Wired Magazine Bomb ShelterOriginally published in Wire Magazine by Mario Aguilar on September 27 2010


Wired Magazine Radius Condo Drawing

Wired Magazine installing fiberglass underground shelter


Wired Magazine lowering shelter into pit

Wired Magazine positioning underground shelter

Wired Magazine owner looking down shelter entranceway

Wired Magazine Cindy and children in underground shelter

Wired Magazine shelter interior lighting and cots

Radius Engineering Underground Shelter Interior

bomb shelter hatch open


Design: Take Shelter in a Human Habitrail

KENNEDY-ERA FALLOUT SHELTERS were little more than cement boxes filled with cans of spinach. Modern end-time housing structures, like those from Radius Engineering, are smart and stylish. Take the Trogonia 8, a modular, self-sufficient, radiation-proof colony — complete with fitness center, restaurants, and city hall — that will keep as many as 2,000 people safe and snug for up to five years. With that kind of thing, you can Noah’s ark the whole subdivision.

Radius’ shelters start at $200,000; the multifamily pod shown below goes for $2 million, plus about 25 percent for shipping and installation. They all have fiberglass shells, which are less prone to cracking than concrete and, lacking steel, won’t show up on target-acquisition systems. The bunkers can run for years entirely off the grid, which means that when a high-altitude electromagnetic pulse takes out power on the surface, you’ll still be able to operate your hair dryer. And they’re buried far enough underground to be impervious to radiation. In the event of a chemical or biological attack, you’ll feel secure knowing that the sealed and pressurized units come with specially designed air filtration that uses three different physical purifiers and an ultraviolet-radiation sterilization system.

Radius has installed more than 1,000 shelters worldwide over the past 30 years; most are intended to protect key people in the government, military, insurance industry, and medical services. So if you don’t have enough gold bars to plant your own postapocalyptic condo, don a stethoscope and worm your way into someone else’s contingency plan. Call it survival of the sneakiest.