Stories That Got Us In: “The Bunker” by Elizabeth Peller

            The leaking ceiling is going to make me violent. Drip. Drip. Drip. Silence. Finally. My shoulders relax, and I curl my legs up underneath me on the couch in our living room. Adjusting my iPad, I return my attention to the Pre-Calculus homework. In a few minutes I’ll be leaving anyway, finally going to my first real party, and I need to get this done.

            Drip.

            Oh my god. My brown eyes narrow at the red metal bucket, and I glare at the damp patch in the white ceiling for good measure. My mother breezes out of her bedroom and into the kitchen. Her graying brown hair is clipped up away from her face and she’s dressed in her Bunker-issued black sweatshirt that hangs nicely around her strong frame. She crosses to the gray kitchen cabinets. Like everything else here, the cabinets were once pristine, but have since faded after ninety-two years of nonstop use. With the Surface too unpredictable and the air far too polluted, everyone lives underground now.

            Drip.

            That’s it. I shove my things into my purple backpack—one of the few things in this place that still has some color. I take the five steps to reach the kitchen from the couch and swipe my water bottle and tattered science book off the small, square kitchen table.

            “Megan, what are you doing?” Mom asks, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. She sets it on our tiny two burner stove.

            “Leaving. The dripping is driving me bonkers.” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. It’s not Mom’s fault our ceiling is always leaking. She’s the one who always patches it. It leaks everywhere in The Bunker, ours is just particularly annoying. It makes it feel like everywhere is damp, even if it’s not. I check my Bunker-issued watch, which is round and bulky on my wrist. 1728. Close enough to the party start time. Besides, Alex is my best friend. If I show up a little early, she’s not going to care.

            I walk away from the kitchen and open the only door on my right. My brothers’ red steel bunk bed is snuggled up to the wall next to the door, and their toys are scattered on the floor. I roll my eyes and push them out of the way with my foot to get to my side of the room. The one long overhead light in the center of the room leaves the corners slightly dark. I set my backpack down next to my bedside table, making sure to plug in my iPad. I shift to the dresser against the wall right next to it, perfectly in the middle of the room. Might as well get dressed for the party.

            I pull off my school uniform and carefully fold the gray and blue plaid jumper and put it in my top drawer, along with my white shirt. I hold out a spaghetti strap plain green dress that goes to my knees. It’s the only party-like piece of clothing I own, and Alex says it goes well with my olive skin tone. I quickly pull over my head and onto my body. The fabric shimmers slightly. I pull my black hair out of its ponytail, letting it hang straight down a little above my shoulders.

            Everyone only has ten pieces of clothing, not including undergarments. We can change them out anytime we like at The Swap. Some girls do it all the time, but I don’t see the point. That being said, I only have one pair of shoes, so my black Adidas will have to work.

            Satisfied with my outfit, I make my way back to our living area. Mom is grating a block of cheddar cheese. A box of elbow noodles, butter, and sausage are on the counter next to her. Everything can be made or grown in a lab nowadays.

            “Are we having Mac and Cheese again?” I ask.

            Drip.

I clench my fists as my eye twitches.

            “Yes, your brothers like it, and I know you do too.” Mom says, not looking up from her task. I flop onto the gray couch across from the kitchen. She glances up at me and her mouth opens slightly in surprise. “You changed.”

            “Yeah, I couldn’t go to the party in my school uniform, that’d be embarrassing.” I tell her. I hear the cheese block thunk as Mom turns to look at me.

            “Honey, there’s a Flood Warning.” she says with concern. I prop myself up on my elbows to look at her.

            “So? There’s always a Flood Warning.” Flood Warnings essentially mean that there’s torrential downpour happening on the Surface. Mostly, that just means leaks. But if it floods for too long, sometimes we have to evacuate to other parts of the Bunker.

            “Megan, your dad and I were talking, and we don’t think it’s safe for you to go to the party.” My mother ventures. I shoot up off the couch, at our laminate kitchen counter in an instant.

            “What? Are you kidding?” Heat is already gathering in my cheeks. “You said I could! We talked about it. You can’t just change your mind like that.”

            “I’m not changing my mind, it’s a different circumstance. What if we have to evacuate?” There’s genuine concern in my mother’s kind eyes. The water in the pot boils, air bubbles bursting to the surface. Mom turns back long enough to pour carefully measured noodles into the pot. Seriously? You tell me I can’t go to a party and then go back to cooking like it doesn’t matter?

