Incineration

The door has locked. Somehow. Of course I think he did it on purpose, to save himself. Never underestimate the animal selfishness of the people you love, or who love you most. It’s always there, a sticky layer underneath the good person you try to be, and it boils over in the most desperate moments, just the way it was designed to.

But he swears he did nothing and he sobs heavily, gulping down the preserved air as I feel the oils in my skin moving from the intense heat. My lungs rapidly lose moisture and my mouth and throat are already dry of saliva. My eyes sting. I would be crying too if I wasn’t evaporating.

The bombs continue to fall, ensuring complete incineration of the area. This area, of all places. What offense could we possibly have given to make ourselves a target?

None of us know what these structures are, how long they’ve been here, who had the foresight to build them and make them accessible in this nightmare scenario come true. As everything else collapses, these things remain intact, many of them among the foundations of smoking ruins.

Through a large porthole I can see him dashing around, presumably making a Hail Mary scramble for some hidden control panel that will open the door and let us in. His family. We who had all pushed so hard to survive just this long – what seemed like weeks in the matter of hours – only to arrive and be cut off by the fastest among us.

Did the door close automatically? Why would just one person trigger it to close?

I slump to the ground. Anger rises. In a flash it turns to hate. Stupid, selfish piece of shit. I wish I had left you behind. I wish you had been too injured to come with us, that I could’ve left you to be crushed as you watched the rest of us escape. Fuck you forever. Fuck you fuck you fuck you f—

I hear screaming.

Older members of my family who had doubled over (holy shit we’re dying, we are full on in the process of dying, this is it) stir at the sound. They can do no more.

It continues, unlike anything I’ve ever heard, even in the last few hours. Desperate screaming so driven by bone-deep terror that I doubt it’s human for a moment. But what else could it be because it’s coming from inside the bunker.

I struggle to turn for a look back into the porthole. To see what could possibly be more horrifying in there than what’s out here.

My eyes failing from the heat, I see only red inside. Vibrating red. I squint and see now the white hot coils running along the walls. I barely notice the screaming has stopped, or that the wall I’m leaning against is burning through my clothes.

I hope the whole thing blows up. I’m too weak to remove myself and I don’t deserve better anyway.