Upon receiving the warning the Sullivan’s like many others retreated into the shelter under their home. Two weeks later after digging their way out through the trashed remains of their home, the blast of cold air sent them scurrying back into their shelter. For the next month each time they tried to reach the surface they were greeted by a layer of ice. Joe repeatedly had to smash his way to the surface, to remove the ice from their air intake. No one followed him, for it was pitch black above ground.

One month turned into two months and still the world above them remained completely dark. Not a single ray of light or star broke the blackness. Once Joe attempted to reach their neighbours house, all he found was the remains of shattered timbers.

Finally hunger drove Joe back to the surface. He built a roaring fire to drive away the cold, then he told his family to join him. While they kept the fire burning he scoured the immediate neighbourhood. Clambering over mountains of frozen debris, he located the external entrance to the Johnson’s shelter. It wooden cover smashed he delved deeper. Ignoring the frozen bodies, he raided the larder. The bodies could wait.