Apocalypse Lie: Locked Her in the Bunker

After the great explosion, I hid in the bunker for three years.

I'll never forget the sound that day—like an entire city being snapped in half. The walls shook, the ceiling shed dust, my ears filled with ringing.

The next second, Mike forcefully pulled me up from the study floor.

"Move! Now!"

I tried to go back for my laptop and contracts, but he stopped me.

"What do you need those papers for? Do you want to live or not?" he cursed.

When the bunker door closed, I heard someone screaming outside, like a bird being swallowed by a heat wave.

At first, we could still hear scattered distress calls on the shortwave radio.

"Downtown... is anyone there?"

"We're in... the underground parking... air..."

The voices were intermittent, like a dying radio. Mike pressed the dial, his face set like stone. He never let me speak, only listen.

"Don't respond," he said. "If you do, they'll track the signal. People are more dangerous than radiation."

Later, even the radio went silent.

The only thing that could still penetrate this wall was my girlfriend Lena's wireless signal.

She was nearby, in another backup bunker. We both contacted each other at scheduled times. Every night at exactly nine o'clock. Not a second off. Her voice would come through first with a bit of electrical noise, then that familiar light laugh.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

Every time I heard her, I felt like I hadn't been buried alive yet.

She always used the lightest tone possible to describe her situation: "The pipes leaked again today. I wrapped them with tape three times, like putting a bandage on them."

But she never complained, even though her conditions were worse.

She would only add at the end: "Honey, you have to stay alive."

I knew she was doing it to keep me going.

And on my end... to put it harshly, I was like a loser being taken care of too well.

Mike was former special forces, muscular and efficient.

After the explosion, he was always the one going to the surface to search for supplies.

He said the city had turned to ruins, the wind full of glass powder.

But he would return every two days, bringing back canned goods, dry rations, pills, filter cartridges, and once he even brought back two boxes of chocolates. I almost cried that time.

"You're lucky," Mike tossed the items on the table with a carefree laugh. "You have me."

I wanted to say thank you countless times, but those two words were too light, too light to match the weight of the supplies he brought back.

Today he came back even later.

The outer door's interlock made a "click" sound, and I almost reflexively stood up.

Mike put down his backpack and pulled out a tin can.

The can's exterior was covered in dust, the label curled at the edges, printed with English text, the production date long expired.

He knocked on the can with his knuckles, making a dull "thud."

"Beef stew with beans." He looked up at me. "Expired, but edible. Lena wouldn't take it, said your stomach is weak, wanted to save it for you."

He pushed the can toward me, his tone casual, yet it felt like a punch to my chest.

I stared at the can, but in my mind was Lena's face. She was clearly dealing with leaks and cold on her end, yet she still thought about saving the "good stuff" for me.

"Is she... okay?" I asked.

Mike paused for a moment, then shrugged: "Same as always."

I nodded, trying to suppress that sour feeling.

But I still couldn't hold it back. I lowered my head: "Mike, if it weren't for you—"

"Don't start with that." He cut me off, his tone decisive. "Eat."

In that instant, I even felt lucky. The explosion destroyed everything, but I still had a brother, still had a girlfriend.

Suddenly, a scream erupted from the radio.

"Ah—!"

I jumped up from my chair and rushed to the console, my fingers trembling as I pressed the transmit button.

"Lena? Lena, what happened! Answer me!"

First came rapid breathing, followed by a voice choked with tears.

"A rat... it's biting me! Arthur, it's biting my foot!"

My mind went blank, blood rushing to my head.

In three years, this was the first time I'd heard her so out of control.

I turned and grabbed for the protective suit.

Mike stood up and gripped my wrist. His strength was frightening, pulling me back to where I was.

"Are you crazy?" He stared at me. "You take one step out, you're dead."

"She's being bitten!" I gritted my teeth, my voice hoarse. "I can't—"

"You can what?" Mike pushed me back, forcing me to look at his eyes. "You go out there, you die. You die, she won't last either."

I was panting like someone was pressing on my chest.

Mike let go of me, grabbed the outdoor pack from the wall, his movements so fast it was like he'd rehearsed this countless times.

"I'll go," he said.

I froze: "You already went out today, and you're going again—"

"Shut up." Mike hoisted the shoulder strap up, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm better suited for this than you."

Mike stuffed the walkie-talkie earpiece in his ear, walked to the heavy door, placed his palm on the unlock panel, and glanced back at me.

That look held no complaint, only a matter-of-fact acceptance of responsibility.

"Arthur." He said in a low voice, "Don't get yourself killed. As long as you're alive, we still have hope."

The moment the door closed, the bunker fell silent.

I returned to the radio and pressed the transmit button hard.

"Lena, listen to me. Mike is coming. Lift your foot up, find something to block it, don't panic."

Her tearful response came through: "I know... I know... Arthur, don't come out."

I closed my eyes, my knuckles white from the pressure.

In three years, Mike ran on the surface, Lena held on in the darkness, and they both put me first.

I had given too little, yet received too much.