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Marcus glanced down at his digital watch. 3:41 AM, Sunday, September 6th, 2053. Over the past few months, his watch was his only way of having any sense of passing time. After the first bomb was launched in March, the hours and the days and the months and the seconds seemed to have merged into one messy eternity. Marcus yawned as he used all of his brain power to remember the last time he checked the watch. 8:14 PM, Friday, September 4th, 2053. He hadn’t slept in approximately 31 hours, though he was too tired to calculate the exact number of minutes or seconds. He was lucky to be alone in his safe fallout shelter, but sometimes boredom consumed him to a point of insanity. Math was always a safe way to pass the time.
He could always explore outside, but he had no idea what would even be out there. He knew the war most likely ended in July, as the sound of explosions and screams were replaced with a dead silence, leaving Marcus with nothing left but the static of his busted radio and the buzzing of ventilation. He wasn’t stupid, though. He had to remember why he survived. He was smarter, stronger, better than the weak idiots who perished. He couldn’t risk going outside. Someone could rob the shelter while he was gone. He could also acquire a radiation sickness or an injury. His first aid kit was nothing more than a few bandages and a tube of Neosporin. His only job was to stay alive. It would be humiliating to himself to fail at such a simple task.
He lay down on a pile of blankets in the corner of his shelter. He really should have added a bed when he first started stocking it. He assumed he would never actually need to be in the shelter for more than a few hours. Poor planning. Failure. He did the best with what he had, but actually getting and staying asleep was a challenge, even before the entire world went to hell. Thankfully in the shelter, he had the option to sleep whenever he needed to. No more school or work or other responsibilities. The only light was a single bulb on the ceiling and an LED to indicate when the door was opened. Day and night had lost the little meaning they previously had.
Marcus just stared at the dark light bulb for a minute when a thought dawned on him. He couldn’t stay here forever. He looked at the shelf on the wall parallel to him. If he ate a can of soup every three days and a bottle of water every other, he only had enough supplies for two more weeks. Marcus quietly cursed to himself. He was going to die. Whether it be from radiation poisoning or starvation, it was his own choice. Marcus was going to die. Failure. He couldn’t even take care of himself. Marcus’ eyes darted around the shelter as panic set in. No, he needed to calm down, panicking never solves the problem.
He closed his eyes, unclenched his fists, and took a few breaths. He needed to calm down and think rationally. What could he do? Realistically, he had no choice but to go outside. No, it wasn’t his fault he was to die, it was the world's fault. It didn’t even matter. Should he just accept his own fate? Was there anyone out there? No. Just him. He was the strongest, the smartest, the last one left. Maybe-- Marcus heard a noise from the direction of the doorway.
Marcus sat straight up staring in the direction of the sound. There was no one left, right? Impossible, it couldn’t be--
He heard it again.
The sound was easily recognizable, a knock on the door. Though he had been isolated for so long he had trouble recognizing anything from his old life that didn’t regularly occur in the shelter.
He held his breath and stood up very carefully as to not make any sudden noises. He had no idea who or what could be knocking on his door. It could be raiders or thieves with intentions to kill. What else could it be?
The government. Survivors. They could be here to save him. Maybe there were others like him. They could be here to start a new age on the surface. He wouldn’t have to worry about having enough supplies stalked in the shelter again.
No, there was no one like him. Only he was able to survive this long. No one else knew. No one else paid attention to the warnings. No one else planned ahead. No one cared.
But--this could be his chance. Marcus hated risking anything, let alone his own life; but the outcome of this could mean success. He could win. He wouldn’t have to worry about protecting himself. He would be safe.
He had a responsibility to fulfill. He wasn’t letting himself down. Failing. Quitting. He had to open the door.
His thoughts were interrupted by a third series of knocks. A definite pattern. Two knocks. Ten seconds of silence. Two more knocks. This repeated two more times as Marcus silently inched towards the door. He grabbed a pocket knife off of the almost empty shelf, just in case.
His hand shook over the button on the automatic door. He stared straight at the door itself before he pressed the button, remaining a few steps back. In an attempt to hide his anxiety, Marcus fixed an unconvincing glare on his face and kept his knife low, trying to look intimidating despite his short stature.
Marcus took a few seconds to stare at his own reflection in the knife. His body expressed anger, but his large brown eyes showed pure fear. He took a breath and a long blink to erase any emotion left from them.
He slammed the red button at full force and watched the door begin to open as a red light flashed above.
Ready. No matter what happened next, at least Marus could say that he was ready.
There was always an exact three-second delay from the time the button was pressed to the time the door would fly open.
One…
Two…
Three…
…
There was nobody there.
Marcus looked up the creaky stairway to see if whoever was there was waiting in the shadows, but there was no sign of movement or sound other than his own heavy breaths. Marcus was unsure if he was relieved or even more terrified. It was probably just someone pulling a sick joke. Regardless, Marcus took the opportunity to take in the scenery. Yeah, it was nothing more than a dark stairway heading up to whatever remained of his house, but anything other than the bland shelter was welcoming to his eyes.
Then, a troubling thought occurred to Marcus. Could he be going crazy? Was it not going to be starvation or illness that would be his downfall, but his own sanity, or lack thereof, that would end up killing him in the end?
Marcus shook off the thought. Sleep. He just needed to rest. Tomorrow he could figure out a good plan. He would be fine.
Marcus closed the metal door, slightly disappointed nothing too interesting happened in contrast to his repetitive routine. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being watched.
He tried to ignore the thought, but it still lingered in his mind as he walked back to his excuse for a bed. When he was about halfway to the other side of the small room, he heard something move behind him. He shot himself around as his heart skipped a beat, still jumpy from earlier.
…
Nothing.
As he shifted his feet around, Marcus felt an intense pain in the back of his skull like something had hit him. Hard. Everything started spinning as his vision began to darken. Marcus began to fall backward. No no no no no! He couldn’t die! Who the hell would do this? What hit him? Where were they hiding? They must have snuck in when he opened the door. The room was nearly pitch black aside from the red light on the door. He could have stopped this. He was lazy, stupid, careless, and because of that, now he was going to die.
His vision was just about black and everything was spinning a million miles an hour. He needed to get a hold on himself. “1,860 minutes, 111,600 seconds, god, focus, STAY AWAKE!!”
He couldn’t. He was exhausted and all of his strength was gone. He was going to die. He was now on the floor. He had twenty seconds left if he was lucky. What would his last thought on this earth be? Marcus focused his mind on the times before the war, using all of his brain power to recall what now was nothing more than distant memories. His friends, his family. When the biggest worry on his mind was a math test on Thursday. He smiled for the first time in months, until suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a voice he recognized, but couldn’t recall who it belonged to.
“This is your fault, you failure.”
Marcus tried to count his breaths before they vanished.