CHAPTER 19: BIANCA WANTS TO LEAVE

The bunker did not have windows. That was the first thing you noticed when you woke up, and the last thing you noticed before you slept. No windows, no sun, no sky. Only metal walls, soft humming of the air filter, and the low blue light from EVA's screen.

EVA never slept. She was our clock, our weather, our nurse, our prison guard.

"Good morning. Day 88 of apocalypse. Time 07:00. Outside temperature 4 degrees Celsius. Inside temperature 19 degrees. Humidity 42 percent. Oxygen level 21 percent. Solar flare activity low but persistent. Seattle Stadium Safe Zone signal stable, distance 40.2 kilometers. Road condition poor. Infected density on Route 99 at 40 per square kilometer. Infant Elena Thorne Cole weight 1.48 kilograms, up 60 grams from yesterday, feeding tolerance good, 15 milliliters per feed. Heart rate 138 beats per minute, stable. Respiratory rate 48, stable. Mother Bianca Cole, postpartum day 3, milk supply up 12 percent, emotional status elevated, sleep 2 hours. Father figure Damian Cole, Storage Room B, fever 37.9 degrees Celsius, down from 38.7 yesterday, infection risk still moderate, isolation recommended 24 more hours. Mother Elena Thorne, 20 weeks pregnant with twin boys, fetal heart rate A 148, fetal heart rate B 151, both active, mother heart rate 88, blood pressure 118 over 72, good. Mr. Killian Thorne sleep duration 3 hours, 12 minutes, insufficient, stress level high, heart rate elevated at 92."

I was awake before she finished. I always woke before EVA finished now. At 20 weeks pregnant with twin boys, you do not sleep well. You cannot turn easily because your belly is already big like 6 months single pregnancy. You cannot breathe easily because twins press your lungs. And they kick. My boys kicked all night. Two different personalities already at 20 weeks. Twin A kicked hard on the left side, like he was angry at the world, like he wanted to come out and fight. Twin B kicked soft on the right side, like he was asking if it was okay to move, like he was shy. Killian said Twin A was like him, aggressive, protective. I said both were like him because they never let me sleep and they both wanted all my attention and they both made me hungry at 3 AM.

Killian's arm was around my belly even in sleep. He slept with one hand on my belly every night since we found out they were twin boys at 16 weeks during the ultrasound before the world ended. He said if he took his hand off, they would think he left them. His brother Keon left this world yesterday on a road trying to reach us. He bled out 5 kilometers from this bunker, bitten by three infected, trying to bring diapers and formula for his daughter. He did not want his sons to feel that kind of leaving, even for one minute, even in sleep. So his hand stayed.

Downstairs in the medical bay, I could hear Bianca humming. It was through the speaker system that connected the upstairs bedroom to the medical bay, old baby monitor system Killian's father installed. She had been humming for two days straight. It was a lullaby, off-key, not perfect, but soft and constant and it broke my heart. She hummed when she fed Tiny Elena, when she changed the tiny diaper that was actually cut from a surgical gauze and taped, when she did skin-to-skin contact for six hours a day because EVA said six hours is minimum for premature baby weight gain. EVA said humming calms premature babies and increases milk letdown and lowers maternal cortisol. Bianca hummed because she did not know what else to say to a baby whose father died yesterday and who was born in a food warmer meant for pizza, not babies.

Tiny Elena was 1.48 kilograms this morning. That was 60 grams more than yesterday morning. EVA said that was excellent growth for a premature baby born in a bunker during a solar storm apocalypse. 60 grams in 24 hours was a miracle when you considered she was born at 1.1 kilograms three days ago on Day 85, she stopped breathing for 42 seconds on Day 86, she lived in a kitchen food warmer set to 35 degrees instead of a real hospital incubator set to 36.5 degrees with humidity control. She spent six hours a day on Bianca's bare chest, gaining heat, gaining heartbeat, gaining love, gaining bacteria that was good for her gut. The rest of the time she slept in the warmer, with oxygen from a small tank we had that had 9 days left. We had formula for 17 more days if we fed her 8 times a day at 20 milliliters each feed. EVA counted every single scoop. We mixed powdered whole milk with boiled water and infant vitamins crushed with a spoon. It was not perfect, but it kept her alive, and alive was all we could ask for.

Damian was better. Fever 37.9, down from 38.7 yesterday, down from 39.2 two days ago. That was good progress. He stayed in Storage Room B, isolated, by his own choice, not because we forced him. He took the amoxicillin we had, he drank three liters of water a day like EVA told him, he washed his hands until they were red and cracked, and he read old survival magazines we found in the bunker storage from 2018. He did not ask to see Tiny Elena anymore. Two days ago he banged on the door to see her. Yesterday he said, "I am uncle, not father. Uncle waits until he is not contagious. Father is dead, I am uncle now." That was mature. That was not the same Damian who left me, his pregnant fiancee, for Bianca, my cousin, who was also pregnant, in a bar in Seattle. That Damian would have pushed open the door and shouted. This Damian washed his hands three times before touching the door handle and wore a mask we made from a t-shirt and stayed 2 meters away from the medical bay window.

