Penultimate

She can hear it each night. A whirring that splutters, building like an illness, coughs becoming choking. In lamplight, Edme watches her brother’s sleeping form. Alexander’s skin has barely felt real sun, only artificial UV, yet he still has freckles. She counts them, mumbling under her breath. The words are barely a whisper, brush of lips. The quietness lets her hear when the ventilation shaft gives its final gasp. Tears slip in the vacuum of sound.

“While you were sleeping.” Edme hefts on a mothballed windbreaker. “And I told you, there’s nothing you could do. The system needs someone from above… so I’m going up.”

“No. No you can’t.”

“Someone needs to fix it. I’ll try to build a new protective barrier too – if I have time.”

“No.” He rushes to her. Hands about her back. He’s so tall these days. “Please Ed, no.”

“What are you doing?” Sleep mars Alexander’s speech as water smears ink.

Edme focuses on buckling her boots, back to him. Keeps her voice soft, it uses less oxygen. “The ventilation shaft is blocked.”

She can hear his frown, “but the cleaning mechanism –“

“That broke weeks ago.” Edme forces herself to look his way. “I didn’t tell you because there’s nothing you could do. I’ve tried repairing it, but the damage is up top. Try to keep your breathing under control, don’t waste what’s left.”

Alexander’s fists curl on the bedsheets. He makes no effort to lessen his increasingly staccato breaths.

“When? Why couldn’t I have tried fixing it?”

“Alex…” Edme doesn’t know if this is better or worse. Weeks spent listening, hoping it would simply never fail. She wrote a letter for him; thought she could leave it by his sleeping form. Now it will be hugs and tears.

“You can’t leave.”

“I can’t see you die.”

Anger tenses his grip. “I’ll die anyway, eventually. I’ll die alone.”

“You don’t know that, not for sure –”

“Yeah? How many times have you sent out those radio signals? There’s no one out there!”

“There must be someone. Government bunker, preppers – space! There will be someone – you will find them. I know you will.”

Shaking his head, Alexander’s breath tickles her hair, each exhale is a tick of a clock. Edme tries to keep her tears in, noting the wetness about his eyes. Pulls her body away, fast. “I’ve got to go.”

He grabs at her wrist, her bag. She pushes him away, throws herself up the shaft, crouching on ladder rungs, activates the seal behind her. It locks, the hiss of air sending shivers. She hears Alexander slam his fists against it, try to key in the code. It doesn’t work, Edme changed it. He’ll forgive her, eventually. The important thing is that he lives. She doesn’t allow herself to imagine what kind of life that might be, the last man on earth, trapped in a bunker. All that matters is his life.

He keeps slamming on the shaft seal as she climbs. It feels endless, but too soon she must put on gloves, the ladder rungs growing warm. Tinted goggles fix over her eyes, a wrap snug around her face. At the top, there are two more seals. Between them, at the final one, she has to hook her feet about the rungs and free her arms to force it open. Sand rushes in, a deluge of rough gold. The second seal holds, Alexander won’t be caved in. He’ll find the new seal codes in a note, she didn’t want him trapped forever, someone might be alive to rescue him. If there is anyone else.

There must be.

On the surface, the sun burns, blinds. Rays cut through Edme’s clothing, biting into her skin. She knows, instantly, that her time is short. Slides over dunes, fighting every urge to bury back beneath them. Sand has been blown over the ventilation system, dousing it. Edme pulls a spade from her bag, sweat dripping, digs.

She works for a time unknown, clears it out, fixes the cleaning mechanism, cleans the access shaft, moves grains into heaps, hopeful barricades. Her skin blisters, cracks, too dry for sweat. Breath comes fast. Lips bleed, scab, bleed again. Nausea pools. Her tongue is a dead thing, a slab of painful dust. Going back into the bunker is pointless, the heat and radiation exposure has already marked her dead. Returning would only bring sand and a corpse – a site of infection for her brother to deal with.

Too dizzy to stand, she curls around the ventilation shaft, a final attempt at a barrier. Pain, inside and out. Edme lifts her hand; it looks blueish against the gold landscape. Light bursts.“Almost the last human.” Her words don’t make sound, she can’t articulate enough. Her eyes close.