The pitch black of the world enveloped us, cloaking us in air I imagined smelled like rotten eggs and death, but what I was told reminded its victims of anise or licorice. Wind carrying fine grains of sand and invisible strains of toxin whipped our bodies. Although our suits protected us from the violent abuse, out of instinct, my arm went up to shield my eyes from the onslaught. Our lights lit the dusty atmosphere around us, and when it seeped through the wall of fine debris, the darkness sucked it in like sand absorbing liquid water.

It wasn't until I swept the beam to my side that the ten-foot high concrete walls at each side of us came into view—or what was left of them, as most of the walls had crumbled into small piles of large chunks. They did little to shield the entrance to the underground facility, and did everything to announce its precise location.

The facility had been built inside the restricted area of an isolated military base deep in the desert. During construction and for years after, the entire area, which covered nearly four thousand acres, had been off-limits to the public and even civilian and military air traffic. There weren't many landmarks for miles, except the scattered base towers built to detect aerial travel, so a wall in the middle of nowhere would have struck anyone as odd.

Still, I was grateful that the only entrance to the facility was kept secret to the public and had been impenetrable, especially for my son's sake.

Sand pelted the landing inside of the hatch, but Patrick insisted on keeping it open just in case we encountered a situation where we needed a hasty retreat. No need to argue over the decision. I couldn't deny him the comfort he sought.

We looked out over the environment. "This is insane." The jitters in Patrick's voice escalated as he spoke. "This is utterly insane, Damien."

Though he didn't have to tell me twice, I agreed.

"Let's do this." He kicked up more dirt and filth as he took a few labored steps forward. "Let's get these readings and samples and get the hell—ah!" He plunged forward and slammed face first into the dirt. His helmet absorbed the shock as his head bounced off the dispersed debris.

"Patrick?" Worry fueled me as I made my way over chunks of the wall and rubble to get to his side. With each step, snap, pop, and crunch tore through the air from the litter beneath me.

"I'm fine. Fine. Just tripped over something, but I'm okay."

While approaching his crouched body and illuminating the back of his suit with my light, what had caused his fall stood out like snow in Hell.

"Careful." I kneeled to pull away the entangled mass of human bones around his boot.

"What the f—" He aimed his fist to the pile, shining as much light on the tangled skeletons as possible. "Are those—"

"We knew not to expect anything less." I shined my light low to the ground, revealing a graveyard of sorts. Among the debris were tattered shoes and pieces of clothing once belonging to men, women, and children, along with empty plastic bottles, corroded remains of aluminum cans with the lids open and bent back, and the piles of off-white human bones that lay in contrast to the greyish-brown dirt swirling around them.

I pulled Patrick to his feet. He looked to me with wide eyes, then to the mound of what remained of human bodies and back to me again. "Well, Damien, you're pretty nonchalant about standing on a pile of dead bodies."

"Like I said, I hadn't expected anything less." Which was true. What part of Hell didn't contain the bodies of those who've suffered?

The remains were most likely the families of the military personnel who had worked on the base but weren't allowed access to the facility once the truth about imminent impact was released. Most of the Refuge facilities were built in complete secrecy, and only selected individuals had known the exact locations, much like knowledge of impact was kept from the public until it was too late.

The public also hadn't been aware of the secret funding received to build the facilities. Shortly after settling into our new home beneath the surface, I discovered there was a score of highly educated and wealthy people responsible for funding the elaborate spherical construction of the facilities, as long as a spot within was reserved for them and their loved ones. To increase the chance of humans inhabiting the surface again one day, the remaining space in the facilities were populated with those capable of contributing to the future of mankind somehow. My skills as a plant scientist and Patrick's environmental engineer degree had been our golden tickets.

"Okay." He inhaled and exhaled with force. Was he trying to regain focus? His chest rose and fell as he glanced at his wrist monitor. "Uh, bariatric pressure reading: three-zero point four-one—"

I scoffed. "What are you doing?" I didn't have it in me to disguise my disappointment. I focused my attention on a loose thread sticking out from the embroidered Refuge Inc. emblem on his left breast. The blood-red letter R with a silver ring encircling its center stood out in the colorless world. The flyaway thread hinted at the lack of durability of the fabric.

He paused and stared. "Taking readings."

I sighed. I'd have to break the devastating news to the guy—a heavily educated man a few years younger than I and with a once-promising future. "They're not listening, Patrick."

He narrowed his eyes. "Huh? What is that supposed to mean?"

