In the end, the world did not end with a bang, nor with a whimper. It simply died.

Micah stumbled through the door with a grunt, the searing pain of his back causing him to double over as debris, molten and excruciating, struck his hunched figure. It was all he could muster simply to push the heavy slab of steel shut behind him, and when he had done so, he slowly slid down onto the ground, matted hair dripping with sweat. For a few, long minutes he simply lay there, letting the pain of the calamity outside fade along with his rapid pulse. Slowly, he began to move. Even more slowly, he got to his feet.

The bunker was much as he had expected; brute concrete and plain, naked walls opening up into a low, vaulted space about the size of a swimming pool. Even here, the force of what was happening outside had spilled over, and several pieces of the concrete ceiling had fallen and shattered, creating an obstacle course of uneven, crunching ground beneath his feet. It seemed like some kind of ante-chamber, and Micah imagined what it would have looked like, packed with refugees as had been intended. Hundreds of them, slowly being sluiced through the massive door on the other side of the room, to find a new life underground. A safe haven for the masses. A Shelter.

It had never happened. The end, when it came, did not leave room for evacuation. Micah could still feel the fear coursing through him as he walked unsteadily towards the entrance proper, each step causing his legs to shake with the post-stress of adrenaline. It had been so fast; one minute, gazing up at the sun, huge and red in the sky, and then-- the chaos. The panic. Micah had never seen destruction of that scale before... or death, that up-close. Screams. Wails, pleading cries for mercy, for clemency, for help. And his pulse beating in his ears as he ran, ran, ran for the only cover he knew might be safe. Running. Sprinting. Leaving his friends and neighbors behind, leaving them to die--

The door felt cool against his hand, and Micah watched as his fingers shook with the after-image of what he had seen. A faint rumbling came from behind him, and the lean man cast a glance back at the place he had come from. How long would the door hold? How long until even this place became untenable? Wasn't he just prolonging the inevitable by sheltering down here, in what would undoubtedly become his private, lonesome tomb?

Micah scowled and pushed the gloomy thoughts away. No time to dwell. It was survival, at least for now. With some effort, he managed to maneuver the heavy blast door open just enough to allow himself to slink inside, and then he pulled it shut, until the heavy metal slammed shut with a satisfying bass sound. It was the sound of safety, of protection, but Micah couldn't help but feel that it was as much a death-knell as anything else. As he began to slowly stagger deeper into the bunker, the sound seemed to follow him long after it had already passed, and when it finally faded, it was replaced with an eerie silence that was only broken by his own, uneven footsteps. He was alone now. Truly and utterly alone.

At least there was furniture here. In contrast to the antechamber, the interior of the bunker proved quite comfortable, cozy, even, with rugs and soft seats softening the depth of the silence as Micah shuffled past. He had no idea of the layout of the place, but it seemed that everything was connected to a central hallway that was furnished stylishly with plastic potted plants, a few works of gauche pop-art and a bench here and there for relaxing. As he progressed, Micah noticed that the floor was subtly slanted downwards, and he realized that the bunker must stretch deep beneath the earth, much larger than he had expected. Then again, you wouldn't pour several hundred people into a bunker to leave them packed like rats, would you? It seemed that whoever had designed the place had cared about the people who would one day inhabit it. Large, open areas, flowing water fountains, plastic greenery-- what irony, mused Micah, that only one person would ever get to experience it. All the space in the world, and no one to share it with. He sighed. Softly, the sound reverberated back at him, like ghosts caressing his cheeks. He trudged on.

Eventually, he arrived at what could best be described as a mix between a mess hall and a cafeteria. Rows of tables and benches lined the floor, and on the far wall was a counter and tools for serving food, as well as a door frame leading to a kitchen. With a groan, Micah settled on the nearest bench, and stretched his legs carefully. There were burns along the shins and thighs, and his trousers were tattered where molten debris had struck him. Gingerly, he poked a finger at a hole the size of a quarter that had been burned into his thigh, and winced at the pain. There was what looked like a scrap of brick stuck in the wound, but until now, he had barely noticed it. Gently, he nudged his fingernail beneath it and pulled it out. Underneath, the flesh was charred and cauterized. A tiny crater of injury that would undoubtedly take a long time to heal. Well, he had time. In fact, it was the only thing he had left to him now.

"Uhm... hello?"

The voice came out of nowhere, and Micah jerked and started, swiveling his neck around to locate the source. It was a woman, roughly his own age, with long, auburn hair and a faintly heart-shaped face sporting wide, nervous eyes. She was wearing a gray hoodie, black leggings and sneakers, and in her hands she held a large pipe wrench, the steel shiny and pristine. It had clearly never been used, but Micah kept his eye on it as he slowly turned to face the woman. Pointedly, he held up his hands and made an effort to look up at her face, instead of at her weapon. He smiled weakly.

"Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

The woman tried and failed to stifle a smirk, and jerked her head in a faint shrug. "Yeah, you don't look in any condition to hurt me. Are you okay?"

Micah nodded, and slowly lowered his hands. Rather than stand up, he leaned back and splayed out his legs, letting the pain gnaw at the corners of his mind while he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Yeah," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "I'm fine. They're just scrapes, really. I'm Micah. And you are...?"

The auburn girl shot him a quizzical look, and then went over and took a seat at a bench opposite Micah's, letting the wrench rest easily between her legs.

"I know who you are. We went to high school together-- don't you remember? Rebecca?"

Micah narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he recognized her; Rebecca Ahlman, the perky, pretty book worm with whom he had shared a few classes. It had been a while since he last saw her, and even then, he had never spoken with her in person. She had been, as far as he had been concerned, one of the background characters of the drama-filled years that were high school. Now, eight years later, it was strange to see her again. Especially here, of all places.

"Right.. yeah, of course. Sorry. Rebecca. I remember. It's... been a while."

The woman smiled and shrugged. "Eight years, give or take? I know we never really spoke much, but.. I recognized you instantly. I honestly thought you moved away after high school, to New York or something."

Micah nodded. It was strange to be having a conversation like this after everything that had happened, but he found it oddly comforting. A semblance of normalcy among all this havoc.

"I did, actually. Spent four years as a photographer in Long Beach. Moved back here when the money dried up. Competition's fierce out there..."

Rebecca smiled, but it was a faint expression. She cocked her head and stared at Micah's injuries, while the wrench bounced absently between her fingers.

"I never got to visit New York," she said wistfully. "Stuck around here to help out my folks, running the business. Always planned on going but.. never got around to it." She sniffed, and her gaze fell to the ground between them. "Guess it's too late now. Whatever's happened here probably wasn't just a local phenomenon. It's.. I honestly didn't think anyone else would come."

Micah frowned. "I saw it. The sun... whatever it was, it definitely hit everywhere."

Rebecca glanced back at him. "How did you make it here?"

"I ran." He shrugged, averted his eyes. "I was close by, and I figured..."

"Yeah." Rebecca let the wrench thump down on the hard floor and nodded solemnly. "That was probably the right thing to do."

Staring at his new companion for a prolonged moment, Micah groaned and staggered back onto his feet. Now that he had had some time to rest, he felt the aches and pains of his injuries more potently than before, and the walk over to the kitchen was slow and fraught with pauses. Still, Rebecca did not offer to help; she simply observed him at he made it over to the kitchen counter, where he located - as he had suspected - a pristine first aid kit. Carefully, he picked out tweezers, gauze and a few other remedies, and then staggered back to the nearest table, where he began to gingerly tend to his wounds. After a few moments, Rebecca stood up and walked over to join him.

"I guess no one else is coming." It was a statement, not a question, and Micah simply grunted in assent. Bits of rubble were now littering the ground between his feet, with more than a few flecks of blood staining his fingers and clothes. Every movement made him wince in pain, but he simply gritted his teeth and kept working, while Rebecca gazed at him with furrowed brows.

"You ought to let me do that." Her voice was soft but commanding, and Micah did not protest as she stepped up and took the tweezers out of his hand. Quickly, Rebecca gathered the first aid kit in her hand, and then reached out her other hand towards him. "Come on. You gotta lie down."

The walk to the dormitories was brief but painful, and as Micah was about to throw himself down on the nearest bed, Rebecca stopped him with a tug on his wrist. "Pants off," she murmured, and then shot him an icy stare as he gawked at her, clearly uncertain about her motives.

"We need to bandage your wounds, and tend to the ones on the back of your legs that you can't reach yourself. Don't get any ideas; it's been a long time since high school."

Micah did not quite understand what she meant, but he only hesitated briefly before undoing his belt and dropping his trousers to the floor. Then, carefully, he got on the bed and laid down on his stomach, trying in vain to keep the wounds in his legs from grating too hard against the uncomfortable mattress. Meanwhile, Rebecca pulled up a chair, and slowly Micah began to relax as her fingers traced delicately over his legs, seeming to soothe the pain wherever they went. For a while, the sound of debris clinking onto the concrete floor was the only thing that broke the silence between them, and Micah focused on trying his hardest not to wince whenever the tweezers dug into his charred flesh. At the same time, he struggled to think of anything to say to her; the shock of what had happened was still embedded deep in him, and he felt a slight tinge of shame at having not recognized the perky brunette earlier. Still.. it had been eight years. How was he supposed to remember everyone from that far back?

