Blinking the stinging sweat from my eyes, I examined the small seeds, twisting one and turning it inches from my visor. The smooth sides and oval shape left the impression that it was part of the fruit or berry family.

Patrick's flashlight lit the vicinity. "Is it anything significant? Promising?"

I presented the seeds in my gloved palm. "There's a possibility they're effected. Maybe they're suffering from exogenous dormancy and just need moisture and nutrients to get past the seed coat."

Patrick cocked his head. "There's a way to test it, right?"

"Testing them in this environment wouldn't tell us much. I need the equipment from the facility, not to mention a sterile and controlled lab, and time. Lots of time."

He nodded, excitement in his wide eyes. "But this is a start, right?"

Was he now fishing for reassurance? Was he digging for a straightforward answer?

I shrugged, doubting he saw it or understood my caution. I didn't want to get his hopes up. My attraction to his confidence caused my hesitation to heighten. I couldn't knowingly give false hope just to watch the bond we'd built break when he finally realized the ruse. So I remained mindful of my answers. "Let's keep looking."

"Can I examine them, first?"

"Sure." I passed the tiny kernels, allowing them to cascade from my hand into his palm. "Control will probably need better evidence before opening that hatch. We need something substantial."

"This isn't substantial?" He pushed them around in his bare palm with his thumb. "These are seeds."

"Exactly, they're seeds. Not a living plant." I didn't need to hide my excitement like Patrick did; it didn't exist because my doubts had suddenly resurfaced. The likelihood of stumbling upon a cluster of seeds that led to living vegetation was damn near impossible and would require more than luck, but I couldn't bring myself to voice my suspicions.

"There has to be a way to check their vitality somehow."

Maybe he wanted to celebrate. Maybe he wanted to announce that we had accomplished our mission, but it would all be premature. "No way to check without my equipment."

Patrick pulled a baggie from his suit and dropped the seeds inside. As soon as the bag vacuum-sealed closed, he replaced it in his pocket. "How's your temperature and oxygen?"

"It's hot," I admit. "Doesn't feel like air pressure is weakening. I think the heat will get me before lack of oxygen does. But since oxygen isn't an immediate threat, I guess we can hold off using the filter as long as we have to."

"Agreed."

The major risk of switching to his contraption prematurely was the possibility that in his haste to build it, a mistake was made and we'd risk early contamination, so enduring the heat until it was no longer bearable was currently the safest option.

"Control, this is Dr. Patrick O'Donnell on the Resurface Mission—"

I sighed. "What are you doing, Patrick?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Dr. O'Donnell here, reporting major environmental hazards as wind gusts that caused us to crash-land into some sort of trench, resulting in equipment damage to Dr. Nichols' protective gear, a possible oxygen leak, and uncontrollable temperature rise in the interior of his suit."

"You're wasting your breath." I lengthened my spine and grunted as the pain returned.

"And possible internal injuries. We need a medic and—"

"Patrick." I huffed, trying to hold back my disappointment. Didn't he understand that having a living plant was our only key back inside and my injuries and difficulties didn't matter?

"Also, reporting a significant find," he went on, nearly slurring his words as he rushed to get them out. "We've gathered five seeds of unknown origin that need further, thorough testing under controlled conditions. This qualifies as a successful mission. Requesting permission to return to the facility. Do you read?"

Did he genuinely think it qualified, or was this all a bluff?

The silence allowed thoughts of Em and Connor to come to mind, which only reminded me of what I was sacrificing for the facility, and not only for the innocent residents, but also the power-hungry leaders. Anger replaced what little optimism I had as I fumed over allowing my hopes to get the better of me.

Patrick gasped as if hit with sudden realization. "Maybe communication is wonky and they have no way to tell us the hatch is open." He swung his light around the trench. "We need to find a way out of this dump."

I sat, my back against the dirt wall, watching him through the condensation on my visor as he marched around the large closet-sized space.

"Come on. The tunnel continues this way. There's probably a way out." He headed down the opposite direction from which he'd come earlier, probably unaware that I wasn't on his heels. The beam to his flashlight faded as he got farther away.

"There may not be a way back home." I took a deep breath before clearing my throat preparing myself yet again for the devastation to come. "The hatch may not be open. They may have intentionally locked us out. Hell, they may have given us the perfect amount of essentials to ensure we'd cooperate long enough to get us out of the facility. And they may never answer us, because they may have sent us on this mission to die like I initially said."

Patrick's light came into full view as he approached, dragging his boots through the sand in defeat. The over enthusiasm he had carried just a few seconds ago ... gone. Once again, I immediately regretted being the bearer of bad news. I swallowed the lumped that lodged itself in my throat and stared at the deep grooves his boots made in the dirt.

"I overheard a conversation that I shouldn't have," he confessed, head hung low. "They know I heard. A couple of technicians were worried about a group within the facility orchestrating some sort of attack. They caught me listening, and I promised to keep the information to myself. But, of course, they wouldn't risk just taking my word for it. I know this now, especially after what you said about knowledge being power. It makes sense. It makes too much sense."

Unfortunately, Refuge Inc. held many secrets. Hopefully, Connor would remain safe and taken care of by the innocent people we risked our lives for, at least until he was able to defend and take care of himself.

Patrick's shoulders slumped forward, and the urge to deliver a comforting touch warred with the need to somehow lighten the mood. "Em would come up with some sarcastic response in a moment like this." I closed my eyes, trying to summon her wacky words of wisdom.

Patrick towered over me, standing mere inches from where I sat. "Em?"

"My wife."

"Sorry." His voice was soft and barely audible. "May she rest in peace."

