Life in the second bunker was very quiet.
I kept to a strict routine. Up at six in the morning, an hour of exercise, a full systems check. Mornings were for working through the books I had stockpiled. Afternoons went to equipment maintenance. Evenings I spent listening to the broadcast, logging whatever news came through about the outside world.
I stopped watching the feed from the first bunker.
But sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night and see it anyway: Dad, pounding on the wall with both fists.
They had chosen to trust strangers. It had cost them everything. I had chosen to survive.
Three months later, the broadcast carried the first piece of good news: a safe zone had been established in the north. Six months after that, the camera signal from the first bunker went dar
