Behind the Last Window

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room.

The fact that there still was an “outside world” is what really got her though. Despite everything that had happened in the last six years—everything from the barrage of natural disasters to the manmade war that ultimately decimated anything the tides couldn’t take out—there was still more out there.

This was the only functional shelter in the country, and Clara had managed to snag a spot inside. She had lucked out immensely that her father had been a part of the architectural team that built these sanctuaries, and thus knew exactly how and where to track them down to. The moment she had heard what was going on on the news, she jumped in her car and made it back to her parents’ house. She’d arrived just in time, just before they’d gotten in their own camper and booked it to safety. And so they were able to take her with them, and here she was, safe with a dozen others and hoping that one day there’d be some sense of normalcy to return to.

Well. There were a dozen. Now there were eight.

People had kept making the mistake of leaving the bunker, attempting to find others outside, more survivors or supplies. So far, anyone who had left had not returned.

This window was the only one in the bunker. It was small and circular, only about 4 inches in diameter, located on the ceiling of the underground shelter, at just enough of an angle to allow for some view of the surface area if you got close enough to the outlet. The only way out of the shelter was directly next to the window, a ladder leading out, positioned so that one could check to see if they were safe before leaving. As Clara held onto the rungs, peering out the bulletproof Plexiglas scope into the world she’d once known, the one she’d left behind for this eternity in confinement, she thought about the others that had previously climbed up this ladder. The ones who would never again climb back down.

Richard Stemple, her parents’ next-door neighbor, who would never again offer her cookies when she came home for a visit.

Sean Garcia, the local grocery store clerk that Clara had checked out with a thousand times and never given much thought to, but who would never again ask her if she wanted a reusable bag for fifty cents.

Tracie Ellington, the quiet girl from Clara’s old high school, who she would never again run into on the street and tell her that they “had to get together!” even though they never would.

Ben Lavine.

Her little brother.

Whom she would never get to call on his birthday again.

Never hold in her arms and comfort after he went through another breakup.

Never fight over the last turkey leg at Thanksgiving dinner.

Ben Lavine. Whom Clara would never get to tell she loved again.

She brushed her hand along the pole of the ladder and tried not to cry again. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the glass, pained by the thought of where these people could have gone. Where they could be now. And hoping that if they hadn’t returned here, maybe at least they were somewhere safer.

She doubted it, but a girl could dream.

Clara jumped down from the ladder and was met by her father, standing solemnly at the bottom, knowing just what his daughter was thinking. He pulled her into a tight embrace, both of them mentally preparing for another six months in this enclosure, probably another eternity, and both knowing that Clara was going to be in pain the whole way down. They all were, but for her, all she could do was glance out the window, and dream of more. Of one day getting out. Of going home.

Clara let go of her father, tears in her eyes. She looked back up at the window. The last window she would ever know.

Behind the last window, there were skies. They weren’t blue skies, but they were still there.

Behind the last window, there were trees. They were barren and scarred, but they still stood tall.

Behind the last window, there were roads. They were roads that let to nowhere, but nowhere was still somewhere that wasn’t here.

Behind the last window, there was hope. It wasn’t a whole lot of hope. But it was still hope.