The cracks let in the wind. A howling wind. Moving there, touching a hair, a face, a piece of cloth. A taste on it, of gunpowder and ash. Of the ending of the world.
Terry kept his hand on the handle, though if it went, it would not stop from going by his grip. Haley clutched a collection of towels and buttons that made a bear.
Another spike in the wind and Haley let out a little whimper. She covered her own mouth then, eyes darting about, her bear discarded easily in the panic. Its circular eyes stared forlorn up at the wooden sky that will be its final home.
Terry peered out the crack and held his breath. Outside, the sky was still that same nuclear green, laced with patches of puffy clouds. No one stood out there, nothing moved either.
He turned back to her and shook his head. She nodded back, relief obvious on her face, even if she did not sigh with it.
Terry attempted a smile. Only one half of his face would convincingly rise, and the effect did not help much.
It was a gesture that was still his though—the next he made spurned by something else. With a small shout of panic, the door and his body and bits of wood all rose and disappeared.
Haley cried out as even her bear floated up into the sky from the rupture. Her dress and hair both frenzied in the wind, and she covered her ears.
For the laugh had come, and, as the bunker of wood rose out of the ground, torn like a weed from a garden, the laugh only got more and more insane. Culminating in violet sprays of both red fluff and human entrails.