RYLEE

The bunker is well equipped and runs off its own generator that apparently has enough fuel to last weeks, though it's a bit of a stretch calling this a bunker - it's basically a normal basement. There's boxes of junk, old kids toys, and a layer of dust on every horizontal surface. Darren must have cleaned it up a bit before we arrived, there's a broom sitting against the wall and most of the unneeded stuff is pushed into one corner.

There's a closet-like space that contains a toilet and sink off the main room of the basement. Cobwebs decorate the ceiling of the small room and the porcelain fittings are streaked in orange rust, but they're usable so I guess I can excuse its griminess.

The main room has the table, a bench and shelves stocked with food, pellets of water bottles, another sink, and a gas cooker. Whoever owns the house above us must like to be prepared.

Sheets are pinned to the ceiling to create private sleeping areas in opposite corners, one for Darren and his siblings – they get a rusty set of bunks and a single bed – and another that's just been put up for us – we get rollout camping mats.

An hour after stitching him up, Kane is sleeping, but his breathing is shallow, his hands cold, and his lips slightly blue. Not to mention the shivering. I've lain down several thick blankets for him and covered him with a sleeping bag, but with his blood loss it's no wonder his body is struggling to regulate his temperature.

I'm crouched on my sleeping mat, watching him. It's weird to think that if it was anyone else back in that cell, I probably wouldn't have made it out of there alive.

The others are sitting in the main area after cleaning up from my nursing debut, and I figure I should probably join them so I wander out from behind the sheet divider. They fall silent when they see me - as though I couldn't hear them already.

"Coffee?" Emily asks, holding up her own cup.

"No, thanks." I take a seat next to Caleb and he smiles softly at me.

"I was just apologising for not letting you all in before." Darren cringes slightly and flicks his gaze to me, tilting his head to his younger siblings. "I promised our parents that I would look after them."

The blonde trio look like the picture perfect American family - minus the parents, Labrador, and lakefront holiday house.

"I understand that," I say, wincing at the accompanying twinge of pain in my neck. The adrenaline had been keeping my discomfort to a minimum but now my throat feels raw and my shoulder throbs continuously. Emily helped me put my arm in a makeshift sling earlier, and the reduced movement helps a little.

I look away to the curtain behind which Kane is sleeping. "We're sorry for being hostile."

Darren's lips form a thin line and he nods slowly. "Joe, can you go read to Madi? There's books by her bed."

Joe scoffs. "She's seven, she can read to herself."

"Now." Darren gives him a stern look and Joe stalks off with the little girl, roughly shoving the dividing sheet out of the way when he heads to their bunks.

"Your parents?" Jeremy asks Darren, beginning the questions we're probably all thinking about.

"Last I heard they were about to go into a fallout shelter in LA. They're safe."

For his sake, I hope he's right.

Jeremy tells the story of how we barely escaped being in New York when the bomb was detonated, and about what happened earlier today. It's nothing I want to hear again so I sit in silence, mentally humming a random tune to try and block out his words.

"So, this is your house?" Emily says. She's clearly eager to change the subject too.

"No, our mom's sister owns it, they weren't here when we arrived the other day after the first bomb went off," he says, pausing to take a sip from his mug. "Why did you come here? You obviously don't know my family."

"Kane. He had a map with this house marked on it, we didn't know where else to go." Jeremy shrugs, spinning his snapback hat in his hands.

"Weird, I don't know him."

My eyes drift to the well-stocked shelves and cupboards above the cooking area as their conversation goes on. I clear my throat and say, "is it okay if I use some of that soup mix? I want to try and get Kane to drink something warm."

"Of course." Darren waves a hand, but I can tell he resents Kane after the way things were handled in the garage - not that I can blame him.

I mix the powder in the hot water that was boiled a while ago and make my way back behind our sheet to kneel next to the patient, grateful to escape the heavy tension of the rest of the group.

I touch Kane's forehead and check the bandage, only a little bit of blood has seeped through. He rouses from his sleep as I re-cover him in the blankets so I murmur, "how are you feeling?"

His eyes flicker open and he tries to sit up in a fluster, I nearly spill the soup on him as I lurch away so we don't bang heads. Placing the mug down I help him lean against the wall, but he sags to the side so I have to prop blankets up around to keep him from falling.

"Buzzy." He blinks rapidly to keep his eyes open and I bring the cup to his dry lips.

"You should drink this, it'll warm you up."

He reaches his hand up but he's obviously too weak to hold the mug and I refuse to let him take it. He sips a bit, but it's a lot of effort.

"The world's always tryin' to kill me, should've just let me die."

