Thanksgiving dinners were the best, better than all the dinners Em and I prepared in the year. This particular day, after I do my part in the kitchen, Connor, with his four-year-old energy and enthusiasm, jumps into my arms. My laugh can be heard several blocks down Main, I'm sure.

"Tell me more about Refuge Inc., Daddy." His tiny voice draws attractive little lines around Em's smiling eyes. Calling the lines "crows' feet" elicits giggles from Connor every time.

She places a hand on her hip and with the other, points the wooden spoon at me. "Don't traumatize the boy with stories of evil villains and men who grow green with rage, or you'll be staying up with him tonight."

I stick my tongue out at her, and she playfully returns the gesture.

"These stories don't scare you, huh, buddy?"

"Tell me about Titan." His eyes grow big with excitement. "I like doggies."

"Well, Titan was rescued from a fallen building by two tough guys who liked doggies too. You want to know how Titan repaid them?"

"Uh-huh." He does a half nod.

"Titan ended up saving the tough guys too. They finally realized that the love they had for each other was what helped them fight to stay alive."

"Fight!" Connor pumps his tiny fist in the air as he cheers, "Fight, fight, fight."

I chuckle at his innocence. "Yes, fight! And you want to know what else?"

Another half nod. "Uh-huh?"

"They lived happily ever after."

"Yay, yay, yay!"

"I love you, little guy."

"I love you too, Daddy."

"And I love you both." Em holds a dish in her hands. "Food's done."

The aroma hits my nostrils and I can't get enough of the satisfying and familiar scent.

I lick my lips as sudden extreme hunger and thirst hit me. I ogle the dish and take another breath, inhaling the wonderful scent of ... licorice.

~~~

My eyes snapped open to darkness on all sides. My face mask was still snug against my face, and my fingers were still entangled with Patrick's. Had I just experienced a lucid dream or was reality melding into my memories as I slept?

I sniffed the air to be sure, and after a couple inhales, a faint trace of licorice entered my nostrils.

I choked on my gasp, springing to my feet without a clue of where to go or what to do. My heart thumped so hard and fast, the pulse in my temples throbbed and ached. I held my breath and looked to Patrick, who reclined against the trench wall, immobile, sleeping.

My lungs were on the brink of bursting before I exhaled to take in another sharp breath of licorice-scented air.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My mind drew a blank as I paced before the flashlight shining from the wrist assembly on the ground. A cloud of dust swirled around me, paralyzing me in fear. Was there a leak? Had one of the hoses not been sealed properly? I checked the mask attachments before realizing it wouldn't rewind time. Besides, the makeshift air filter couldn't have lasted long anyway. This was most likely the product of a failed filter.

The dark figure of Death approached from the blackness toward me and broke through the wall of dust.

"What's wrong?" Patrick reached for my elbow, and it was then I realized he was not the mysterious hellish symbol I envisioned. "You're scaring me, Damien. What happened?"

I could simply announce, I'm going to die, but wasn't I prepared for it? Hadn't I accepted my fate? So why the fear? Knowing that in a matter of time his filter would give up on Patrick too, that was the worst. How could I tell him?

"I—" Words anchored in my throat as my mind tried to produce new ones to fill in the blank.

"You're freaking me out." Patrick yanked me by my elbows, jerking my body in a short violent move. "Talk to me."

A long, mechanical whine permeated through the air, through the angelic whistle of the exposed steel beams. "The hatch!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The hatch is open. I heard it." I laughed. "They opened it."

"Shit, Damien." He removed his hands and backed away, disappointment in his body language. "Goddamnit."

"You need to get to the hatch." I pulled him to me, so he could see the urgency in my eyes. "Go now, Patrick. Go home."

"You're—"

"No, no." I couldn't allow him to talk me into following him. They wouldn't allow me back inside once I was contaminated. It was too late for me, but not for him. "Here, take these." I rushed to my suit piled on the ground and dug out the brass bells from my pocket. "Give these to my son, Connor. Tell him how much I love him."

"Damien." He sighed. "The hatch is closed."

"It isn't. I heard it open. You don't have much time, so you gotta go."

"I know why you're doing this." He dragged his feet through the dirt as he approached, head hung low. "Your filter failed, didn't it?"

I shook my head, attempting to shake the consequences from my mind. "Go. Go home. You still have a chance."

"The hatch isn't open, Damien."

Anger quickly replaced the sorrow in my heart. And the way he said my name—he wasn't listening. "I'm trying to save your life. Now go."

"I'm not leaving." He shook his head and planted his feet in the soil. "I'm not leaving you."

"Go." I shoved him, directing all my force to the center of his chest. "Go, goddamnit."

He stumbled back but caught his balance. "I didn't hear anything!" he shouted, as if annoyed that I was the one not listening. "The hatch isn't open and I'm not moving."

"Go!" Enraged, I shoved harder, ignoring the pain in my side and knocking him to the ground. A cloud of dust formed around him.

He stood and let out a growl so intense my ears rattled and my heart skipped a beat. I prepared for retaliation, but instead, he paused, chest heaving, fingers twitching at his side. "I'm not leaving you." With one hand, he reached across his face, slid his fingers under the mask, and tore it off.

An odd sound escaped from my mouth as my legs gave out from under me. My knees slammed into the ground. "Why—" I couldn't properly form words due to my scrambled mind and quivering chin.

Tears glistened in his eyes but never spilled over the lids. "I'm not leaving you, okay?" He tossed the mask aside and brought his hand to his chest. The sudden realization of his actions made his shoulders slump forward. "Shit."

For the first time, I got a good look at the utter fear and agony on his face, where hopeful wide eyes and an enthusiastic smile had once been.

Wind kicked up dust around us as his languid strides brought him closer. No words were exchanged. The only sounds were the rustling of sand and wind. Standing before each other, looking into each other's eyes, I pulled my face mask off and dropped it to the ground.

Our embrace was the most natural and therapeutic of all gestures. I snaked my arms around his waist, toward his lower back, and pulled him into me. He gripped the back of my neck and guided me forward. I stole a quick glimpse of his blushed lips before they crushed against mine, rough and eager before settling into a tender and delicate rhythm. My eyelids lowered as his lips glided toward my neck. The stubble on his chin stimulated my sensitive skin and sent mixed signals throughout my body. His hot breath met the skin at the crook of my neck, and I tightened my grasp.

We broke the kiss and fought to catch our breaths with heavy gasps, chests rising and falling in uneven waves. Our gazes locked on one another without saying a word.

Then it occurred to me. If there was such a thing as happy ever after, it belonged to my son, and I would sacrifice all a dozen times over to ensure that. If life were a tale much like the legend of Refuge Inc., my son and his mother would be the true heroes. Even after the apocalypse, when the sun no longer shined, a hero like Connor deserved to ride off in the sunset and I believed he would.

Patrick turned his head, his attention focused on the miniature garden I had made. When I looked in that direction, a bright green seedling with several layers of delicate leaves on a strong and healthy stem pointed toward the sky.

He stared into my eyes. A grin curled his lips. "It's absolutely beautiful."

~~~

THE END

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