The bunker's silence was deafening. In the faint yellow light of a single bulb hanging overhead, Lena scanned the cramped space. It was barely more than a steel coffin: shelves lined with canned food and bottled water, a cot in the corner, and a weathered desk with a radio perched on it. She tried not to think about how long they might have to stay here—or how unlikely it was anyone else would make it this far.
Caleb broke the silence first. "We can last a month, maybe two. After that…" His voice trailed off, his eyes fixed on the rifle resting against the wall. It wasn't just food and water he was counting—it was time. How long before the riftspawn found them? How long before they ran out of places to hide?
Lena dropped her pack onto the floor and leaned against the cool steel wall. "And then what?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. "Starve? Die in our sleep when the air runs out?"
He didn't answer, and she didn't expect him to. Caleb wasn't a man of false promises, which was one of the reasons she trusted him. He'd been a drifter when they met, scavenging the ruins of Sacramento. She'd almost shot him on sight, mistaking him for one of the looters who'd ransacked her family's home weeks earlier. Instead, they'd found an uneasy alliance born of mutual need. He was good at surviving, and right now, that was the only skill that mattered.
The radio crackled, drawing their attention. It was an old, analog unit with dials that looked as though they'd been through a war. Caleb crossed the room and fiddled with it, his movements tense but precise. Static filled the bunker, punctuated by faint voices that came and went like ghosts.
"…coordinates… repeat… anyone left… Zone Echo…"
The words were fragmented, barely discernible, but Lena's heart leapt. Someone else was alive. She moved closer, her breath quickening.
"Can you boost the signal?" she asked.
Caleb shook his head. "This thing's ancient. I can try to tune it in, but don't get your hopes up."
He adjusted the dials, and the static shifted, the voice growing clearer.
"…Echo base… supplies… survivors… repeat…"
Lena grabbed his arm. "Zone Echo? That's north, isn't it? Near the Rockies?"
Caleb nodded, his brow furrowing. "It's a long way from here, though. And it's not just distance—it's the rifts. They're worse inland. Bigger, more unstable. We might not even make it halfway."
"Do we have another choice?" Lena pressed. "We can't stay here forever."
Caleb didn't respond right away. He leaned back, his hand raking through his hair. "It could be a trap. Or worse, a dead end. Remember Zone Delta? The broadcasts kept playing for days after the riftspawn wiped them out."
She knew he was right, but the alternative—staying here, waiting for death to creep in through the cracks—was unbearable. "If there's even a chance that someone's out there, we have to try. You said it yourself: this bunker won't save us."
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed and stood, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the decision. "We leave at dawn."
Lena nodded, relief washing over her. They had a plan now, however fragile. It was enough to keep the despair at bay for a little while longer.
---
The hours before dawn were restless. Caleb slept fitfully on the cot, his rifle within arm's reach, while Lena sat at the desk, tracing her fingers over the map they'd scavenged weeks ago. The world was a patchwork of red zones and blacked-out areas, the latter marking regions where the rifts had overtaken everything.
Her eyes lingered on Zone Echo, a small circle etched in pencil near the Rocky Mountains. It was a gamble, she knew that. But gambling was better than surrender.
Her thoughts drifted to the creature they'd encountered in the forest. Its void-like gaze still haunted her, a feeling of something pressing into her mind, trying to understand her—or unmake her. She shuddered and pushed the memory away.
A sudden noise jolted her. It was faint, barely audible over the hum of the bunker's ventilation system. A scraping sound, like metal against metal. She froze, her hand instinctively reaching for the knife strapped to her belt.
"Caleb," she whispered, her voice cutting through the stillness.
He was awake instantly, his hand gripping the rifle as he swung his legs off the cot. "What is it?"
She pointed toward the door. The sound came again, louder this time—a deliberate, grating noise that set her teeth on edge.
"Riftspawn?" Caleb mouthed, his eyes narrowing.
Lena shook her head. The riftspawn didn't make sounds like that. They didn't need to. Whatever was out there, it was something else.
The scraping stopped abruptly, replaced by silence so complete it felt oppressive. Caleb moved to the door, his rifle raised, his movements slow and deliberate. Lena followed, her knife at the ready.
Then, without warning, the bunker's lights flickered and died, plunging them into darkness.
"Stay close," Caleb hissed, his voice barely audible.
Lena's pulse thundered in her ears as she strained to see anything in the pitch black. The air felt heavier, as though the rift itself was pressing against the walls, seeping into the cracks. A faint glow appeared at the edges of the door—a sickly, shifting light that pulsed in rhythm with her racing heart.
And then came the voice.
"You cannot run forever."
It wasn't human. It wasn't anything Lena could define. It was a soundless resonance that seemed to vibrate inside her skull, each word tearing at the edges of her sanity.
The glow intensified, and the door began to warp, its steel surface rippling like liquid. Caleb fired, the deafening crack of the rifle echoing in the confined space. The bullet struck the door, but it didn't stop the light—or the voice.
"You are already ours."
Lena's mind reeled as the light began to spill into the bunker, wrapping around them like tendrils of smoke. Her grip on the knife faltered, and she felt herself being pulled—pulled into the light, into the void.
And then everything went black.