            “Then I’ll evacuate with Alex. We get Flood Warnings all the time. It doesn’t matter!” I stomp around the counter so I’m inches away. At sixteen, I’m basically as tall as she is.

            “It does matter, Megan. This Flood Warning is on a severe level.” Her tone is firm.

            “You can’t just decide to change your mind. I never get to do anything.” I cross my arms, trying my best to look like an adult while doing it.

            “Megan, it’s for your own safety.” My mother explains, impatience creeping into her voice. She steps forward to get to the fridge and I step back. Our kitchen space is more of a hallway. It only fits one person at a time. I take two more steps back and plant my feet, now directly in front of the door.

            “You always say that, but things are always fine. You can’t keep me from living forever.” I stare her down as she continues to rummage in the fridge. Steam starts to rise from the boiling noodles. Me too, noodles.

            “Oh please, Megan, you get to do plenty of things. I am sorry you can’t go to this party, but there will be others, I’m certain of it.” She closes the fridge and with milk in hand, returns to the noodles, her back to me.

            Drip.

            I grit my teeth.

            “Not a party where my best friend is turning seventeen! This is the only time in my entire life that this will happen! And what if there’s a Flood Warning for the next party? Hmm? What then?” I ask, resisting the urge to stomp my foot.

            “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Mom stirs while I dig my nails into my palms so much it begins to hurt.

            “No! I’m tired of this! I’m tired of you and Dad always acting like you can control every single thing I do! I don’t get to join activities—”

            “Only because the things you want to do are dangerous and—”

            “I’m old enough to make my own decisions! I’m going.” I shove the steel door open. My mother darts over to me, meal forgotten. One hand is still gripping the wooden spoon and the other she uses to grab my shoulder, forcing me to turn towards her.

            “Megan, if you walk out that door, you’ll be grounded.” My mother warns me. I’ve never been grounded. I’ve never done anything wrong in my entire life.

            “I don’t care.” I say, pushing past her. I don’t look back and take off down the hallway. Silence. My heart thumps in my chest. She’s gonna kill me when I come back. No, no she won’t. But she’s gonna be pissed. Well, there’s no way for her to contact Alex’s parents; it’s the weekend. We have radios, but only for emergencies. And I don’t think even my mother would consider a disobedient daughter an emergency.

            The hallways are brightly lit with long overhead lamps, and have nothing but gray walls and metal doors. The labyrinth of homes and hallways stretches as far as I can see. I avoid the standard puddles without looking down. Green signs at each corner provide directions to which hallway is which, but I know where I'm headed. I learned in school the green signs were supposed to mimic street signs, when people drove cars on roads on the Surface. I can’t imagine a machine that big, and wasting so many resources to only carry one person at a time. No wonder the Surface is such a mess.

There’s water sliding down the walls, making rivers on the gray cement. The puddles are small enough they don’t get my feet wet, and it happens all the time. A water droplet wiggles loose from the ceiling and lands on my cheek. I brush it away mindlessly.

            I take a left under the large yellow school sign to reach the shortcut through The Commons. Technically it’s inside school, but kids use it all the time for fun. I fish my ID out of my pocket and press it to the scanner. The doors swing in with a beep. With a ceiling that is three stories high, it’s one of the most spacious areas in the Bunker.

            A few groups of people sit scattered around the floor, but most are playing board games, rather than doing homework. The Commons is a good place to gather with friends if you don’t want to be stuck at home. The lights on the sides of the walls are meant to imitate windows, and are a great way to get Vitamin D. It always smells slightly of unwashed bodies, no matter how thoroughly it’s cleaned. It’s as wide as a basketball court, but it’s rarely used that way. It's mostly used for assemblies, and sometimes for school dances. I take wide strides through the middle, reaching the door in the corner, which opens to another identical hallway, and I turn right.

            I reach Alex’s door and check the time again. 1752. Close enough. I tap my knuckles on the door and wait. It swings toward me to reveal an apartment identical to mine. A kitchen to the left, four person table immediately to the right, and a living room straight ahead. I know the hallways on either side of the living space lead to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The only difference is Alex’s couch is blue, and there’s art on the walls. Plenty of it, pinned up by Alex’s mother. Alex told me once that someone in her family was an artist, but there is no use for that profession anymore. It is hard enough to make pencils and paper, let alone paint. God forbid we do anything for fun.

