Winter Underground

Annabel stared down at the faded photograph of her husband. Nestled inside the open locket, his bright eyes captured how full of life and laughter he used to be, which in her mind had always been one of his best qualities. As she slowly traced her fingers around the heart-shaped edge, thoughts of compliments from friends replayed in her mind about her new fiancé. A long time had passed since her best friend, Beth, had taken that picture.

She lifted her eyes from the locket to her husband, scanning him up and down as he sat, slouched against the opposite wall. His eyes looked colder now. Then again, everything looked colder - everything was colder. She was unsure whether to be thankful or resentful that she had him in here with her. She’d been married long enough to know she could easily be both at the same time.

‘You haven’t smiled like this in years,’ she muttered, not particularly bothered whether or not he could hear her. He didn’t respond. Maybe it was the time spent in isolation, maybe it was the hunger and the cold, but she could feel a bitterness rising in her. She was often overcome with guilt for feeling such things for the man she loved, but it didn’t change the fact she still felt them, often.

And yet she did love him. Of course she did, so she told herself, and not for the first time that day. Despite everything they’d been through, everything that had happened, she loved him, even if she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt in love with him. She wasn’t sure if that particularly mattered anymore. He really was a good man, at least by his own definition, she reflected to herself. Always determined to protect her. To provide for her.

She pulled another blanket over her legs, and rested her head back against the wall, lowering her gaze to keep her husband in view. Her thoughts were drawn back to the last time she was outside, looking at a human face that wasn’t his: A last minute trip to the supermarket in the final week of autumn, four and a half years ago.

At the time, the frenzied shoppers and barren shelves had reminded her of the frequent virus outbreaks across her childhood years. Yet this time she wasn’t a child; she was in her late fifties. And no one was fighting over toilet paper or bottled water - the chance for that had passed days earlier. Only scraps were left. Just about anything that could burn and wasn’t overly toxic had become a precious commodity as people prepared for what was to come. She had barrelled what she could into her trolley and waited in line. A strange, subdued civility somehow presided over the queues of shoppers, darting eyes and impatient shuffling hinting at the panic bubbling below the surface.

‘You were there with me, remember?’ she asked casually, not expecting an answer. A small frown broke across her lips momentarily, dismayed that he didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

‘Our final shop. I was just thinking about it. You commented how surprising it was that it hadn’t all descended into looting already. I thought you were so cynical, always assuming the worst of people. But when I called Beth the next day she said that’s exactly what happened later in the night. So I guess you were right.’ She stared intently, unsure if she hoped for him to acknowledge her final comment or not. He had often been right about such things, as much as she hated to admit it. She couldn’t really fault his preparation or provision for them both. Without him, she knew she wouldn’t have lasted as long as she had. Following his lead had never really felt like a choice, though, which made acknowledging when he was right awkward and uneasy for her, even after all this time.

He said nothing. She wasn’t surprised. Besides, for all his flaws, he had never really been one to say I told you so.

‘Lucky we got inside when we did, I suppose.’ Her words hung in the air for a long moment before she let out a short, dismissive sigh at her own use of the word lucky. Silence filled the bunker again.

It had been winter ever since that week ended. Silence, cold and hunger was just about all she had known recently, aside from his company.

Initially, there had been whispers of a brief and brutal war resulting in a rapid nuclear winter. Whenever Annabel had talked about this, her husband would roll his eyes and call them baseless conspiracy theories. He maintained it was exactly what scientists predicted, extreme climate change, with humanity’s insatiable hunger for profit eventually triggering a near-immediate ice age across the globe. He would often say clever things about the dark irony of how the humans responsible were now dealing with a far more immediate hunger because of it, along with everyone else. Or how meaningless money was to everyone now, particularly those who contributed to dooming everyone to this endless winter.

Annabel didn’t find it clever. She had never cared much for his negative side. She wanted to remain hopeful. If they could just last a while longer, perhaps someone would come. Perhaps something would change. She didn’t know who or what. She just knew she was resolved not to lose hope.

She had continued fidgeting with the locket this whole time, but now slowly closed it and tucked it under her many layers of clothing. It was cold against her skin, but in spite of everything, she wanted him close to her heart. As she returned her hands to her lap, she turned them over, inspecting them closely. She was surprised by how unrecognisable they were. Having not eaten in weeks, not only were her bony knuckles clearly protruding, but her tendons and veins. She let them sit for now, exposed to the freezing air, trembling. It wasn’t just the cold causing them to shake weakly, and she knew it.

Drawing a deep breath before steadying herself a little more upright, she spoke with feigned resolve, ‘That wasn’t the only thing you were right about...’

This time she was referring to a fierce and tear-filled argument they had only a week prior. He insisted on talking about what to do when he passed. His cough had been continually worsening. ‘It’s going to happen, Anna, there’s no point pretending it won’t.’

She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to think about it, even as a possibility. She didn’t want to admit she could ever lose him, let alone one day soon. He raised his voice, she raised hers, back and forth it escalated until finally he had screamed, ‘Just listen to me! There is no way I am making it, there’s basically no food, and there is no point in us both dying’. She was silent, stunned. ‘So I’m telling you now,’ his voice calmed, ‘it’s okay.’ Looking into her eyes, warmly he reaffirmed, ‘You’ll need to. And it’s okay.’

After a moment she gave up and collapsed onto his chest, ‘Nothing about any of this fucking mess is okay.’

‘I know. I know it isn’t.’ He held her head and hushed her gently, letting her weep until she fell asleep. His warmer side always helped her keep calm - and keep hope. She felt she needed it to get through each day at least as much as his physical warmth to get through each night.

She had woken the next morning feeling more stiff than usual, less refreshed. More hollow. She figured she was still somewhat drained from the night before, but as she shifted her position, slowly growing more alert, she suddenly realised that his body was completely cold. It had been for some time. She had scrambled to all fours and was immediately sick, then moved herself to the other side of the bunker to where she now was sitting, three days later. She had more or less stayed there, staring at him the entire time. Countless tears and one-way conversations had flowed out of her ever since. Some bitter. Some thankful. A decent share had been a familiar combination of both.

‘It turns out you were right again, as much as I wish you weren’t,’ she confessed, before taking another low, laboured breath. ‘But you were. I’m sorry, my love.’ As she neared him, she reached out her hand and grasped the handle of the saw. She swallowed and grit her teeth as tears began to well, one already flowing down her left cheek. She rose and approached him slowly.

Her voice broke out in barely a whisper, ‘I’m so sorry.’

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and steadied herself above him. Most of his clothes were already off, he didn’t need them. She lined up the teeth of the blade across his thigh, let out a quiet moan of grief, and began to push down.