These metal walls cradled us within the embrace of the earth, the bombs pounding the surface above. Shell after shell rained down, but mother earth protected us. Too deep underground for the radiation to leak in, and with enough food and water to last the two of us years, we were safe, my beloved and I.

We had little to our names down here beside the essentials. A tattered American flag hung on the wall of what we now called our living room. On our way down from the surface I managed to grab my old military uniform, a purple medal still clinging to the tattered fabric. It had been several years since I had even worn the damned thing, but any memory of the outside would be cherished in these coming months– or years. My beloved had been smarter, getting a photo album from her bedroom as we fled the house. In the first weeks she poured it, her tears staining every photo as we remembered what was lost

But no matter, we were safe here. She was safe here. That’s all I cared for.

There was another thing I kept, hastily grabbed from my desk drawer before the first of the bombs hit several miles to the north. I held it in my hand now: a ring. It was a dainty thing, made from silver and cradling a ruby cut like a heart. I had saved up months for the thing; I knew she’d love it. Red was her favorite color after all – and mine too. She would always wear the red lipstick and dresses I bought her, her red hair smelled like red roses, her cheeks glowed red when she smiled.

We had lost track of time down here– the one thing we forgot was a clock. The bunker had enough power to keep the lights on for a decade straight, but we turned them off and on every so often to try and simulate day and night, opting instead to use the flashlights at night to navigate the halls.

It was ‘evening’ now, and half of the bunker lights were off. I sat on an old couch in our ‘living room,’ the light from a small kitchenette on my left illuminating the space just enough to overpower the glow of the television static. Between the couch and kitchenette was a hallway, darkened for the evening, which connected several rooms: A bedroom, storage room, utility room, and bathroom.

I had joked near the start of this mess that we were living more comfortably than most people were in an apartment, between square footage and amenities at least. It was funny at the time, but as time dredged on it only began to feel smaller. Even with just two of us we felt cramped. Though, it would only get more cramped soon…

What I can only guess was three weeks ago, I found a pregnancy test, used, in the trash can. It was buried in bloody tissues and crumpled up toilet paper, but I still found it. Positive, it said. My beloved had asked what was taking so long in the bathroom, and I just told her I was cleaning. Really, I stood there for minutes.

A baby?

A baby.

I was going to be a father, and she didn’t even tell me. Maybe she wanted to keep it a surprise. I swallowed the thought as I bagged the trash and took it to the incinerator in the storage room.

…

My beloved had always been fond of reading. Before the bombs hit she would always find a sunny spot or a comfortable nook somewhere to get some private time with her pages. Her literary affair would lead her to all sorts of fun hiding spots. It turned into something like a game of hide and seek– me coming home, seeing a book taken from the shelf, and searching around the house for her. Sometimes I’d open a cabinet and find her. She’d look up with those rosy red cheeks and smile. Other times I’d find her in the backyard, her tiny hands reddened from the cold.

She took more to reading now than ever, though her hiding spots grew scarcer as the months down here dragged on. She had read every book on the shelf twice now, and was well into her third reread. We had a box of old VHS tapes, too, but she had little interest in those. She liked the privacy of her books, and I respected that.

Some ‘days’ I would try and listen to the radio. Minutes of static would go by before I remember I broke the antenna. The damn thing was useless to me now. I kept myself sane by counting the cans of food we had, first once a day, then twice, then now as many as eight times each– what we called ‘days…’

Now I just stared at the television static, the bunker shaking faintly every so often as another shell hit. It had to have been months of shelling at this point. Sometimes I wondered what the Russians were even hoping to hit now. Judging by the shakes recently, I’d say they were only getting more frequent, too.

Tonight my beloved and I had promised to finally watch a movie together. I told her she could pick whatever she wanted, and we would watch it a few hours after dinner. While us not having a clock meant that ‘a few hours’ was rather subjective, I grew the feeling that it had been far longer than that. I twirled the ring in my hand.