"None of these are too bad." Rebecca's voice broke the silence after a long while, and Micah nodded, feeling less certain in her deduction than she did.

"Have you done this often? Tending to injuries, I mean?"

She shrugged, although he was facing away from her. "Some. Treated my dad when he cut himself on the band saw two years ago. And when I lost my pinkie last year."

Micah made a surprised noise. "I didn't notice you were missing a finger."

"I don't advertise it. And I guess a lot can happen in eight years." A slight jab made Micah wince, and then he felt the sensation of gauze being rolled tightly around his calf. For a few seconds, he simply groaned with pain, but then she tied off the bandage, and a sense of relief began to pour through him. At the next roll of gauze, he was prepared, and soon he was bound in four or five places across both legs, securing the wounds and making him feel like a caricature of a Halloween mummy. Laboriously, he rolled onto his back, and looked up at Rebecca with his dark eyes. She seemed aloof, distant, but then, she had probably seen some shit today, too. Lost someone. Someone special, perhaps.

"Look..."

Micah perched himself on his elbows, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain shooting through him.

"I don't know what you've been through today, but... I'm glad you made it. I can't imagine being alone down here. I think I'd go stir crazy in hours if I had to--"

"I was already here." Rebecca leveled her hard gaze at him, and despite her beautiful features, she seemed remarkably unfriendly. "I've been living here a few weeks, actually. My own, personal refuge from... from everything."

Micah blinked. "Oh.. I see. But why? Or.. how? Isn't it normally locked off?"

She shrugged. "I'm on the board of trustees for the shelter project. We all have keys. Why do you think the door was open for you? If I hadn't been here, no one would have been able to enter."

She got to her feet, and began to carry the chair back where she'd found it. Micah followed her with his eyes, trying (and failing) to ignore her well-proportioned body in the process. Her clothes were not much of a fashion statement, but they fit her perfectly, and idly, Micah tried to remember if he had ever noticed how gorgeous she was back when they had been in school together. Probably he had, but he'd had other things to do. Other girls. Better ones.

"I guess I owe you my life, then." It was meant to be a joke, but it came off awkward and stilted. Rebecca glanced his way, but said nothing. Micah sighed. "I do mean it, you know. I'm thankful. For all of your help. And.. of all the people to have with me down here, I'm glad it's someone I know."

Rebecca didn't answer. Rather, she simply snorted, mumbled something to herself and picked up the first aid kit. In seconds, she was gone out the door, and Micah could hear her footsteps reverberate among the empty halls as she walked back to the kitchen. He frowned, and tried to figure out what he had said. When he found that he couldn't, he instead laid back and closed his eyes. The pain was a dull throb in the back of his spine down, and he felt weary beyond belief. He didn't want to sleep, but.. a few moments' rest would be nice. Just until she came back. Just.. a bit.

He awoke to the smell of tomato soup. Groggily, he looked up and saw Rebecca placing a bowl of steaming red liquid next to his bed, along with two small rolls of bread. Micah sat up, but found that his legs would not support his weight. Before he could speak, the auburn woman had retreated back out of the dorm, and left him alone with the food. Puzzled, but unable to turn down a meal, Micah ate. Then, he laid back down, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the thoughts of what had happened just prior to his arrival at the bunker. He shut his eyes and forced himself to sleep. Anything was better than remembering. Anything was better than listening to the screams.

It was impossible to tell the time within the bunker. With the fluorescent lights keeping a constant, monotone light, he could only measure time by the meals he was given, which were plentiful, but basic and mostly tasteless. Rebecca said little; she seemed to be avoiding him, and while the room he was in held more than twenty beds, she did not sleep there. Then again, there had to be numerous dorms like this, and while Micah could not figure out why the girl had taken a dislike to him, he found that his more immediate concern was that of boredom. More than once, he spent several hours trying to weakly hobble out of the dormitory in search of something to do. A book, a gaming console, anything to while away the hours. Eventually, Rebecca seemed to take mercy on him, and brought him a small stack of lifestyle magazines. They were dull and overly glossy, but it was better than nothing. Interior decorating, gardening tips, cocktail recipes and the occasional interview with some vapid TV personality-- even as Micah began to read the stack anew for the third time, he felt that it was at least something to occupy his mind. And all the while, he was healing. It still hurt, but less than before, and each trip to the dorm-adjacent bathroom hurt slightly less. In that, at least, there were good news.