"They don't need surface readings, samples, or anything else from us." I dropped my flashlight beam to the exposed bones around us, holding back my own anger and fear. "This is our fate." I could have given the news with a bit more sympathy or tact, but what was the point? In the end, would it have mattered?

"What is this?" He chuckled nervously. "You fucking with me, Damien? Testing how soon I'd piss myself? Want to see me squirm in my boots or something?"

"You must've done something to jeopardize the facility." I moved closer, but with each word the few feet between us felt more like miles. "Think. Who did you piss off and why?"

He pivoted, turning his back to me. Sand whipped his suit and bounced off just as fast. His calm and even voice jolted me out of my thoughts when it came through my earpiece. "Bariatric pressure is at three-zero-point-four-one."

I gulped, sending a lump of nerves down my throat. "No one's listening." It surprised me that he wasn't listening either, as I'd expected some sort of acknowledgement to my accusation. Because if he hadn't done anything, if there was a chance this mission could be a success—

No, I couldn't get my hopes up.

"Shut the fuck up, Damien." He turned and kicked up a cloud of dust that quickly blew away in the harsh winds. "I don't know what's gotten into you, man. Maybe you have a breech in your suit and toxic air is seeping in, causing your brain to slowly turn to mush, or maybe you're scared shitless and temporarily insane. Maybe you're a sadistic asshole who gets off on people's fear. Whatever your problem is, I'm just gonna ignore it, get my samples and readings, finish my job, and get the hell back home."

"I'm not trying to provoke you." I forced my voice to come out in a much calmer tone than I was feeling. "I'm trying to break the news to you."

"Don't you have plants to analyze or something?" Patrick kneeled and placed a small amount of sand into a pouch that automatically shrink-wrapped its contents upon sealing.

"Just look around you. I'm not going to find any live plants out here. You know it. IT knows it. Control knows it. Everyone knows it! They sent us on a suicide mission. We willingly walked ourselves into our own deaths. At least this way we'll go down in history as heroes instead of detractors."

"Oh, I knew it was just a matter of time before I heard that hero business." Patrick scoffed. "Save that hero shit for your kid. Let's do what we came to do."

"These suits aren't built to last long." I slid my hands over the front of the material, over the R, imagining the future scenario where the sandy winds pelted them to shreds with our lifeless bodies inside. "Our oxygen-nutrient packs won't last twenty-four hours. Our filters and gauges will go to shit in about the same time."

Patrick hustled out of view, the glow of the digital reader and flashlight fading the further he went. "Northeastern winds carrying heavy debris at approximately forty-six miles per hour with occasional gusts up to fifty-five miles per hour..."

"I understand. You're in denial." It wasn't easy for me to dismiss the truth and go on as if we were in a dream. We had to face the facts, no matter how difficult. The one hard truth I fought to accept was that I'd never see my son again.

"I'm working so I can get back down there." Anger lingered in his tone.

I clenched my teeth instead of punching the air to relieve the cluster of emotion trapped in my veins. "We're not going back down to our comfy beds and warm meals. Don't you get it?"

"I have several more readings to do. Then I'm going back inside and securing that hatch behind me. If you wanna convince yourself that Control and IT are out to get you, you go right ahead."

I popped the button holding closed my right breast pocket and stuffed my gloved fingers inside to remove a set of three brass bells connected to a small red ribbon—a piece of the previous world my son highly cherished. "You know IT or Control wouldn't jeopardize a prized mission to the surface by allowing me to bring a personal item. They know we wouldn't want to hand it over upon return, and they want as little contamination risk as possible."

Patrick emerged from the darkness, led by his light. "What are you talking about?"

I lifted the bells. When I concentrated hard enough, the sound of their jingle cut through the wind and melted my heart. "A personal memento."

He scoffed. "You're never seeing that again. They're gonna destroy that thing."

"They had no qualms with me bringing it. Probably felt sorry for me and didn't want to put up resistance. That's what confirmed it. We're doomed. No point in working or arguing. Might as well accept it."

"I didn't sign up for this lunacy." He shined his light toward the open hatch. "Mission's over."

He took a few bold steps toward the entrance, and as if on cue, the door to the hatch lifted in a controlled manner. Even with the forceful winds pushing at it, the slab of metal swung up and over, and then closed. The sound of the lock engaging was loud enough to cut through the sound of the jingling bells, my heartbeat drumming in my ears, and the howling wind.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, churning and twisting the contents until they threatened to spew from my lips.

It was difficult being right.

~~~

How do you think Patrick will take this?