"Although I think we're experiencing the true definition of Hell, she didn't believe in it. She claimed we made our own Hell and that we chose how much of it to suffer. What did she used to say? 'The only burning humans are destined to experience is crotch burn from all the unprotected sex we're having.'" I allowed a smile to curl my lips.

"Your wife was pretty funny," he said with a forced laugh.

"Yeah. She had a lot of jokes, philosophies, and theories. She contributed a lot to Refuge Inc. Too bad she didn't have the chance to do more for the facility before she ... died." I gulped. "Seven years later and I still see her smile and hear her giggle."

"Yeah, grief doesn't have an expiration date."

Too bad we do.

Silence reverberated loudly within my head for a few seconds.

"I married at twenty-four." Patrick's voice carried a hint of a smile. "We were still considered newlyweds the year I was notified about Refuge Inc. I had just received my doctorate and was surprised and devastated by the invitation. The world as we knew it was gonna collapse, and she and I were invited to survive it. We only had a few weeks to consider our choices. We could either work for Refuge Inc. and be part of Earth's future, or die on the surface with our family and friends."

I waited to hear him confirm he had made the right decision, but he never did. "They were interested in young, healthy, highly educated people willing to contribute to the future of humanity."

How does murder fall into that plan?

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Funny how the corrupt is the future of mankind. It's almost like nothing's changed."

Beads of sweat dripped down my spine, tickling my skin. I pulled the fabric at the center of my chest. "I don't think I can take this heat any longer. I need to get out of this thing."

"Now?" Patrick gripped my hand and effortlessly pulled me to my feet. "So soon?"

"The temperature inside is skyrocketing."

The light from his wrist monitor lit his visor as he brought it closer to his face. "Environmental temperature has been fluctuating between sixty-eight and seventy degrees, which shouldn't cause you much distress, so the temperature outside isn't the problem. My guess is that the cooling gauge has been damaged, causing the heat inside the suit to rise."

"No telling what else has been damaged on this suit." The loose thread on the Refuge Inc. emblem came to mind. I just knew if I pulled it, the entire stitching would unravel.

He cocked his head. "The temperature inside the suit must be pretty high."

"Feels like a hundred degrees in here." My skin tingled from the moisture. "If I don't get this off soon, I risk heat exhaustion and dehydration, because I can't even access my water."

"Let's just check the hatch before removing any—"

"Patrick, I really hate delivering bad news, but—"

"I know. I know." The light hit the walls of the trench and disappeared down the dark corridors on either side of us. "Let's explore the tunnel before we make any drastic decisions."

I understood. "We have to make sure there are no immediate hazards before I take off the suit."

"Exactly."

I stood and followed Patrick as he trailed the light. We walked down the right passage, stepping over old soda cans and rotted food packages tangled in ripped plastic bags.

"Looks like the winds up top blew all this trash down here," I suggested, allowing my imagination to best explain the landfill conditions. "Or maybe some outsiders dug the hole to live down here, safe from the crazy winds."

"Don't think many would've survived long after impact." Patrick swept the light side to side along the ground like the stick of a blind man. "Definitely wouldn't have survived even six months after being contaminated. They were aware of their chances." His voice hitched. "We all were."

"Just trying to figure out why they would dig this trench, and dig it so deep."

"It's just feet from the hatch, so..."

I waited for him to elaborate, curiosity nagging me. "Yeah?"

"So seems likely they were trying to dig their way inside."

Baffled, I shook my head, trying to comprehend their motives. "The facility is miles beneath the surface. They would've never dug that deep without the proper equipment. And they didn't get to a significant depth anyway."

He continued to light the floor of the trench. "They used their bare hands and manual labor, most likely. Otherwise we would've ran into some equipment, and they probably could've done more damage to the hatch if they'd planned it out properly."

The equipment used to excavate the grounds and build the facility had been transported out of the base for security reasons. And the excavation of the site had left the area surrounding the facility covered in miles of dirt. The dirt and lack of rainfall resulted in this landscape, so similar to the old Sahara Desert.

I cleared my throat. The thought of our dry surroundings reminded me of the water I couldn't access. "Or maybe they discovered the hatch too late. Didn't have enough time."

"Or," he added, "the hatch is just indestructible. From the look of the slab, they tried everything they could to get inside. Absolutely everything they could."

I shook my head, unsatisfied with the theories. "But it doesn't explain why the trench is even and lengthy, not just one deep hole."

"That was a long time ago and they're dead now, so why does it matter anyway?"

"Because they could've been us."

He paused and turned to face me. "Yeah. They could've been."

I knew then, he was struggling to stay positive. Were we struggling to be optimistic for each other? Deep down, we knew we were doomed. I knew before leaving the facility. Was entertaining the possibility of going back home something I had done for Patrick's sake? How far would it get us to pretend, to hope, to grasp for positivity, and what good would it do, really?

Dying with Patrick by my side might be as positive as the situation would allow, and as I watched him, I knew that wouldn't be a bad way to die.

His even strides and stature showcased his physical strength. His knowledge and problem-solving ability highlighted his mental power. And the sentimental way he spoke about his wife, the outsiders, and those who were no longer with us revealed an emotional side I related to. I would forever respect his company.

We continued on, sweeping the light across the littered plot. Strangely, we didn't encounter any more human remains, which relieved some of the tension. I appreciated not seeing any other harsh reminders of death.

Patrick stopped in his tracks. "What is that?"

Ahead, the remnants of a collapsed building with large pieces of concrete and iron support beams suspended from the massive structure blocked the far end of the tunnel.

My heart dropped to my stomach as fast as a single bead of sweat dripped from my brow.

~~~

Any theories on what the collapsed building could be?

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