So, I saw a comment a couple days ago, considering what it would be like to be in a community of doomsday preppers, planning to repopulate the world. I thought it was interesting, so I took it as a writing prompt. One of the comments suggested I crosspost it here, so here it is. I hope you guys like it.

Olivia half-walked, half-jogged behind her mother as they made their way through the cramped tunnel. This particular part of the complex wasn’t as well-constructed as she would have liked, and she found the uneven metal flooring difficult to walk over in heels. She had never worn heels before; her mother had given them to her only an hour or so ago, along with the dress she now wore as well.

“Hurry up!” snapped Julie, looking over her shoulder at her daughter. “We’re going to be late!” Hardly. Considering when they left their unit, and the brisk pace they were making, they were likely to arrive at the meeting half an hour early. As per usual. Olivia grunted in response, trying to pick up the pace while trying not to stumble over her own feet, or brush her clean new dress against the dusty walls.

“How are you so fucking slow?” shouted Julie again. Olivia didn’t respond, too focused on moving to pay attention to her mother’s biting comments. She supposed she understood why Julie was so aggravated though; today was extremely important. The three hours that were spent getting Olivia looking “presentable” could attest to that.

Eventually, through some miracle, they arrived at the end of the tunnel, finding themselves facing a metal door, adorned with an inactive florescent bulb at the top and a tarnished button to the side; the public elevator. Julie quickly and repeatedly pressed down on the button. In a few moments, the light flickered on and the door slid open. Olivia found herself grabbed by the shoulders and roughly shoved into the small space. Julie stepped in alongside her, and the doors slid shut again.

“You remember what you need to do, right?” snapped Julie, as he began to busy herself fixing Olivia’s hair as the elevator slowly rumbled to life, bringing them down deeper into the complex. “Yes, mother”, said Olivia carefully. Though in truth, she had only been told what not to do. Don’t say anything, don’t touch anything, don’t wander off anywhere, don’t get the dress dirty, and don’t embarrass herself or her mother. Julie had been very insistent on that last point

“Good” muttered Julie. “This is an important day. We won’t get another opportunity like this again”.

Olivia nodded. Her mother was right, in a way. If they could find a suitable… partner… for Olivia, they stood a good chance of finding themselves in higher standing within the Community. And they so desperately needed it. Their unit was in the uppermost shallows of the complex; when the End came, they would find themselves within the permafrost layer and likely freeze to death. The thought of that fate sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine, as did all thoughts about the End. She barely remembered the world above, but the merest inkling of being up there filled her with dread. She knew, as did all members of the Community, that soon, that world would be cleansed in fire and ice, and that the way to survive would be to hide themselves deep down, in the bowels of the earth. That is what the Prophet said.

The elevator groaned, and eventually came to a stop. With a soft screeching sound, the door slid open, and Julie grabbed Olivia’s arm and roughly pulled her outside. This part of the complex was much nicer; instead of the rough metal flooring and hewn stone walls, the large, open room they were in now was nicely tiled, with wooden boards along the walls, into which light fittings had been installed. It was a distinct change to the exposed bulbs and rough, mine-like corridors Olivia was used to.

Julie pulled Oliva onwards, turning down hallways and around corners so quickly that Olivia lost her sense of direction in short order. Eventually, Julie pushed them through a final, particularly grand doorway, and Olivia found herself in a huge room, brightly lit and dominated by a large, long table. All along the walls were canvases depicting scenes from the Prophet’s foretellings. Olivia was amazed by them; it was known throughout the Community that the only person who may paint such things was the Prophet himself. Given the multitude of paintings adorning this room, evidently it was a privilege he enjoyed.

Olivia and Julie were not the only people in the room, however. In the ample space surrounding the table, many people, dressed in fine, formal outfits, were milling around, socialising. Olivia noticed that, much like how her mother had brought her along, most of the adults here were escorting children of their own. She didn’t have much time to look around, however, as Julie grabbed her shoulder and began pointing at some of the other guests.

“You remember who they are?” Julie asked in a low voice, gesturing towards a rather rotund man with a colossal moustache. Olivia nodded.

“Mister Mandrake. He owns a copper mine” she replied.

“Good. And?”

“And he has a son, sixteen years old”

“Good” said Julie, before pointing to another guest, seemingly at random. Olivia looked over, nodding again.

