Strife destroyed the surface. 

We left it behind when entering the caverns.


The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 3, Verse 12

I tried to see what Amy had cursed at. The tunnel seemed unchanged, but the lights along the ceiling flickered, all the lamps dimming and lighting up to an unheard tune.

A gust of air brushed my face, followed by a rumble and a hiss coming from the other side of the garden.

"What—" I began, but my question was stopped short by a roaring sound—the sound of water.

Lots of water.

A glistening, knee-deep wavefront plowed into the garden's remote end, uprooting the plants and flattening the heaps of earth in its way. It smacked into the ladder without slowing. Some of the whirling mass poured down into the opening there while the rest rushed on towards us. Moments later, it washed over my legs, pelting them with twigs, stones, and mud.

I reached for the wall to steady myself.

Amy just stood there, staring at where the water gushed into the hole at the ladder. As it streamed down, air escaped into the opposite direction, spraying a fountain of droplets against the tunnel's ceiling.

Ed was down there.

And Amy's folks.

I tried to take a step against the current, towards the ladder, but the force of the deluge stopped me.

And what would I do if I got there? I didn't even see the opening anymore.

I looked back at Amy.

She was biting her fist. The water rose over her knees and made her stagger.

"Amy!" I moved towards her, dropping the bloody potatoes and reaching for her hands.

She pulled away and said something. I didn't understand a word over the roar.

Her gaze lingered on the ladder. The opening was now an angry vortex of water, with gusts of air intermittently bubbling up from its center.

A shrub, uprooted by the flow, hurtled towards her. She dodged it and stepped to the wall, using it for support. Then she started moving upstream, towards the mayhem where the ladder was—one step at a time.

I followed and grabbed her arm. "We have to leave. You can't go there."

She looked at me, eyes wide open. Shaking her head, she tore herself free from my grasp and took another step.

The top of the ladder shook, then it tore loose and vanished in the flood. With it went any trace of the passage to the pump room. Now, it was all just a swelling, angry stream.

There was no way we'd ever be able to go down there. Nothing we could do for those we had left behind.

We had to get out of here.

I stepped up to Amy, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her downstream.

She shouted something and smacked me with her other hand, and I lost my grip on her.

For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other.

"Where do we go?" I shouted but wasn't sure if she'd hear me.

The water pulled at my legs.

From one moment to the next, the garden's lights went out. But the dark wasn't complete. A flickery glow came from the candle in its glass box. It still stood on the shelf at the wall. I grabbed it by a large ring going through the top of the box and held it high.

The only way out went with the water flow—the current was gaining strength by the second, and walking against it would be impossible.

Her drenched face was blank. Then it hardened. In a quick motion, she took the light out of my hands. "Come," she yelled and turned away from me, heading downstream.

I followed her and almost fell at the first step. Pain shot up through my hurt foot.

Clenching my teeth, I hobbled on.

We moved along the tunnel, following the flow. The drag made me fight for balance. Amy stumbled, and the hand carrying the candle went down towards the water. But she recovered and steadied herself.

If we lost that light, we'd be in utter darkness. I cringed at the thought.

We reached a junction. The passage continued straight, and the stream pulled me in that direction, but a smaller tunnel branched off to the left. She turned into it. The water was flowing more slowly here.

As I followed her, I was soon submerged up to my chest. This tunnel went downwards.

"Hey, are you sure about this?" I yelled.

She glanced back, her mouth a thin line. "Shut up! It's the only way out."

Ahead, the ceiling was a mere arm's length from the gentle waves. Amy was in up to her shoulders. She held the candle in its box over her head.

I had to force my steps to follow her, hoping she knew her way.

The tunnel turned a corner, and we reached a larger room, some meters across. Walls surrounded us, but there was no ceiling above—just darkness.

Metal rungs ascended along one wall. They led up into the black.

With the water having no exit, the noise was weaker here.

"This is the shaft." Amy pointed upwards, her hand trembling. "It's where I found ye." The water reached her chin now. She waded to the ladder and climbed, clumsily holding on to her light with one hand.

I followed and ascended behind her.

After a few steps, a gurgling sound behind us made me stop and turn my head.

The water had flooded the passage through which we had entered.

"Fuck," Amy said above me, dripping water into my face. Then she continued climbing.

Yes. Fuck.

Unwilling to stay alone in the dark, I followed. Rung after rung, in our little pool of flickering light, we scaled the ladder. I was slow, dragging my aching foot, only pushing upward with my good one.

As we climbed higher, the walls of pockmarked concrete closed in on us, and the shaft grew narrower.

Above me, Amy stopped, and then she moved from the ladder. When I reached her, I found her sitting on a metal grid, her feet dangling from its edge.

Exhausted, I joined her.

"Shite," she said.

A door stood a finger's width ajar behind her, the gap around it illuminated by weak light from the outside. I knew the place. It was where I had entered the shaft.

I got up and crawled over, pushed the door open, and looked outside.

The familiarity of the sight felt unreal. Under the soft nightlight, the huts huddled together at the wall opposite. The chutes were to the right, and the compost heaps and swamps away on the left side. Everything seemed so ordinary, at odds with the wet death in the tunnels beneath.

Smoke curled up from the smithy.

Ed would not be there. Ever again. And Marge didn't know it yet.

Amy pushed me to the side and stuck her head through the door. "It stinks."

"It's dry," I replied. "And it has light."

She pulled her head back, retreating into the shaft.

I followed her moments later and found her sitting at the edge of the metal platform once more. She clasped the candle between her hands, bent forward. Her hair hung in wet strands over the light—a coppery tent glowing from within.

I sat down next to her. "The people down there..." Her mum. But I didn't say that aloud.

The water must have flooded the hall of the pumps and everything within.

"Shite," she repeated. "Shite."

"Is there another way out?" I asked. "For them to escape."

She didn't move nor reply.