There is no such thing as happy ever after, no such thing as a second chance, and no such thing as coming back from where I'm going.

With heavy steps, I followed Patrick into the shaft leading to the lift, leaving our escort and life as it was behind me. The mechanical door at my back hissed before it locked for what I knew would be forever—or until the next agitator made trouble in the facility and found him or herself facing the rarely seen, but much talked about airtight door.

With every weighty footstep toward the enclosed lift, my living-breathing life became more of a shadow of a memory; it was apparent in each anxiety-induced shallow breath that escaped my lips. Although they wanted me to believe going miles above to the surface was my choice, there was no such thing as having a voice in the matter. The decision had been final when my name appeared at the top of the daily announcements on each wall monitor for everyone in the facility to see. Had Randolph and the other leaders took a vote, or was Randolph given sole authority? It wouldn't surprise me if he singlehandedly assigned us, given he made most of the big decisions.

Fight or flight instinct sent adrenaline through my veins. I could do neither, so I stepped foot onto the lift. Up, up, up it took us. I glanced through my thick, transparent visor and across from me into Patrick's. The light located inside of his helmet illuminated his face, allowing me to search his eyes for a hint of fear. He didn't focus on anything in particular.

"You think we'll be surprised at the conditions up there?" His shaky and wary voice came through my headset.

I disregarded my anxiety and forced a chuckle. "I enjoy surprises."

His nerves caused his snicker to come through rattled and apprehensive. "If my wife was still here, she would've slapped the shit out of me for even entertaining the thought of going up."

Although I hadn't met his wife, the difference between his wife and mine were apparent. Em would've known that I would never entertain such a thought. Just recalling her smarts and wit brought a smile to my face. If possible, I would return to previous times and relive the moments where I had gathered her and our son in my arms.

No one had to tell me I was once a lucky man, but like all good things, even luck runs out.

The lift slowed, sounding off a metallic clanking that penetrated my headset despite the noise of our rapid breaths. The sudden change in momentum knocked us off balance. Patrick's heavily suited body and his oxygen-nutrient backpack slammed against me. Although our stature was similar, his frame seemed bulkier and heavier as we collided.

"Shit." With oversized gloved hands, he gripped the sides of his helmet and readjusted it. "They didn't warn us about this fuck of a lift."

"Surprise." My lack of enthusiasm dribbled from my lips.

"Exactly." His halfhearted chuckle emphasized the general mood of the mission, which stemmed from the realization of possible dangers to come, including death.

"The first of many surprises, I'm guessing." Thoughts of how rushed and unprepared we were bombarded me. Only a few days had elapsed since our names were displayed on the monitor to proceeding with the mission.

Even though I told myself to remain positive, my thoughts were anything but. However, I have always admired my ability to control what comes out of my mouth. Spewing negativity and sarcasm wouldn't benefit myself or anyone else.

Or as Em once put it, "Shitting out of your mouth leaves a nasty taste on your tongue as well as an unpleasant odor in the air." I loved her euphemisms.

Our son Connor may have inherited her sense of humor and wonderful skill of metaphoric and poetic speaking. He'd also acquired her eerie ability to accurately read between the lines and uncover the true meaning behind another's statements, and he had barely hit the age of twelve. It was an amazing gift, one I was sure the facility leaders would one day find a way to exploit. I could see it in Connor's eyes and in our last embrace, a piece of him was aware I probably wouldn't be coming home.

What was done today couldn't change yesterday. What a jagged pill to swallow.

The lift came to an abrupt stop, knocking us into each other again. This time my heart sped up, making my pulse throb in my temples. Not because of the force of being thrown around the cramped space, but from the unknown we were minutes away from encountering.

Once steady on my feet, I put out a hand for Patrick to use to stand.

He grunted as he grabbed my hand and pulled himself up to top me by an inch or so. "I hate these damn suits."

I hate this entire experience.

"Come on. We'll get used to them." I slapped his shoulder to instill some confidence.

"Jeez, not too used to them I hope." His tone reminded me of his youth. How unfortunate a promising young engineer had done something severe enough to be "assigned" the "prestigious" job of detecting life on the harsh surface. If only we could live life like we had before impact, when the risks worth taking in your thirties didn't involve life or death.

No one expected us to return. Too bad Patrick hadn't realized it yet.