“That’s Missus Sheerhart. She was the one who bought the land for the complex. She has twin daughters, both eighteen years old” Olivia recited. Julie nodded, seemingly satisfied, before turning away, moving towards some of the other guests.

“Just stay behind me and keep your mouth shut” she muttered. Olivia followed.

The following fifteen minutes were perhaps the most boring of Olivia’s life. She dutifully followed her mother around as she made small talk with various guests, though she never approached the ones that she had laboriously instructed Olivia on, preferring to socialise with people she didn’t recognise, and presumably weren’t as important.

Her mind wandered. She found herself staring at one of the paintings on the wall. It was one of many showing the events of the End, depicting a colossal, angular shape descending from the sky as a great force ripped the earth below apart, stripping away trees and soil and sending them hurtling into the sky. Olivia shuddered; she recognised this scene as “the Reclamation”, where the Elder Beings from beyond the stars would come to retake the life they had bestowed upon the earth. Staring at the canvas, she pondered the fate of those left above. Would any survive the Reclamation? Perhaps some would, and they would surely perish in the Cleansing to follow, or the Freezing after that…

Olivia felt a sharp pain in her back. She twisted around to see that her mother had just elbowed her, and was gazing very intently at something Olivia couldn’t see through the crowd. Why was it so quiet? Everyone seemed to be staring at the same point; as subtly as she could, she moved to a spot she could peek through the crowd. She saw the doors to the room swing open, and a few newcomers stride inside.

Her breath caught in her throat. Walking into the room, wearing a suit of simple black, was the Prophet. She recognised him from the pictures in her unit; he was a man in his late thirties, with a full black beard and eyes the colour of steel. He was flanked by two Shepherds; the Shepherd of Industry, Gerald Mortinson, on his right, and the Shepherd of Community, Beatrice Smith, on his left. The three figures cut cleanly through the silent room, eventually reaching the far end of the room and seating themselves at the table. The room remained silent, until the Prophet raised his hand, and finally spoke.

“Hello” he intoned. His voice sounded like rich honey, flowing through the air. A nervous ripple of sound echoed through the room as a few people squeaked out greetings in response. Sitting just to the right of the Prophet, Shepherd Mortinson rolled his eyes, and slammed his fist down on the table, before inhaling a deep breath.

“HELLO!” the Shepherd bellowed, before laughing out to the silent room. A few chuckles could be heard throughout the crowd, which slowly picked up in volume until everyone in the room was laughing wholeheartedly. Squinting her eyes, Olivia could have sworn she saw the Prophet smile.

After a few moment, the laughter died down, and the Prophet raised his hand to speak again. The room fell quiet once more, but the atmosphere was much less tense this time. “Please, take your seats” said the Prophet, and there was an immediate rush of noise as people scrambled forward. Olivia felt Julie grab her arm, and was roughly shoved forward through the crowd. Soon, she was seated between her mother, and a grey-haired woman she didn’t recognise.

“It’s good to see you all” said the Prophet, gesturing towards the crowd. “So many of you have chosen to answer my summons. That is reason to celebrate”. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“I have something to share with you. The Elder Beings have granted me a new vision” continued the Prophet, and another wave of low murmurs echoed through the room. The Prophet gestured towards the entrance of the room, and from the doorway, Olivia saw another man emerge, carrying a large, square object she quickly recognised as a canvas. He was a young man, with thick black hair and creases around his eyes, a large scar running horizontally across his forehead. The man’s appearance had an effect on the crowd; a wave of alarmed gasps and mutterings swept through the room the moment he stepped in. Heedless, the man stepped forward, and held up the canvas for all to see.

It was nice. Nothing special, as far as Olivia thought. The canvas showed a single tree, stripped of its leaves, covered in a thick layer of frost. All around the tree, men and women lay dead and dying, desperately clutching at each other and reaching out to the frozen bark with withered, decaying hands. An indistinct, yet loud noise of the various guests expressing approval and amazement sounded throughout the room, which died down as the Prophet raised his hand, and the nameless man lay the canvas down on the table.

“The Elder Beings have shown me another vision of the End” intoned the Prophet, his voice ringing through the room. “They have shown me the last few heretics who survive, until the Freezing comes, and the cold takes them away.