Days passed. How many, Micah had no idea, but they passed in relative monotony. The food was mostly the same; rehydrated soup, frozen rolls and loaves of bread, cold cuts and soy-substitute meat products. Gradually, he began to stop trying to get Rebecca to talk. She seemed to have recalled some animosity towards him, and every time they laid eyes upon one another, she seemed more tetchy and aloof than ever. It wasn't until the fifth day - Micah reasoned it had to be the fifth, because it was the fifth bowl of soup he had eaten - when he awoke to find Rebecca sitting at the edge of his bed, gazing down at him with her large, mysterious eyes. She had dimmed the lights - she did that sometimes, presumably to mirror the passing of the day and night - and she said nothing as she stared at him, but when she realized that he was awake, she seemed to straighten her back slightly, as if puffing herself up for a fight. Micah frowned up at her, and then attempted a conciliatory smile.

"Hey..."

She did not reply for a while. When she did, her voice was tinged with something that Micah wasn't sure was anger or sorrow.

"You're awake."

He shrugged and allowed himself a grin. "Yeah.. been sleeping a lot these past few days. Figure I gotta be pretty well rested by now."

Rebecca made a moue, and leaned back on her chair. "I figured it was time."

"Time? For what?"

She smiled softly. "To wean you off the pain meds. I've been giving you a bit of valerian root with your dinner to help you sleep. No better way to heal than to let your body to it for you."

Micah frowned. "Valerian? You mean you drugged me?"

For the first time in days, Rebecca cracked a smile. "Hardly. It's just a herbal remedy. It makes you drowsy, nothing else. It's not like I roofied your soup to take advantage of you."

Micah shifted on the bed, and drew himself up on his arms. "Okay... well, I guess I would have liked to be informed beforehand all the same. It's nice to know what I'm putting in my body, you know?"

She nodded, but did not seem particularly troubled. "Of course. I'm sorry. I just figured..." She paused, searching for the words. When they refused to come, she shut her mouth, sighed, and cast her gaze down at her hands in her lap.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've been... ever since what happened, I've been a mess. And seeing you here..."

Micah cocked his head, curiosity painted on his features. "Yes? What about me?"

Their gaze met, and Rebecca smiled a plaintive little smile. "I don't know.. I guess it just makes me all the more aware of everything I've lost. Like there is this little part of my past in you that still tethers me to everything that's gone, out there. You know?"

Micah nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. Did you... did you lose anyone important?"

She snorted with amusement. "No. Not except for my mom and dad. I was married for a while, but it didn't last. He left two years ago. Been no one else since." She glanced down at him. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "No. Never. I was always too busy with work. But.. my brother. I think about him a lot."

She nodded. "Yeah. Yoel, right? I remember him. He'd always wait outside of school for you to walk him home."

Micah laughed, but his heart ached at the memory. "Yeah... he always was an entitled little piece of shit." Micah's voice trembled, and he struggled to bring it back under control. "I hope he didn't suffer."

Rebecca glanced at him in the darkness, her eyes reflecting the light from the doorway. "He was lucky to have you," she said softly, and Micah nodded, even as tears began to sting his eyes. He gulped back a whimper, and then asked, voice shaking despite his best efforts:

"Are we the only ones left?"

Rebecca didn't answer. For a while, she simply sat with her hands in her lap, while tears flowed down Micah's face and onto the sheets. He did his best not to sob, but his breaths came out in deep, shuddering gasps, each one a labor of restraint against the tide of sadness that crept up against his mind. It was all coming back to him, the screams, the heat, the faces of those he had known all his life crumbling to ash around him; the surge of fear and momentary madness, the instinctive drive to get away, to get to safety, the shame of leaving them behind... of leaving them all behind.

Her hand found his. She squeezed it, for a long time, and when his tears seemed to abate, she held his hand in hers like an anchor, letting him drift, but never disappear, against the waves of his sorrow. Eventually, he shut his eyes and breathed deep, and she withdrew her hand, leaving his to fall limply against the side of the bed. He swallowed, hard, and tried to steady himself. It was an uphill battle. Everything felt like an uphill battle.

"Micah..."

