The surface held more plants and animals than men. 

Now, it is dark and barren.

The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 3, Verse 5

"What the fecking rat shit is this?" Amy said.

Squeezing her hand, I took a step forward and raised my gaze to look into that endless space above. The rock behind us and the highest branches of the trees weren't even close to the white, cottony things and the infinite blue background up there.

It was like an abyss, but instead of going down, it went up and up.

Dizzy, I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

"This..." I struggled to put something into words that was unspeakable.

This wasn't one of the caverns I had spent my life in. Nor was it one of the tunnels, corridors, or chambers Amy and I had climbed up through. No ceiling, no walls—it could only mean one thing.

We had left the bunker.

"This is the surface," I said. The words tasted strange on my tongue.

This was the place that stifled all life.

"Fuck this gobshite."

Should we run back? But once we returned, where could we go? Wolfe would be waiting for us. The bishop would arrest us, just like he had arrested my father and the craner. And he would have us killed, just like he would kill the two of them.

I let go of the air I hadn't been aware of holding.

I pulled Amy close, feeling the warmth and the trembling of her body. If the surface brought death, at least we would face it together.

For a moment, she tensed, but then she moved in on me, and her fingers dug into my back.

Daring the air to kill me, I took a deep breath.

It smelled richer than any compost I remembered—sweet and tangy, earthy and fresh.

And my heart was still beating.

"I thought the surface is barren, a wasteland." Amy moved one hand onto my chest and looked out into the trees.

"So did I. The manuals say so."

"They suck. The lying manuals of yer bishop and the blabbering image wee two point oh."

The play of shadow and light shifted, and a golden glow touched the trees with warm fingers.

The manuals said the surface was dark.

Bright shafts cut through gaps between the leaves, setting fine motes of dust agleam. And all that light came from a single source—the sun. Like a mighty lamp, it squinted through the white puffs far above. The sky—as the manuals called it.

I remembered another verse. "In the beginning, the sun bathed the surface in its warm light."

Amy laughed. "Chasing sunlight... Now we've caught it!" She still held me with one hand and made a sunlit fist with the other. The ripples of her laughter moved through us.

Wherever the sun touched me, a gentle warmth tickled my skin.

Amy let go of me and took a step forward

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I said.

"No." She took another step. "But what else should we do? Do you want to stay put there and just watch?"

She had a point. Carefully, I set a foot on the grass before me. Nothing unexpected happened.

Another step, and something yielded and broke—an old branch.

"Come." Amy stood between some bushes, looking back at me. "Don't be a coward."

I joined her and looked back. The recess in the rock and the open door into the bunker were smaller from here. Yet the plants around me stood as tall as ever. A gurgling sound came from somewhere downhill.

"Hey, there's water," Amy said and made for its call, stepping into the forest.

Feeling the thirst in my throat, I followed her.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Light bathed the tree's trunks in hues of orange. The sun itself—what a word, the sun—stood low, not high in the sky where I had always thought it would be.

The earth under our feet grew softer as we approached the water. It ran along a channel, but the channel wasn't like those in the caverns—not straight nor maintained. Rather, it was a random thing, seeking its ways through rocks, plants, and grass, turning left and right at will—unfettered and unmastered.

Amy went down on her knees and pushed her face to its surface. Slurping sounds came with her drinking.

I knelt, too, and scooped up some of it with my hand. It smelled fresh and clean. My dad had told me to drink from taps only, but my parched throat didn't care.

I sampled it. Cold, it left a faint taste of something I didn't recognize, like the memory of tea.

After I had quenched my thirst, I washed my hands, my face, my arms. The procedure left my skin tingling with a chill.

Amy frowned at me.

"Some people wash," I said.

"I know, eejit," she whispered. "But look at that!" She gestured at something behind me.

I turned around, and a pair of eyes drilled into mine.

It was an animal, smaller than a rabbit, standing on its hind legs. For a moment, we just stared at each other, both perplexed. Then, with a flick of its long, bushy tail, it turned towards the nearest tree and scaled its bark as if climbing an invisible ladder. Its furry tail disappeared into the canopy only moments later.