Maybe I harbored a bit of Em's gift as well because when word had come down Control suddenly needed surface samples and was in dire need of an experienced botanist to do the job, I envisioned my name at the top of the list of "lucky" contenders.

I had never regretted being right as I did now.

"You ready?" I searched his face.

"Wha—" His eyes widened with surprise. "We still have a three-story flight of stairs to climb, right?"

I nodded. "But past this door should be the last airlock chamber, remember? You ready for that?"

He sighed, exhaling heavily into the implanted microphone. "Let's do this."

I squeezed the right lever as he did the same to the lever on the left. We both looked at the red light bulb above the metal door, the last light we'd see before equipping our flashlights. Within seconds, the red glowed a bright green.

"On three." He placed both hands on the lever. "One, two..."

With all my body weight, I pressed on the handle until it unlatched, breaking the airtight seal with a loud pop and hiss. We stepped inside the small cavity and faced another similar door as the one behind us closed and locked. The air grew dense as the second door's airlock seal popped and the door opened automatically. The changing pressure in the empty metal chamber was proof we were now in toxic air territory. Even more so, the readings on my wrist monitor confirmed it.

Patrick lifted his wrist, glancing at his monitor. "The air is at thirty-six percent contamination."

Breathe normally. You don't want to freak out and hyperventilate. You're fine. Just fine.

The reminders running through my mind did nothing to calm me as the thumping in my chest tripled. Not only did my words often betray me, but my thoughts too, because no matter how much I told myself to stay calm, my body wouldn't cooperate.

Patrick crossed the threshold first, glancing down at the lit panel on his sleeve. "Ambient oxygen levels: sixty-four percent."

Part of our orders were to record atmospheric data as we made our way to the surface, but I doubt anyone was listening or would even use anything we gathered. Long before hundreds of thousands of people went subterranean, they had placed plenty of recording devices, machines, and technology on the surface to collect data, and it all would last for years to come. They didn't need us out here, and hammering that fact into my brain made it easier for me to accept the inevitability of my death.

Upon approaching the staircase, sweat dripped on my nose from my brow. Heat wasn't the culprit but nerves—as the inside of our suits were temperature controlled. I took note of the internal temperature reading: seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

I activated the flashlight, which then shined from the tiny cell on the back of my gloved hand to illuminate most of the cramped space around us. The door behind us hissed closed, and when it locked, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"You all right?" Patrick switched his flashlight on and shined it toward me, nearly blinding me with the beam.

"Yeah, just startled is all." I cleared my throat, hoping to also clear away the jitters. "Let's proceed."

I followed as Patrick hiked step after step, climbing toward our formal meeting with Death. I imagined Death's gruesome hand reaching down from the harsh surface, extended to us for a welcoming handshake. A shudder tore through me.

As soon as we hit the final flight of stairs, catching our breath was difficult. It reminded me of the lack of exercise and preparation we had prior to being thrown into the mission, which had struck me as odd but now confirmed my suspicions. I used my huffing as an excuse to sit and reenergize before opening the hatch—the tarnished slab of metal that rested at a forty-five-degree angle to the surface and separated us from Hell.

Patrick's flashlight reflected off the unblemished parts of the rounded door. "Look at all the dents in that thing."

Something about each uniquely shaped indentation made the few contents in my stomach churn. Most of the inward dents clustered around the edges, where the thick locks were hidden. "Looks like someone tried to force their way inside."

"I'm surprised it held." Patrick continued up the steps toward the landing, narrowing the space between him and the hatch. "Not so surprised they fought like hell to get in." He glanced back to me. "It's a shame."

"Isn't it?" I trailed behind, climbing each step with little enthusiasm. "Here we are, the lucky ones, living in a fortified sphere miles below the toxic surface. We're safe, well-fed, have fresh air, and able to sleep most nights—" Everything I said, thought, or did had officially become a front for sanity's sake.

"—while they died the nastiest of ways." Patrick huffed. "Man, I get it. Survival of the fittest, right?"

Fittest as determined by Control. There had been a time I actually believed in luck.

"You prepared for what we're about to see out there?" The question was meant to be a private thought, but it slipped my tongue as the image of fire and brimstone flashed before my eyes.

He turned to face me. "Do I even need to answer that?"

His hand gripped the left lever. I mimicked him on the right. Then, in unison, we pushed the heavy lid open, and stepped out onto Hell's welcome mat.

~~~

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