Erin

My eyelids droop until they’re nearly closed. I grab my glass of water and down half of it, trying to wake myself up.

I’m not sleeping well in here. It’s no surprise. I fight sleep because I know what’s inevitably coming. My nightmares are relentless. In some, I relive the childhood trauma that left me claustrophobic. In others, I’m locked in the bunker, but it’s being overrun by bugs or it was set on fire.

Every nightmare feels the same—straight-up, heart-seizing panic that leaves me crying out or sitting up in bed, wide awake and covered in sweat.

Kenna and I each have one of the queen rooms, and the guys are sleeping in the bunk room. This means I at least get to keep the nightmares to myself. Downside, though—I’m pretty sure being closed in the dark bedroom alone is part of the reason I’m having the nightmares.

Being alone is another thing that sets off my claustrophobia. I’m just trying to get through. The immediate terror isn’t there anymore, but I still hate it down here. And the more time passes, the less hope I have we’ll be rescued.

We’re all sitting at the dining table for dinner, which is pureed canned pumpkin with cinnamon, green beans, and some kind of meat jerky. It’s not amazing or anything, but it’s the only food I’ll be eating today, so I plan to consume every bite.

I’m not picky about food. It’s another by-product of my childhood, and also a way of life for hikers and climbers. We’re used to opening a can and eating dinner right out of it. After a day spent on the trails, just to sit down and eat anything feels great.

I glance at Matias, who’s just sitting in front of an empty plate, looking down at it. He’s gotten worse, but I’m trying to not think about it since there’s really nothing I can do to help him. It’s a helpless feeling, seeing someone so young and kindhearted suffering.

“Hey, man,” Bryce says, lowering his brows in concern as he looks at Matias. “I think you need to try to eat something, hungry or not. You don’t look so good.”

Kenna nods. “He’s right. You’re all swollen. You want some of this pumpkin? It’s not bad.”

Matias sighs and shakes his head, giving me a sad look. Quiet falls, the only sound the clink of forks on plates, until he finally speaks.

“I have Stage Four kidney disease, guys.” He fixes his eyes on the empty plate again. “So that’s what’s going on with me.”

Everyone—except me—just looks at him in stunned silence for a second. Then Derek turns his face to look at me, his eyes wide.

Kenna and Bryce start throwing questions at Matias—what does this mean, how long have you had it, and—from Kenna—are you going to die?

“No, he’s not going to die,” I answer, my tone sharp. “Now leave the poor kid alone. He doesn’t feel good, he doesn’t need the third degree.”

Matias gives me a slight smile. “I may die. I’m pretty sure I’m in kidney failure right now, and without dialysis, the survival rate is…well, really bad.”

“What can we do for you?” Derek asks, his fork now sitting on his plate and his meal forgotten.

“I have to ration my water intake,” Matias says. “What will help is if I can have just enough to keep me alive, but no more. It cuts down on the fluid retention. My kidneys aren’t working right now, so the extra water builds up in my body.”

Derek nods. “I can help with that. I know the signs of dehydration.”

“I’m tired a lot,” Matias says. “I don’t know if I should sleep or if activity is good for me.”

Derek jumps in again. “I think you should walk around, maybe a trip around the track, a couple times a day. But other than that, rest will help you. We can bring you anything you need.”

Matias nods his appreciation. “I guess…I mean, I’m sorry, guys. This could get ugly.”

Derek sighs heavily. “No apologies, man. This is more my fault than anyone’s. If I’d never had this damn bunker built for my dad, this wouldn’t be happening.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” I say. “And Matias, we’re all here for you. That will never change.”

“It’s someone’s fault,” Kenna says softly. “Whoever locked that door. I wonder if they knew they were literally killing someone.”

My temper flares. “Shut the fuck up about that, Kenna.”

“It’s okay,” Matias says, holding up a hand. “Let’s not sugarcoat things.”

“We’re not giving up,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on up there, but I do know this. Five people, one of whom is the highest-paid, goldenest boy of football, just seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. There is some serious investigating going on up there. I truly have hope, every day, that we’ll be found.”

I look at Derek, and the corners of his lips are crooking up just slightly in a smile. “Me too,” he says, nodding. “And Matias, I’m no doctor, but I know a few things. There are some medical supplies down here, including some books. They’re in a compartment in the floor in the storage room. I’ll get the stuff out as soon as we’re done here.”

Matias nods, and I see a new light in his eyes.

“Anything I can do,” Bryce says, his voice breaking, “you just let me know, man.”

“Team Bunker,” Matias says with a weak laugh.

“Maybe,” Kenna says tentatively, “just a bite of the pumpkin, so you have something in your stomach?”

Matias nods and lifts a bite to his mouth.

Did you know?” Derek asks me later that night in a low tone.

We’re walking around the track, our pace slow. It’s after ten p.m., and everyone else is in bed. Derek and I played two games of chess before deciding to come out here.

I nod. “I knew something was wrong, so I asked him a few days ago and he told me.”

