My voice cracked, my taste buds stuck to the roof of my mouth, and the last twenty minutes of nonstop talking didn't help the situation. Thirst had been on my mind more than the utter darkness surrounding me. My damaged suit had never extended my straw to allow me a sip and we had removed the pack and its connections, so there was no way to access my water. However, I had to continually communicate to try and convince Patrick to return to me.

I had grown accustomed to his soft breaths. Each inhale and exhale in my ear soothed my anxiety like a baby's lullaby, although I preferred his voice, and for a brief moment, the thought of him never returning to my side left me with a nauseating emptiness.

"It's getting cold, and I'd like to gather my suit to keep warm. Sure, I can try to make my way back where I left it, but it would be so much easier if you were here with the light." After each statement, I had expected him to respond, but his breathing was the only thing that let me know he was still okay.

Still, I couldn't bear the thought of him in emotional pain. I knew the agony of that type of suffering.

"I would never want anyone to suffer like I've done since losing the ones I loved. And neither did Em. She tried her very best to make sure everyone in the facility was treated with the utmost care and respect. And there're certain things she did to ensure that level of justice, but she was punished for it, and now I'm being punished for my part."

The silence over the headset disappeared as Patrick's melancholy voice broke through. "What did you do, Damien? What did she do?"

With the sound of his voice in my ears, relief rushed me, causing the heaviness in my heart to lift. "She only helped people. She stood up for them. Spoke out against wrongdoing."

"Helping people doesn't give you a death sentence."

"It did, and that's because we helped the wrong people in the eyes of the ones doing the sentencing."

"You're not gonna say why you were really sent out here to die, huh?"

"Not every question needs an answer. I'm sorry, Patrick, but I promised her that I would keep my mouth sealed. Everything I know, I will take with me to my grave."

Visions of the upper hemi within the facility flashed through my mind along with a scene of scared and distraught faces rushing down the halls, pushing and shoving, or cowering in corners; smoke filling the corridors and rooms; and glimpses of red lights blinking on and off in the darkness. Sirens, coughing, and screaming ringing in my ears. Em's panic-stricken voice shouting, "Stop this. It isn't right. These are people. Please, stop." Me pushing through the crowd toward her, hand extended, reaching. A bright explosion shakes the ground beneath me and knocks me off balance, and then blackness and silence.

The sound of falling sand to my right demanded my attention. Pressing my back against the dirt wall of the trench, I listened for footsteps, hoping the building or its dismantled parts weren't shifting. When Patrick's light shone over the edge of the trench, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're dead, you know." His anger was unmistakable. "We're already dead, so you might as well come clean."

"I can't."

"You can." The light flooded around me, blinding me with its beam. "Don't I have a right to know? I'm gonna die." He sniffed and cleared his throat. "We're gonna die."

His heartache gripped me in the gut. I had been prepared for the reality of what I would face outside the facility, but I never anticipated having to coax another man through his grief.

"Control, Randolph, and the rest of the decision makers are lying. Refuge Inc. invents catastrophes in order to scare people into doing what they want them to do. They've been doing this since the very first impact decades ago, although they want everyone to believe what happened back then is just a myth, a fictional story. They wanted to silence a few people, and Em caused a scene in protest, therefore 'threatening the safety of the facility.'" Surely my loving, caring Em would forgive me for breaching her confidence in this situation.

"Did they cast her out too? Did they kill her?"

I gulped, forcing the words through my tight, thirsty, and tension-stricken vocal cords. "She's gone. That's all that matters."

"Fuck Randolph, Control, and the decision makers." The words made it out through clenched teeth. "For what they've done to us, they're murderers."

"Sorry, Patrick." I couldn't offer up any other words of sympathy. He was right; they were murderers.

"Don't pity me. I don't have anyone waiting for me to return. My wife left me right before impact. I was eager to have a baby as soon as I was notified of my spot within the facility and the announcement of impending doom was made, and apparently wanting to start a family of our own before the world collapsed was a huge turnoff." He walked past. "But she had it all wrong. The reason I suddenly wanted children was not because I knew we wouldn't have any family with us in the facility; it's because I knew anything could happen and we might've never had the opportunity again."

He sighed. "Anyway, she didn't approve that the invitation had only been valid for just me and her. So she left me to be with her family."

I dropped my gaze. "I'm so sorry."

"If you say sorry again—"

"I don't pity you. I understand; that's all. This is hard. The situation we're in is fucking hard to accept. You may never accept it, but know you're not alone. That's all I have to offer." When he turned to face me I looked into his eyes. "Please accept that."

Patrick undid his arm assembly, removing each part, and then dropping the piece containing the flashlight to the floor. The light swamped us in its glow.

I shrugged, confused. "What are you doing?"

"If I'm gonna die, might as well die comfortable."

"Wait, what are you thinking?" Was he going to remove his helmet, breathe the toxic air, and invite death now?

"There's no point in wearing this shit."