            “Megan! Come in!” Alex smiles brightly, blue eyes sparkling. She’s sporting a red jumpsuit with ruffles on the short sleeves. Her golden hair curls around her face and neck. “You’re the first one here.”

            “Sorry I’m early,” I say glumly, “I got in a fight with my mom.” Alex’s eyes widen.

            “Is everything alright?” she asks, motioning for me to take a seat on the couch and settling in next to me. I blow out a big breath of air.

            “I don’t know. We argued about your party because of the Flood Warning.” I fiddle with the fabric at the hem of my dress. “And then I kind of left without permission.” Alex’s face goes from one of concern, to surprise, to mischievous delight.

            “Well I never thought I’d see the day you do something without your parents’ permission. You little rascal you.” She playfully pushes my shoulder. “But seriously, if the Flood Warning is all they’re worried about, you’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll smooth it over tonight. Or early tomorrow morning.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I snort.

           A knock comes from the door.

           “Coming!” Alex springs off the couch. A group of four boys crowd around the door. James—Alex’s boyfriend—scoops her up off the floor and twirls her in the air.

           “Happy Birthday baby!” He whoops, setting her back down. She giggles as her cheeks turn pink. Before she can shut the door, another group of people appear. Some are from our class, others in the class below Alex and I, like James and his friends.

           “Anyone want a drink?” Alex asks, opening the fridge door, “We have sparkling water, lemonade, and a little something special.” A few people move toward Alex in the kitchen. I remain on the couch, running my fingers over the soft, velvety material as drinks are handed out. I nab a glass of sparkling water. I sip it and try to relax. The water doesn’t help. I bet a shot will. As if she read my mind, Alex makes her way over with a tiny glass and hands it to me. We cheers them and drink.

           Most people would think that with all our resources being underground, alcohol wouldn’t be a priority. They would be wrong. It’s always a priority, but it’s expensive to get. We have to use five of our food chips to get one bottle, which means much less actual food. But when people pool their chips together to get it, it’s not so bad.

           Finally, some time with my friends in an apartment that doesn’t drip. People continue to join us and soon the small living space is packed. I have to squeeze past anyone to move around. Someone turns on the CD player and plays something old from the 2020s. Sabrina Carpenter’s voice floats above everyone. There aren’t many people who make music now. Like art, there aren’t enough resources for it anymore.

           Soon the tipsy haze sets in and my muscles begin to relax. I find myself leaning against the wall, head right next to a scribbly drawing with red, blue, and green colored pencils. Jordan, one of my good friends, is watching the crowd with me. There’s a small dripping in the bathroom, but I don’t care enough to say anything about it. Alex or her parents will find it eventually.

           “You know, rumor has it that people still live on the Surface.” Jordan says to me, a serious look on his usually silly, but now drunken face.

           “That is an insane thing for you to say.” I roll my eyes at him.

           “I’m just saying, how are we supposed to know—”

           A blast of water shoots out from the bathroom. The pipes swing outward, launching water in the living area. It’s strong enough to throw the two people closest off balance, soaking them and pushing them to the ground. The music cuts off. The power follows. We are plunged into darkness. Red emergency lights automatically kick on. The alarms begin to blare. Guess I should have said something.

           “We gotta get out of here!” Someone across the room yells. The water hasn’t stopped coming. It is already coating the floor, creeping up our shoes. The people smacked by the water are pulled up by their armpits. A huge thunk comes from the door. The Water Lock. Every door has them. If any compartment has too much water, it automatically seals itself shut to stop the flooding. Everyone presses toward the door. Drinks are dropped, celebration forgotten.

           “Let me through!” Alex yells, “I can disarm it!” She elbows her way to her own door, flipping open the keypad. “Would you all shut up?” Alex roars over the panicked cries, “I can’t think.” Silence ensues except for the drumming of Alex’s fingers next to the keypad, working as quickly as possible. The water continues to rise, at our ankles now. A clicking noise from the door, and it swings outward, water pouring out with it. “Everyone out!” Alex yells, not that she has to, everyone is already sloshing into the hallway, which also has at least four inches of water. Alex and I press the door shut behind us. She dials the keypad on the other side and there’s a whoosh of air as it seals itself off. We rest for a moment, our chests heaving.