“That kid’s about halfway in love with you.” He turns and looks down at me with an amused expression.

I scoff. “Are you kidding me? He’s nineteen.”

“And you’re…?”

“Twenty-six.”

Derek does the math. “So you’re seven years older than him and six years younger than me.”

“It’s like a brother-sister thing with me and Matias,” I say, shaking my head. “Not everything is about sex, you know.”

He chuckles softly. “If you say so.”

“Did you find anything in the medical supplies?” I look at him hopefully.

He mouths “hang on,” and we keep walking. After a minute, he stops, leaning his back against the smooth, rounded white wall.

“We were right by the bunk room before,” he says in a whisper. “I’m gonna read about his condition in one of the books I found in there. It lists tons of medical conditions and what we can do to treat it with limited resources.”

I nod, putting my back next to his against the wall. “I’m worried,” I admit, also whispering. “He’s not supposed to have canned food or preservatives.”

“It’s rough,” he concedes.

I turn my face to look up at him. “Will you tell Kenna to keep her insensitive comments to herself?”

Derek gives me a puzzled look. “Why me?”

“Aren’t you her boss?”

He shrugs. “I guess. But I thought you put her in her place pretty well at dinner.”

“Oh, I’ve got a place for her, all right…”

Derek laughs softly.

“Sorry if…you guys have a thing,” I say, shaking my head.

“A thing?”

“Yeah…a thing.” I arch my brows, looking at him like my meaning should be obvious.

“There’s no thing. I don’t have things with women I actually know.”

“Classy.” I roll my eyes.

“Look…can we stop whispering?”

“Sure,” I whisper.

Derek clears his throat and finds his actual voice again. “I don’t have as many things as you probably think. I’m completely focused on football. Relationships only get in the way when you devote most every waking hour to something else.”

“I don’t think anything,” I say lightly.

“You?” He sounds amused. “You’re always thinking, Erin.”

I push away from the wall to walk again, turning toward him and taking my steps backward. “Well, I don’t think anything about you and your things,” I tell him. “I do think you take your shirt off too much. And I think you cheat at chess.”

He’s following me now, and his mouth drops open with laughter. “Oh, I see. How about if you just stop looking so much? And you know damned well I’m not cheating.”

“Do you hate losing?” I ask as he falls into step beside me.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Did your parents have an expectation that you win when you were growing up?”

“No. It was just me and my dad. My mom left when I was five. She got remarried and moved away. I never saw her after that. And I guess I had anger over that.”

“Understandably. I’m sorry, Derek, that’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “Well, my dad thought football would be a good way for me to channel my anger. The more I channeled, the better I got. He taught me to work my hardest so that, win or lose, I had no regrets.”

“And did you feel that way? Do you?”

A few moments pass before he answers. “If you were a reporter interviewing me, I’d say yes. But truthfully, no. There’s still a part of me that feels like losing makes me a loser.”

“But no one wins every time.”

“I know. I get that, in my head. But my heart wants it every time. Wants to see my dad’s face after a win.”

“So he’s your person.”

“Yes. My dad is definitely my person.”

I smile. “You don’t build doomsday bunkers for everyone and then accidentally trap yourself inside them?”

“Ha—no. That’s actually been the hardest part of being down here for me. More than the records and the games I’m missing. The thought of someone telling my dad I’m presumed dead…” His voice becomes unsteady, and he clears his throat. “He’d have a funeral for me, I think. Maybe he already has, who knows?”

“That’s crazy to think about,” I admit. “I think my aunt and uncle would too. They’d bury me on the farm, except there is no me to bury. Maybe they’d put up a headstone anyway.”

“Did your aunt and uncle raise you?”

“Yeah.”

“Your parents passed away? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”

I pull the bath towel I have wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl closed a little tighter. “No. My mom never knew who my dad was. Apparently, there were many candidates. And my mom was just…unfit, so Aunt Carrie and Uncle Cal ended up taking me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I loved my life on their farm. Their two sons are like brothers to me.”

“They must miss you.”

“I miss them too.”

“Do you live with them?”

“I live on the farm grounds, about an acre from the main house. They converted the upper story of a barn into an apartment for me.”

“Wow, sounds like a cool place to live.”

“It’s simple, but nice. Nothing like your place.”

“You don’t think my place is nice?” He sounds amused.

I laugh and look over at him. “Your lodge is very nice. But this place—can’t say I’m a fan.”

“That’s fair.” He looks over at me. “Want to play some more chess? I’ll make popcorn.”

I hum skeptically. “What, 17-0 isn’t enough for you?”

“We could play checkers instead.”

“Eh…I’ll play chess again.”

I ditched my hiking boots a couple days ago, because there’s no need for them down here. Derek holds the door back into the bunker open, and I pad through it in my socks, my towel still keeping my shoulders warm.

Nights get chilly down here. With no sunlight, the evening chill and our watches are the only way we know what time it is.

The days pass slowly down here, but with my sleeping issues, the nights seem to pass even slower.