“They have chosen to remind us of the fate we suffer if we are not prepared for the End. Of the futility of defiance against their will, and the nobility of our path. We are the Community, and it is our sacred charge to reclaim the world after the End, and prepare it for their glorious return. “The End is coming” he continued, and the words were echoed by every guest seated. Olivia joined in, murmuring them in a voice she was uncertain could be heard by anyone other than herself.

“But rejoice!” spoke the Prophet, raising his voice, and his hands, gesturing grandly towards the guests. “For we are here today to plan. Today we discuss alliance, and unity in the face of oblivion. Let us guide our sons and daughters, so that the lands above will once again be known by the faithful”. At that, he lowered his hands, and the various people seated around the table began to talk.

And talk they did. Olivia tried to remain attentive, but listening to her mother gossip about her neighbours made her feel sick to her soul. As her attention waned, she picked up a few scraps of dialogue from around her.

“…improperly shielded cargo elevator. Never survive the Cleansing. I don’t see…”

“…far too expensive for the likes of him. Now geothermal, on the other hand…”

“…care how you manage it. But if my son doesn’t have at least four children by the sixth year, I’ll…”

Olivia yawned, her eyes roving around, eventually setting on the nameless man who had brought the new canvas in. He was sitting near the Prophet, just beside Shepherd Smith, casually leafing through a small book. Olivia frowned, puzzled. He was the only one not talking to anybody; even the Prophet was conversing with his Shepherds, what was up with this guy?

“…the permafrost. If I could get decent ventilation in my unit, I could maybe…”

“…now that’s just improper. The Prophet has made his opinions clearly known. It must be both…”

“...damn mushrooms won’t grow. Higgins is getting chickens, did you know? Shepherd Annabelle…”

The guests were up and moving now. Olivia rolled her eyes over, checking to make sure her mother was still seated, which she was. She glanced back over at the Prophet and his companions. They appeared to be taking questions from some of the guests who had approached them. The Prophet himself had turned in his chair, and was talking to one of the guests’ children; a young boy that looked at once overjoyed and terrified.

“…just refuses to properly service him. Shallow families like that are just…”

“…heretic doesn’t know how to properly appreciate what he has. I don’t know why the Prophet…”

“…UP, GIRL. I SAID STAND UP!”

Olivia felt a hand smack against the back of her head. She turned, and saw her mother glaring at her with a look on her face that suggested she was contemplating murder. Mentally dragging herself back to attentiveness, she replied.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Stand UP, fool girl. Mister Clairmont wants to take a look at you” snapped her mother, gesturing towards the table at a man Olivia actually did recognise. Jonathan Clairmont, a man in his late sixties, with a scraggly white beard and black, beady eyes, was looking at her appraisingly. Slowly, Olivia nodded, and stood up from the table.

“Hm…” said the old man. “Turn around, girl”. Olivia did so, slowly rotating on the spot, feeling extremely uncomfortable under the man’s intent gaze.

“How old is she?” asked Clairmont, looking back at Julie.

“Fourteen” replied Julie. “Sit back down, girl” she said, gesturing towards Olivia’s seat. Olivia quickly took it, thankful for the opportunity to hunch over and stare intently at the tablecloth. Julie and Clairmont continued to talk, but Olivia did her best to ignore them. After what felt like an eternity, the room fell silent again as the Prophet raised his hand.

It wasn’t the Prophet who spoke, however. Seated to his left, Shepherd Smith called out into the silence in a loud, shrill voice; “bring out the food!”

At that moment, the doors slid open and a wave of people walked in, carrying trays laden with food. Olivia thought she recognised a few; some of the servers were from the same shallow section of the complex as her. She sunk as far down in her seat as she reasonably could, not wanted to be recognised herself.

The food trays were swiftly placed on the table, along with plates and cutlery. The servers filed out, and after a word of approval from the Prophet, the guests began to eat.

Olivia waited, doing nothing as she watched the people around her pile their plates high. She recognised most of the foods served; potatoes, carrots and other such things grown in the soil, roasted and steamed and made into soups. She glanced at her mother, who glared at her in response and gestured towards a nearby array of dishes, before beginning to serve herself. Eventually, she ended up serving herself a bowl of mushroom soup and sat nursing it for the next half hour as the people around her continued to gossip. After a tortuous, uncounted number of minutes, she felt a sting in her ribs as Julie not-too-subtly elbowed her to get her attention. Supressing a scowl, Olivia turned to face her.