At 07:15, I went downstairs. My slippers were cold. The metal floor was always cold in the morning, even though inside temperature was 19 degrees, because metal conducts cold. Killian followed me, barefoot, wearing only gray sweatpants, no shirt, so I could see the long scar on his left shoulder from the Seattle riot on Day 4, when people fought over water at the supermarket and he was hit with a metal pipe while trying to get prenatal vitamins for me at 16 weeks pregnant. He did not like shirts in the bunker because he said he needed to feel temperature changes for the babies. If the room got too cold, he would feel it on his skin before EVA said it, and he would cover my belly with blanket.

Bianca looked up when we entered the medical bay. She had Tiny Elena on her chest, inside her oversized hospital gown, only the tiny head showing, eyes closed, mouth open a little. The baby's head was so small it fit in my palm completely. Her eyes were red, but not from fresh crying today. From no sleep for three days. Postpartum no sleep plus grief no sleep plus apocalypse no sleep is a different kind of tired that no one can understand unless they live it.

"Elena, she did not cry last night," Bianca whispered, so she would not wake the baby. Her voice was hoarse from humming. "She slept four hours straight, from 02:00 to 06:00. Is that normal? EVA said premature babies should wake every two hours to feed. I woke her at 04:00 but she did not want to eat much. She took only 15 milliliters and fell asleep again. Is she sick?"

"Four hours is good," I said, and I touched Tiny Elena's head with one finger, very gentle. Warm. Soft hair, almost no hair, but warm and alive. "It means she is strong. Like her father. Keon ran 200 meters after being bitten twice on the leg by infected. He ran for 11 minutes while bleeding from leg and arm. He ran because he wanted to see his daughter. She sleeps four hours after stopping breathing on day 2. She is Thorne strong. Thorne family does not give up easy. Thorne blood is stubborn."

Bianca flinched when I said Keon's name. Visible flinch, shoulder to chest. She had not said his name out loud since we told her he died yesterday at 16:32, 5 kilometers from the bunker, bitten by three infected near the old Shell gas station, blood loss and shock. Drone footage showed him crawling last 10 meters. She called him "her father" or "he" or "him" since then. She had not said Keon once since 16:32 yesterday. I understood. Saying the name makes it real.

"Can I... can I ask you something?" she said to me, then to Killian, eyes moving between us. "Both of you. I need to ask something important. And please don't be angry."

Killian nodded. He leaned against the medical bay wall, arms crossed over his bare chest, listening, big and still. He was 6'3", broad, 95 kilograms, and in that small medical bay that was only 3 meters by 4 meters he looked even bigger, like a wall that could protect or crush.

"I want to leave," Bianca said. Her voice was small but clear and it cut the humming air.

The bunker went silent. Complete silence. Even EVA did not speak for three seconds, which was rare because EVA was programmed to speak every 30 seconds about something, battery, oxygen, heart rate. Even Tiny Elena, asleep on her chest, seemed to pause her tiny breathing, though EVA's monitor showed she was fine, heart rate 138, stable, oxygen 96 percent.

"Leave?" I said. I put my hand on my 20 weeks belly automatically, protective. My boys kicked hard at the word, both of them, as if they heard the word leave and did not like it and wanted to say we stay.

"Not forever," Bianca said quickly, quickly, like she was scared we would shout or lock the door. "Just... the radio. EVA said safe zones are expanding every day. Seattle Stadium Safe Zone is sector 7. They said cure phase two is complete, they have treatment for infected bite if you get there within 6 hours. They have doctors, they have medicine, they have real incubators, they have blood bank. I heard before apocalypse started on the news, they made the stadium into a big hospital with 500 beds and military protection. If I take Tiny Elena there, they have real incubators, not food warmer. Real doctors, not us reading a first aid manual from 2010. Real premature formula, Similac and Enfamil, not powdered milk we mix. She is 1.48 kilograms. In a real hospital, with real incubator at 36.5 degrees and humidity 70 percent, she would be 2 kilograms by now. Here she gains 30 grams per day. There she would gain 50 grams per day. She would live better. She would have a better chance to see one year old. Here I am scared every night she will stop breathing again and we have no machine to help."

She was medically right. That was the hard part that made my chest hurt. She was medically 100 percent right and emotionally 100 percent right and still it was wrong. Our bunker was built by Killian's father, a prepper engineer, for two people, Killian and his future wife, for one year, with extra supplies for one baby. Not for four adults and one premature baby at 1.48 kilograms and twin boys coming in 20 weeks. We had 17 days of formula left if we fed Tiny Elena 8 times a day at 20 milliliters each. We had antibiotics for 10 more days for Damian if his fever did not go down. We had food for maybe 90 days if we ate small portions, rice and beans and canned meat and vitamin pills. We had water for 120 days because of the filter that recycled. We had oxygen tank for 9 days. We were okay for now, but not for long, not for a growing baby who needed more every day and who needed sterile environment.