I searched my mind for a good reason but came up with a blank. As prepared as I thought I was, my attempt at helping him accept his fate had backfired. He wasn't only accepting his fate, he was asking it to arrive sooner. The scenario's progression didn't sit well with me. Strangely, I couldn't pinpoint exactly why it bothered me so much. True, it wouldn't make a difference, but I cared about him enough to not want him to suffer any more right now, even though I knew it was inevitable.

When he had removed everything but his upper torso assembly, I rushed forward, placing my hands over his to prevent him from disassembling the rest of his suit. "I can't let you do this."

"You're stopping me?" He laughed maniacally, and I was unable to see the humor. "You're stopping me? You? Mr. I Accepted My Fate Three Days Before Stepping Foot In This Shithole?"

"I can't let you. Not now. As long as this stays on, you are alive." I stared into his eyes, hoping he could make out my pain for him.

He stared back. "I'm already dead, don't you understand?"

"I won't let you do it."

"What are you— Oh, I get it. You're still hoping this is all a nightmare, huh? You're still waiting to wake up from the dream, aren't you? Maybe you have a little bit of hope left in you yet."

"Look, I know you're upset and need to take your anger out on someone, but we're in the same predicament here. There's no need for all this. I'm on your side."

He reached into his pack, removing the makeshift filter. "I'm not gonna kill myself, all right? But what's the reason for delaying it this time? The mission's over. It's all over."

He was right. What reasons were there for delaying the inevitable?

"You promised me we would see a living plant before we die. That's our reason."

He grabbed the exhaust hose leading to his oxygen. "I need to clamp and cut the hose then attach the filter. You gonna help?"

I nodded, aware of the situation and relieved that he wasn't giving up yet. I helped him remove his upper torso assembly while he attached the filter, flushed the face mask with oxygen, and removed his helmet. Although we got tangled up a few times in the process, it was a success.

With each breath, more calm returned to him. "It feels good out here."

"Nothing like what I envisioned while in the suit." And not nearly as hot as Hell as I had feared.

He turned to me, staring through the thin window of his face mask. "You told me you were cold and needed your suit."

"I needed you to come back. I'm glad you did."

"Like your wife, I can't bear the thought of someone suffering, especially if I can prevent it."

My heart leaped and I blinked back tears. I dropped my gaze, staring at the scattered litter around us. Everything outside of the facility was trash that had been thrown out, tossed aside, and forgotten. How fitting it was that we were now a part of it.

He nudged his helmet with his foot. "My wife used to wake up from nightmares unable to go back to sleep unless I held her in my arms. It used to fascinate me how that worked, like mind over matter. No matter how horrid the dream, all the anxiety and fear went away at the snap of a finger as soon as a warm pair of arms embraced her. Like the nightmare never happened."

While he spoke, I took in his form, observing as he stood in the middle of the hellish atmosphere in silence. Nothing but darkness and a steady breeze surrounded him. He wouldn't lift his gaze, leaving his eyes locked to the dusty ground where our only source of light shown. And although his rhythmic breaths comforted me with familiarity, the occasional hiccup in his voice made my heart heavy. And suddenly I was overwhelmed by the intense need to make his pain disappear.

I shortened the space between us until we were an arm's length apart. He remained silent as I slid my fingertips along his palm, and when I tugged him closer, he refused to look into my eyes. Chest to chest, I snaked my arms around him, one arm under his and the other around his broad shoulder. He exhaled, relaxing against me and twisting his fingers around the tail of my shirt. I closed my eyes, imagining him doing the same, and I allowed his rapid breathing to pull me into a trance. His hold became stronger as the seconds went by and soon our breaths were in sync.

Words came to mind but never made it to my lips. Thoughts, ideas, and what-if scenarios played out in my head and each one involved him.

How did our embrace make him feel inside? Does he feel the same magnetic pull I feel? Does the warmth of my arms make his fears disappear as it had for his wife? Does he appreciate my effort, my presence?

I pulled tighter, bringing him closer, and he did the same, drawing and stretching the back of my shirt with his fist. I suppressed a moan brought on by my sudden sense of tranquility, and at that moment, I knew I could do this forever.

I needed to be closer, to feel the strength in his arms, his warmth, his skin, the drumming beat of his heart, something other than constant fear and gloom. The urge to experience his warm breath on my neck nearly overtook me, and I imaged his lips pressed against the slope of my nape and the heat of his breath traveling my nerves and surging through my veins. The imagery was overpowering but highly satisfying.

"Patrick," his name wisped off my tongue.

"Damien?" He whispered, still encasing me in his arms.

I exhaled, and it flowed like my final breath, slow and controlled. "Thank you."

His only response was to pull me even closer.

When I finally opened my eyes, a package in the debris caught the light and my attention, yanking me from the spell.

In large bold letters, the label on the bag read: birdseeds.

~~~

How would you react if you were sure you were living the last moments of your life? Would you seek comfort in the arms of the only person near?