"What was this?" Amy asked.

I shook my head. It had looked harmless enough, but noticed that my knees were shaking.

"I wonder if ye can eat it." She peered into the greenery, but it was gone.

This place was beyond marvel. Full of life, its water fragrant, its air sweet.

"Come, let's look around." Amy got up.

I looked back the way we had come. The trees stood close to each other, and there was no sight of the bunker entrance or the rock that sheltered it.

"The way back..." I gestured at the forest. "I don't see it anymore."

"So what?" She turned and walked downstream.

Sighing, I followed her.

We walked along the gurgling canal, marveling at the plants, the colors, and—most of all—the sheer size of everything. Trees grew higher than any cavern, their stems so wide you couldn't embrace them. And the sky above so vast. Gazing up still made me dizzy.

"Look, the sun's about to hit the ground," Amy said, squinting into the light.

"The manuals say so. The sun sank beneath the earth at night, but the moon then came to watch."

"What... or who's the moon?"

"I don't know. Maybe something like the sun?"

"I don't see it," she said. "Ye still believe in the manuals?"

Her question made me hesitate. The tunnels, the Engineers' realm, the surface—they were nothing like the manuals told us. And the letter we had found, it told a different story, too.

"I..." I shook my head. "The ones in the temple, I think they're not right. At least not in everything."

The shade of the sky was changing. Around the sun, it glowed in bright orange. Above us, dark blue colors dominated, the cottony things burning pink where the light still touched them.

Where was that moon? Shouldn't it come out to watch?

A draft of air made me shudder.

"Night is coming," I said. "We should go back."

"Back? I don't think so. Look over there, wouldn't that be a good place to spend the night?" Amy pointed at a tree with a fat trunk a little above and away from the water. It wasn't as tall as most of the others, but its branches reached out on all sides, forming a roof over the ground below.

At least we would have something between us and that dizzying sky. "Okay."

We waded our way through the plants to get there.

A layer of rustling leaves covered the earth around the trunk. We sat down, both of us with our backs against the rough bark, and watched the evening. The cottony things in the sky grew denser.

I pointed at them, remembering another verse. "Clouds wander the sky above the surface, the manuals say. So maybe these are clouds."

"For someone saying the manuals ain't right, you're still talking a lot about them."

"There might be some truth in them, still."

I didn't tell her the rest of the verse about the clouds: They bring rain. First, its waters granted life. Then, its poison took it.

"We need a bed." Amy stood and started to kick the dead leaves, herding them into a heap. I helped her, and we prepared a soft lair under our tree.

It was surprisingly comfortable as we lay there, side by side, on our backs.

Her warm shoulder touched mine.

She looked up into the branches above. "I like this place."

"Me too."

The light had left the sky. There were no lamps here glowing with nightlight. Instead, the darkness that descended was complete.

And with the darkness, the sounds changed.

There was still the rustling of leaves in the air and the gurgle of flowing water close by. But the almost melodic whistling of the day's animals ceased, making room for a continuous chirp. Later, short and angry screeches punctured it.

Animals—the manuals said they used to be numerous. Obviously, they still were.

I was about to ask Amy if she thought the animals were dangerous and if there would be people up here, but she lay on her side now, facing away from me. She sighed and began to snore.

~~~~

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because a noise close by tore me from a dream. The night was still black, and I saw nothing. Holding my breath, I listened into the silence. The chirping had ceased.

The sky wasn't completely dark now. Tiny pinpricks of light dotted it, too small to provide illumination. I wondered if there were lamps up there, far, far away.

Something rustled in the dark. An angry hiss made me tense up.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears—I was sure that whatever was out there must hear it.

Amy groaned in her sleep.

Then silence returned.

I wondered what my father and the craner would be doing now. The thought of them far beneath us felt surreal.

But they were still about to be judged—and executed.

It took me a long time to fall asleep again.