But outside, the world was still infected. The solar storm still burned electronics and satellites. The military radio said stay inside, do not travel, wait for cure phase three. The infected still walked Seattle roads, slow but many, attracted to sound and heat. EVA's outside camera on the roof showed 40 infected per square kilometer on the highway to sector 7, and that was at 06:00 when they are slow. At night they are faster. Keon died yesterday trying to reach us on that same highway. He was bitten three times on the leg and arm. He bled for 11 minutes while trying to crawl to us, and we watched his last 2 minutes on drone footage that we should not have watched but we did because we thought we could save him.

"You want to take my niece outside?" Killian said. His voice was low, not angry, but low and controlled and cold. That was how Killian sounded when he was very angry or very scared, the two emotions looked the same on him. "Outside where my brother died yesterday? Where drone shows 40 infected per square kilometer on the highway to sector 7? Where temperature is 4 degrees Celsius and you have a 1.48 kilogram baby with no immune system, no vaccine, no fat? What if she cries, infected hear her from 100 meters?"

"I want to save her," Bianca said, and she held Tiny Elena tighter, but careful, always careful, supporting head and back like EVA taught her. Tiny Elena woke up at the tighter hold, eyes opening, blue-gray eyes, unfocused because premature babies at 35 weeks corrected cannot focus yet, but open and looking at ceiling light. "She is not safe here. Damian's fever could infect her, even with mask and hand wash. Your... your stress about twins could affect Elena and the twins and all of us, cortisol in air. I cannot make enough milk. I cry too much. My milk has stress hormones. EVA said so yesterday. EVA said cortisol high in milk when mother cries for more than 2 hours. In real hospital, they have donor milk from other mothers who are calm. They have machines that breathe for her if she stops breathing again. Here we have a food warmer and a tank of oxygen that will finish in 9 days and then what? We bag her with our hands?"

I looked at Tiny Elena. 1.48 kilograms. 48 hours ago she stopped breathing for 42 seconds and Bianca screamed so loud I thought bunker would break and I did CPR with two fingers on her chest, 100 compressions per minute, and Killian pumped oxygen with manual bag, and we thought she was dead and then she gasped. Now she opened eyes. She was fighting. She was Thorne fighting, like her father who ran 200 meters bleeding.

"Bianca, if you leave, you might die on the road," I said, as gently as I could, because she was 3 days postpartum and grieving and not sleeping. I sat down next to her, my 20 weeks belly making it hard to sit on the low plastic chair. "And she might die with you. Sector 7 is 40 kilometers from here. Our truck has fuel for 20 kilometers only. EVA calculated yesterday, diesel low. You would have to walk 20 kilometers with a 1.48 kilogram baby in winter, 4 degrees outside, with infected. EVA, what is survival chance? Tell truth, no sugar."

EVA answered instantly, flat voice, no emotion, which made it worse than shouting.

"Calculation based on current data and Seattle Department of Health data from Day 80. Bianca Cole, age 29, postpartum day 3, carrying premature infant 1.48 kilograms, no body armor, no weapon training, walking 20 kilometers to sector 7, outside temperature 4 degrees Celsius, wind 15 kilometers per hour, infected density high at 40 per square kilometer, truck fuel insufficient for full distance, no night vision. Survival probability for mother alone 22 percent. Survival probability for infant alone 8 percent. If accompanied by Killian Thorne, age 31, armed with rifle and pistol, trained in combat and survival, survival probability mother 61 percent, infant 45 percent. If accompanied by Killian Thorne and Damian Cole, both armed, survival probability mother 68 percent, infant 52 percent. Recommendation: do not travel until infant weight 2 kilograms minimum and supply drop retrieved."

61 percent and 45 percent with Killian. 22 percent and 8 percent alone. Less than half for Tiny Elena even with Killian, our best fighter. That was not good. That was terrible odds for a baby who already beat death once.

Bianca heard the numbers and started crying again, quiet so she did not shake the baby, tears falling fast on Tiny Elena's head and gown. "So she dies here or dies there? Is that what you are saying? No good choice? We have no good choice?"

"No," Killian said. He pushed off the wall and came closer. He knelt down so he was at Bianca's eye level, knees on cold floor. He looked at Tiny Elena, not at Bianca, because looking at the baby was easier than looking at crying mother. "I am saying you do not go alone. Ever. If you go, I go. That is rule. Thorne family rule since my father built this bunker. No one goes alone outside. But we do not go today. We go in 10 days, when she is 2 kilograms minimum, when Damian's fever is gone completely and he can drive us part way in truck and walk back to bunker with fuel can. When Elena's twins are 21 weeks and stable, not 20 weeks today. When we have more formula from the supply drop EVA saw 5 kilometers away."

Supply drop. EVA had seen a supply drop 5 kilometers away two days ago, at 14:22 on Day 86, from a military C-130 drone that still flew despite solar storm because it was shielded with old tech. The drone dropped a box with a red parachute. Thermal and infrared scan showed 12 cans of premature formula, amoxicillin, extra oxygen tanks, batteries, and water purification tablets. We had not gone because it was too risky, 5 kilometers through infected area with 30 infected per square kilometer there, and Killian did not want to leave me alone at 20 weeks pregnant with twin boys who kicked and needed him.