My eyebrows pull together as I ponder his words. I guess a simple thanks is too much to expect. I make a point to stay there until he drinks the whole mugful, and then another.

We eat canned beef and vegetables for dinner. It's slimy and bland tasting, but it's food. Kane's sleeping again so I sit down at the table with the others, mostly just listening to their conversations, learning more about them. 

Darren is on a break from law school and was spending some time with his younger siblings in Washington D.C while their parents were on vacation across the country. He's twenty six and has a girlfriend, but she wouldn't come with them after they decided to get away from the capital. His eyes are downcast and his jaw looks tense when he mentions her.

"I don't know much about what happened in New York City, but as soon as it went down there were helicopters and army trucks everywhere," Darren says, "people started smashing stuff – we were at a fast food place and everyone went crazy. They jumped the counters and raided the tills-"

"It was like a massive food fight," Joe gushes, "people got in the freezers and were throwing stuff around, Darren got hit in the head with a slab of frozen burger meat!"

By reflex I snicker at that piece of information, but I'm far from being in the mood to come up with a joke relating to Darren being a meathead. 

Joe is freshly fourteen, but seems to think he's much older. He's got a very classic 'boy next door' look and is quick to smile or make a joke, especially if it's at the expense of his older brother. Young Madi's a lot more reserved and doesn't speak much, she's sitting on Darren's lap with her head pushed into his shoulder, peeking at us from under her long eyelashes. Emily keeps making silly faces at her and the little girl's expression is gradually becoming less forlorn, and even the occasional giggle tumbles from her pouty lips.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, I say goodnight to everyone and head away to my spot on the ground next to Kane. After checking that he's still breathing I kick off my shoes and slip into the cool fabric of my designated sleeping bag, an arm's length from where he lays.

I killed a man today. I was locked in a police cell, shot at - and I killed a man.

Lying here, listening to the shallow breathing of the boy who's barely clinging to life, and the chatting of the people who are little more than strangers hidden behind a thin partition, my thoughts engulf me.

I wake to the glow of fluorescent lights diffused through the fabric divider at my feet. My eyes feel dry and it takes a minute for me to figure out where I am, staring at the bland grey walls. Jeremy's snoring softly one sleeping mat away, his short curly hair is all I see. The sound of cutlery clanging and the bubbling of boiling water leads me to assume the others are already up. I look over to check on Kane, but all that's there is a heap of blankets.

He's gone!  I struggle out of the sleeping bag, pulling the sling over my arm as it throbs and stumbling to my feet. I poke my head around the makeshift wall - he's not in the main room either. My heart thuds, what if he died in the night? Maybe I'd missed something and he was worse than I thought.

I'm about to freak out when the door to the toilet opens and he ambles out with wet hair and a clean face, flanked by Darren and Caleb.

Relief washes over me seeing that he's seemingly much better than yesterday, but the feeling doesn't last long.

"I can still piss by myself for fucks sake." Kane grunts as they sit him back down on his pile of blankets, then he looks up at me. "So the princess has decided to gift us with her consciousness."

I cock an eyebrow at the two who have been helping him, surprised by the attitude change.

"He woke a few hours ago, I'd say he's going to live," Darren says with narrowed eyes, flinging the sheet out of the way as he storms off with Caleb.

"What's up with him? Don't think he likes me."

"You threatened to slit his throat," I say.

"Heard him saying something like that, guess it worked since we're in here though, huh?"

I ignore his remark and go to get some hot water and fresh bandages. I undo the zips on the hoodies we clothed him in and push them from his shoulders so I can admire my handiwork.

"Looks healthy," I say, applying antiseptic cream to some padding that I then press onto the red wound.

I sit back on my 'bed' once I'm done redressing the injury, not feeling like facing the others.

"What's with the camera?" Kane says.

I shrug, picking it up off the bed where'd I'd left it. "Who else is going to document the end of the world?"

"Who'll do the voice over, David Attenborough or Morgan Freeman?" he questions with a sneer.

I'd meant it as a joke but now I just feel stupid so I shove the camera in my bag, leaning my back against the concrete wall.

He's not covered in the blankets now and I can see the hilt of his knife where it protrudes from a sheath on his belt. From what I can tell, it's clean now, the blood from my kill washed away. I chew my lip and take a few deep breaths to avoid the memory of yesterday.

"Where are you from?" I ask after a while of silence, realising I know nothing more than his first name.

He rakes a hand through his dark damp hair and glances over at me. "Small town in Colorado, originally."

"How'd you end up in a cell in Pennsylvania?"

"It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time."

He gives me a look of derision and sinks into his blankets, turning away as far as he can without hurting his wound.