           Only then do I notice Alex’s apartment wasn’t the only one flooded. At every door, people are standing, sealing off their apartments. A voice booms overhead.

           “Please remain calm. There have been water breaches on several levels. Please use the stairwells to avoid flooding. The subway is not in use. Go to the Emergency Holding Area on Level Two if your unit has been compromised. Thank you.”

           The message begins to repeat. Everyone in the hallways races for the stairwells, water sloshing up our legs, on the walls. People are already streaming up from below, gasping, wet, climbing the grated stairs. The red alarms are the only light, save for a few smart people with flashlights. My skin prickles at the chill of the stairwell. The higher we climb, the colder it gets. The wall of people in front of us stills right before Level Four.

           “What’s going on?” I hear someone in our group ask. Similar questions are posed all around us. A screech from above and a metal door goes careening through the middle of the stairwell, clanking on the railings, narrowly avoiding smashing something to death. A huge wave follows, pouring through the stairwell. It doesn’t stop. Oh God.

           “Keep going, please!” shouts a voice from below, “We’re going to drown!” A multitude of voices joins in, first pleading, then angry. I squint upward, but can see nothing beyond the water coming down, and the never ending staircase. I hear a rumble of footsteps and screams which makes me glance down as panicked people throw away politeness in the race to save their lives. People are shoving others out of the way, even over the railing into the water below, to keep going upward.

           Finally, we move forward again. When we reach the second level, I see what caused the holdup. The Emergency Holding Area is nothing more than ruins and water. We continue past it. We’re going to the Surface.

           When humans first went underground, they still used the Surface for farming. After a while, even that failed. The pollution had caused the ground to be so toxic, we had to go deeper to find soil less polluted. Terror shoots through me as I think about all the things that could go wrong: natural disasters, unpredictable weather, not to mention the toxic air.

           We follow the path of people to a door that is wide open. The warning sign is still in perfect condition: DANGER: The Surface is toxic. Alarm will sound.

           Too late now. The alarm is already sounding. I step into the sunshine. The cold air steals my breath away. I think it’s freezing? I’ve lived in a temperature regulated place my entire life. I clutch my hands together at my chest. There’s tall green stalks on the edge of the area, frozen upright with the corn silk poking out of the top. Yep. It’s literally frozen.

           I’ve never seen so much open air in my entire life. It’s so flat; I can see forever. My friends and I huddle close together to stay warm. An official looking man in a black suit with a megaphone stands on a mound of dirt. He raises the megaphone to his lips.

           “Everyone please remain calm and stay in this area. The water will be drained momentarily. There are masks to help with the air. Unfortunately, there are only fifty of them. We ask if you are able-bodied and between the ages of ten and seventy, that you allow others to use the masks. Please wait for further instructions.”

           People surge towards the single box of masks by the Megaphone man, quickly concealing him from my sight.

           “Well, that’s not us, so let’s just stay put.” Alex says, linking her arm through mine.

           A dark cloud creeps into view. I don’t know much about weather—we don’t have any—but I know it can’t be good. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, the darkness blocks out the sun and brings a sheet of rain. We all shiver violently. The raindrops sting like bullets. There is nowhere to hide. The Megaphone man is shouting something and waving his arms, but I can’t hear him.

           A small boy darts away from the box of masks. John. My littlest brother. He dashes back to the rest of my family. I tear away from my friends, ignoring their shouts.

           “Mom!” I yell, too far away to be heard. The rain turns to snow like a cruel magic trick as the ground freezes beneath me. I slip on the ice; my hands and knees leave streaks of red as I slide. I wipe my hands on my dress as I shakily stand. I skate slowly the rest of the way, not lifting my feet off of the ground.

           “Mom! Dad! Logan! John!” I call again. Mom’s head lifts, relief all over her face. She opens an arm to bring me into the family circle and squeezes me tight. Dad cradles me from the other side.

           “You’re safe, thank god,” Mom whispers and plants a kiss on my head. Snow continues to fall, coating the entire area.

           “I’m sorry Mom. I’m so sorry.” A tear makes it halfway down my cheek before it freezes in place. My whole body begins to shake.

           “It’s okay honey, I know.” Mom says through chattering teeth. We move inward to the big crowd to keep warm. She pulls me closer and we all stand together, shivering in the cold.