He opened his eyes. She was standing, looking down at him, and as he looked, she slid her thumbs into the waistband of her black tights and slid them down over her thighs, exposing naked flesh in the darkness of the dormitory. As he gawked, unable to express the confusion on his mind, she slid them off and left them in a puddle on the floor, and then she climbed onto the bed, straddling him until he could feel the weight of her on his hips, and the heat that radiated from her body onto his. He felt her, alive and breathing, the first touch he had felt in months, and despite himself, he felt his manhood stir, growing hard and proud against her slender body. Micah stared up at her, speechless, and watched as she reached down and tugged at his underwear, until his cock was free from the constraining fabric. Then she placed two fingers around his shaft, angled him up towards her, and slowly slid him home. Slowly, slowly, until he was nestled to the hilt inside her, and her body was pressed into his at the point of their union. Micah groaned, trying to ignore the pain, and let his hands find her hips. Gradually, she begin to shift against him, drawing herself up before sinking back down, in long, smooth motions. He let her. His eyes were fixed on hers, and hers on his. Slowly, they fell into a gentle rhythm.

"You know..." Her voice was little more than a murmur. "I used to hate you. I used to hate you because you would not look my way. I used to wish you would talk to me, and be with me... I couldn't fathom being as cool as you were.."

Micah sighed. The pleasure was intense, but the tinge of pain from his wounds kept him tethered to the moment, committed to savoring it - and her - for as long as possible.

"I was a mess back then." For the first time in his life, Micah found it easy to be sincere. "I put on this facade of being cool, but deep down, I was a nervous wreck..."

Rebecca smiled. "I know. I've grown up a lot since then. I learned to recognize the truth for what it is."

"Yeah?" Micah dug his fingers into her thighs, feeling her presence like a weight that drove out everything but the immediate here and now of slow, intimate lovemaking. "I wish you'd told me..."

"Some things, you have to figure out on your own. I guess I was curious to see if you'd done any growing up, in your time in New York."

Her pace quickened slightly, and Micah felt his cock jerk with the need for release, trapped and held between her tight, slick lips. He tensed his thighs slightly and met her next movement with a buck of his own, letting her rolling hips meet his in a tandem of coordinated pleasure. Rebecca moaned softly, and her hands came down to touch his chest, steadying herself on his ribs as her movements grew deeper and more pronounced.

"Mmh.." Micah couldn't resist a grin. "And have I, then?"

Rebecca shrugged. Her cheeks were blushing in the dark, and Micah could see the way her breasts swayed rhythmically beneath her shirt, plump and inviting. He let one hand shift away from her hip, and slid it instead up beneath her bulky hoodie. His thumb and forefinger found her nipple, stiff and hard with the sensation of their pleasure, and pinched it gently, causing her to gasp and moan. He could feel her movements growing more insistent, and despite the strain of ignoring his aching bandages, he met her body with the full force of his own need, letting the sensation of her tight cunt grinding around his shaft carry him away from the pain of the past days. He let his hand roll the sizeable breast around in his palm, and leaned his head back. Eyes closed, Micah waited to release, and from above him, Rebecca's voice drifted down, hoarse and tinged with lust. She was close. Even if he'd never slept with her before, he could tell that she was close.

"I haven't decided yet... but I guess time will tell."

A roll of her hips, the pointed drag of feminine sex against the base of his cock; a low moan, accompanied by the fingers on his chest digging, claw-like, against his skin. Another rolling motion, glorying in the sensation of being connected, tethered to life and survival through one another, and then then sudden, almost surprised gasp as she reached her peak and tumbled off into a void of her own creation, her body tensing and jerking atop his as she came, hard, around him. The rippling tightness of her cunt swallowing his length hungrily, and Micah's hands suddenly guiding her against him, taking charge in the midst of her mindless pleasure. Her hard nipple pushing against the palm of his hand, and the clenching need of her sex around him, and the sensation of pulling her down by the hip to be speared heavily atop his cock, until the only recourse left to him was to let go and unleash himself inside her, pumping and throbbing a pulsing release between her legs. Bliss, pure-white and electric behind his eyelids, and lasting far longer than ever before in his life. The faint cries of her orgasmic joy atop him, and the radiant pleasure of emptying himself into her willing body.

Climax. And then, in the minutes after, their bodies snuggled together, hers atop his, while his manhood shrunk and slid gracelessly from inside her. Micah was panting, heaving, as if the act of orgasm had been like running a marathon. Meanwhile, Rebecca laid her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat as it slowly calmed down, a smile on her face as her body tingled and buzzed with the afterglow of pleasure. Tentatively, Micah reached up and stroked a hand through her hair, and when she did not protest, he continued, wrapping one arm around her waist while petting her gently with the other. His head hurt, and there was a pleasant heaviness behind his eyes, but in the moment, he simply felt a happiness that he had not felt since leaving the surface. He sighed softly, and felt Rebecca stir atop of him.

"You okay?"

She made a contented noise.

"Yeah... I think so. Yeah."