that may reverse the events currently in motion. Alder did not move. He stared at the screen as his mind came to terms with its contents. There was nothing he felt compelled to try at this point, so he clenched his “branch” and sat back down, taking his knife back to shallow slices and turns.

Trumpet flipped from page to page, but his mind was a muddled mess. There was no training for this, and the stress of the moment jumbled his thoughts into a paralyzing helplessness. He put the manual down and sat back in his chair, involuntarily laughing when he saw Alder was back at it. Trumpet’s eyes floated from Alder down to the floor and stopped on an unsettling sight.

Scurrying across the tile was a mouse with a white stripe on its back, followed by three more. This time, however, they each carried something. At first, Trumpet could not tell what the stringy, colorful pieces were in the mice’s mouths, but then he recognized the green, red, and yellow coating for the wires that ran throughout the silo. These wires served as the nervous system for every function, from door control to rocket ignition to life support. He was surprised but not really shocked at this point. At least now he knew why.

He looked to Alder, “Did you see that?”

Alder nodded and stayed focused on his whittling.

“Looks like Nimrod did leave. Good for him.”

He smiled, thinking about the mice and how busy they must have been. As Alder’s thoughts trailed, he pushed the knife back into the wood, but this time, it was a bit too hard.

Trumpet could not believe the last hour, everything felt surreal. He put his head in his hands and thought about everything that must be going on in the world above them. He wondered what part they may have played in what was left. Trumpet never got to an answer though, his thoughts cut short by the sound of a breaking branch.