Millenia Snow

     "What an exercise in futility", muttered Aidan, continuing to remove snow from the area between the entrance to the underground bunker compound and the rear entrance to his family's main residence.

     His father wanted this area kept clear, to afford the family the ability to retrieve items from the residence whenever the need arose and to prevent the risk of becoming trapped within the bunker.  He breathes deeply, inhaling the brisk, snow-filled air, smiling at his fortune of being blessed with a cousin that grew hives at the thought of any industrious activity.  Harold had been easily talked into relinquishing his shift of the shoveling duties.

     How lucky for the family, that his father the de facto patriarch of the family, had made the decision to host the Christmas Festivities at their home.  For the snow had started to fall three days prior to Christmas Day and was still continuing to fall, eight weeks after the turning of the new year. 

     In the preceding weeks, leading up to the Christmas Holiday, there had been whispers in the media and over the net of the coming of a second ice age on the horizon.

     The weather's certainly taking a giant step in that direction.  Normally, he would be able to glimpse  some of the surrounding estates through the bare winter branches of mature oak and elm trees.  However, now, conditions were near white-out, obscuring the white powdery mounds situated where those estates should have been.  He swivels back around to take up the snow shovel and continue the task of clearing the surrounding area adjacent to the underground compound relatively clear.

     His head jerks back in the direction he had been looking a moment ago, looking for that, which had drawn his attention.  Are those dark shapes out in the storm moving?  He hadn't seen anyone outside of his own relatives in weeks. 


     "Next, I'll be jumping at my own shadow", shaking his head, he scoops up a large measure of snow, flinging it towards the edge of the clearing.  A quick gust blows the remnants of the powder-like snow up into his face, dusting portions of his ski mask.  Thinking himself foolish, he decides to remain facing in the direction where he thought he had seen shapes shifting and moving.

    "You don't seem to be accomplishing much with that shovel."

     Aidan nearly leaps three feet into the air, before recognizing the muffled sound of his father's voice.  Should he tell his father about the things he thought he saw.

     The sound of a single gunshot thunders in the distance.

     He feels his father's hand brush his shoulder, turning his head in his father's direction, he is nearly knocked off his feet by his father's falling body. The blood fountains from the neck of his father's coat, blood splashing crimson drops onto the snow obfuscated concrete...