I had dressed up tonight. Tonight was the night I would propose, finally. It felt appropriate, anyways. She had started to grow a baby bump already - and wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it. Those red dresses she wore were pretty form fitting, so there was only so much concealing to be done.

Eventually I grew tired of waiting. Her and those books… I had a few guesses on where she could be. I got up and walked down the hall. I didn’t bother grabbing a flashlight. It was dark, but the few lights that were on cast enough of a glow to see if I squinted.

My first stop was the storage room. She had three hiding places here. There was a pantry in the back that she had moved some items around in to create a little nook to read in. I opened it: nothing but cobwebs. Damn. Her second spot was under a shelf. I didn’t quite understand how reading down there was comfortable, but I never much questioned it. I laid flat on the concrete floor to look under the metal shelving unit. Nothing.

She had one more hiding spot in here that I knew of. She had only used it once, but I found her in the incinerator one day, all red in the face like she had been crying. Poor thing was probably remembering the world before all this happened. I did what little consoling I could and got her out of there. I made extra sure that night that she knew not to hide in there again… It was dangerous, after all, and I don’t know what I would do if she went and hurt herself.

Well, she wasn’t in here. I went to check the utility room.

This one’s door was a little rusted, so you had to bash it a little to get it open. Sometimes some stuff inside would fall in piles in front of the door too, which led to me occasionally having to beat it open. This didn’t seem to be one of those times, and it just took a shoulder bump or two for the door to creak open.

My beloved had two hiding spots in the utility room. One, was behind the water heater. It was dusty back there, but I had assumed she liked it because it was warm. There wasn’t much in the way of room for her, though.

Her other spot was up in the rafters. I don’t know how she’d do it but I’d seen her manage to climb up to the steel beams holding up the ceiling and read up there. We were playing tag last week to pass some time and she pulled that move on me. I still laugh a bit at how impressive the feat was.

It didn’t take much to check either spot. I poked my head behind the heaters and turned the room’s lights on for a second to check the rafters. Nothing.

Next was the bedroom.

She hated reading here for one reason or another. In particular, she wasn’t big on going near the bed. I found her under it once or twice, but it was rare to see her there. The only other place I had seen her was her wardrobe. I opened it up.

There was no beloved in there, just a dozen or so red, lacy dresses on hangers. There were some netted tights and lacy stockings lying in a heap at the bottom of the wardrobe, though.

Just to be thorough, I tossed aside the red bedsheets to see if she was under there. Nope. All that were there were some velcro straps tied to the corner bedposts. They were meant to keep me still while I slept – since I apparently shake a lot when I get nightmares. Though, I haven’t used them much for myself recently.

That leaves one place she could be. The bathroom.

I try the handle. Locked. I call for her. Nothing.

I know she’s in there, though. I yelled again, told her reading time was over. The bunker shook again as I said it; another wave of shelling starting on the surface. No matter, we were safe here.

I pounded on the door. It was movie night, damn it. Put the book away.

Eventually I started bashing it. The door buckled with each hit, shaking in rhythm with the shockwaves of the shells above. I felt the rusted hinges start to give way. I was about to break the door. That’s fine. I could fix it later. Tonight, though, is movie night. It’s about time we spent a little time together for once.

More shells, more shakes, more strikes until the hinges gave in. The door fell to the ground with a crash.

The bathroom was dark, quiet. The only light came from a small lamp still lit in the bedroom behind me.

My beloved lay on the floor in front of me, torn pages of her book scattered all over the floor, some soaked red in blood.

Her arms were striped in papercuts, hundreds of them on each arm. Her mouth and nose were stuffed with crumpled pages. Her eyes, red, teary, defiant, gazed up in their lifelessness.

“Oh, my beloved,” I knelt down, barely processing what I could see. I pulled the ring from my pocket. “Look at you.” I stretched my hand out to pick up her arm, kissing her cuts one by one. The sanguine taste of iron filled my mouth. “You’re wearing my favorite color.” I slipped the ring onto her cold hand. “We’ll be safe down here, us three, don’t you worry…”