CH. 1
It is time.
Claire awoke with a shiver.
It is time.
Claire rubbed her eyes to erase the dream, then sleepily yawned and tried to go back to sleep.
It is time to go. Get up.
This time the voice was unmistakably clear. It was not a dream. The voice was calm, clear, and soothing. Claire took a slow deep breath to calm her nerves then said aloud, to whom she wasn't sure, "Is it safe?"
Go.
Claire held her breath, listening intently for more. No more came. It is time. Get up. Go. She repeated these instructions over and over in her head. Could it really be? Was the voice who she thought it was or had she lost her mind? Slowly, quietly, as if she made a sound she would miss the voice, Claire, young and alone, frightened but excited, lifted herself off her cot and gathered her belongings. She knew who the voice belonged to.
The room was dark, had been for nearly a week since her self-powered generator broke. The batteries had given out just days after construction of the generator was completed. Claire chuckled to herself as she caressed the seat of the old bicycle frame, proud of her accomplishment. Candles were not safe here, but there was a bag of them stowed away in a corner. They were found along with a box of matches and put in her backpack. Food and water had been rationed sparingly, and were running out fast. Only a few days left. Claire put all that she had in the backpack. On the cot were her clothes. She found what she needed and put them on, slowly one leg at a time, feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable fabric against her skin. Alone and in the dark, they had been unneeded and cumbersome, now they felt scratchy on her skin. How long had it been since she had bathed, washed her clothes? Weeks, months? Time had lost all meaning. In the far corner of the rectangular room were two unused cots with their blankets neatly folded on top. Claire rolled them up together and fastened them to her backpack. New blankets for a new beginning, she thought. Rain gear that had been stored in a locker were unpacked, then placed into the backpack. The pack was beginning to get heavy.
Claire scoured the small room with her eyes, long-adjusted to the dark, remembering the day she first arrived, not wanting to remember. She pushed those horrifying thoughts out as she looked from box to chair, to shelf to ventilation duct, to waste disposal cabinet thinking of what else she should bring, what to leave behind. She saw what she needed on a top shelf. Thrown there in anger, but not forgotten. Delicately fingering the leather she prayed, "Please forgive my anger, God, I know it is you who have kept me safe and you who now tells me to go." Claire pressed the Bible cover close to her heart and wept. The pages had long been destroyed. "Protect me Lord. I am afraid."
The quiet girl with the sad eyes and aching heart, who had dreamed of and dreaded this day, wiped her tears, turned, and stared hard at the stairs that led to the outside world. What lay ahead she did not know, what was must be left in the deepest part of her memory. Not forgotten, just put in a safe place as to not haunt her future.
Ten steps forward and twenty-five, straight up. Seems easy enough, but Claire thought she lacked the courage to take the first step. NOW. The voice was urgent, demanding. "Okay, God", she said, "I'm going". Thoughts ran through her mind. What would she find? It must be okay, God said to go. He wouldn't be so insistent if it were unsafe. Would he? Would she be among friends? Who, what would she find? There, she made the first step. Left, right, left, right. Slowly, painfully, heart beating faster and faster. Claire closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then another, hand trembling, she found the valve.
The bunker door was 25 steps up a metal ladder, but the mechanism to open it was right in front of her. "Please God, help me remember how to open the door." The valve in her hand was a lock. She didn't remember why the valve was to be turned first, she just knew it was. Hoped it was. It felt rusty. Would it break if she turned the wrong way? Would it break if she turned the right way? Deep breath, which way to turn it? Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, gripped the valve with her right hand and pushed down, to the right as hard as she could. Click. The valve opened. "Whew!" she let out a deep sigh of relief.
Next to the valve was a large steel wheel about 20 inches across. It sat higher up on the wall, its center about level with her forehead. It, too, felt rusty at the joint where it connected to the bunker wall. Claire gripped it with both hands, one on each side. Which way? Lefty loosey, right tight or to the right just like the first one? First she gently nudged right. Nothing. Nudged left. Nothing. Claire stood and stared at the wheel, gripping so hard her hands began to hurt. Which way? Lefty loosey. That has to be it. She attempted to turn the wheel. It didn't budge. "Oh God, help. Am I tightening it instead?" She took a deep breath and tried harder. To her amazement and much relief it moved. An inch. A drop of sweat dripped into her eye. Not wanting to let go, she rubbed her eye with her shoulder. Slowly, Claire slid her right hand over to her left while turning to the side of the wheel. "Here goes nothing," she muttered then slid both hands as high up as she could so as to hang from the wheel. Suddenly she dropped all her weight and lifted her feet. The wheel gave a creaky groan, turned, and Claire fell to the floor, hands still gripping the wheel.
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