“Socialise” muttered Julie under her breath, “get out there as sell yourself”. Olivia nodded, mentally noting her mother wouldn’t particularly care how literally she took that instruction. Stepping away from the table and avoiding the stare of Mister Clairmont, she looked around for someone to talk to.

…Fuck, she thought, I don’t know how to do this.

Meandering throughout the crowd, she supposed she was meant to be meeting people, but everyone looked too busy or too important for the likes of her. She stopped moving as she felt her heart rate rise; she really didn’t want to disappoint her mother, and she certainly didn’t want to freeze to death when the End came, but she had no clue what to do.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, paralysed by indecision. She wanted to go home. She wanted to curl up in bed and never get out. She wanted-

“Want some soup?”

Olivia twitched. Was that voice directed at her? She looked around, and found herself dangerously close to the Prophet’s seat, with the nameless man from before staring at her, having not yet moved from his seat.

“Um… er…” she stammered, as her brain desperately tried to find the right words. The man grinned, and gestured to the empty seat next to him. Olivia took it, acting automatically. “So, that’s a no to the soup, then?” he said, but continuing before waiting for an answer. “I don’t blame you, it’s pretty foul. They must have used the wrong strain of ‘shroom again”

Olivia nodded, not really following. The man continued.

“I wanted to call ‘em plump helmets, but dear leader over there-” he said, gesturing towards the Prophet, “-thought that he was better at naming things. So now they’re called ‘grand mushrooms’, as if that was any better”. The man grinned, and extended his hand to Olivia, she took it, still unsure what she was doing.

“The name’s Emmett. And yours?”

“O-Olivia”

“Pleased to meetcha” he said, shaking her hand firmly before turning back to his own bowl of soup. Olivia stared at him for a few moments before finally coming up with something to say.

“What do you mean, name them?” she asked, almost recoiling as Emmett’s head whipped around to face her.

“The mushrooms of course. I wanted to name them”

“But… they’re mushrooms”

“Yeah, they are. But I figured, since I made them and all, I should get to name them. But apparently no one appreciates my talent for naming things”

“You… made them?”

“Yup” he replied, puffing his chest out. “It wasn’t easy, but we needed a staple crop that was easy to grow down here and could keep us all from dying of malnutrition. Hence, mushrooms the size of dinner plates”

Olivia paused. Something was ticking over in her head, something wasn’t quite right. Emmett stared at her, head cocked to one side, his grin slowly widening as it dawned on her.

“Y-You’re the heretic!” She sputtered out, eyes widening. The heretic, as he was known in the community, was a man that the Prophet had brought with him to the community, but didn’t believe that the End was coming. The Prophet had declared he was somehow vital to their future however, and his presence was tolerated. Olivia had never seen him before though.

“Are you scared, little girl?” asked Emmett, leaning in and grinning in a manner Olivia was beginning to find unnerving.

“N-no”

“I don’t believe you. Don’t worry though, you’re safe with me. I don’t hurt little girls, unlike some people I know” he said, his voice turning sour. Olivia hesitated, uncertain what to say.

“I guess you’re here to be matched up, then?” he said, his voice cold. Olivia nodded, and he sighed.

“Do you know who?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No. Mother wants me to meet someone from a lower section” she replied.

“Of course she does. And what do you want?”

“I…” Olivia hesitated, before replying, “I don’t want to die in the cold”.

Emmett sighed again. A long, tired sound that didn’t sound right coming from a man as apparently young as he was. “You won’t die” he muttered.

“If I don’t meet someone, I will” she replied.

“No, you won’t. That’s… Ah, what’s the point?” he said, turning away, back towards his soup. “Go on, kid. Find someone rich fucker who’ll let his son fill you full of fucking kids to fucking repopulate the fucking stupid fucking earth” he snapped, and Olivia quickly stepped up out of her chair and turned to go. Before she stepped away, however, Emmett spoke again.

“Hey, wait. Olivia, right?” he said. Olivia stopped, turning to face him, and nodded slowly. He nodded in reply.

“You can… if you’re worried about the cold, I can drop by and fix something up. A heater or something. I can’t get you a new place to stay, but… would that be alright?” he said, strangely hesitantly. Seconds passed agonisingly slowly as Olivia thought.

“…Okay” she said, quietly. Emmett nodded, and turned back, away from her. Olivia began to move away, resuming her search for someone to talk to.

The heretic was wrong. She needed this. She was not going to die when the End came.