Day 342

It's my 17th birthday today. I'm still here...in this cold, sterile bunker. Alive. It's been 342 days since I've seen the sun, felt the wind on my face, felt free. It's also been 342 days since I last saw my father. All I have left to remind me of him is the heart-shaped locket he got me for my 16th birthday last year. My sweet 16.

My parents have been divorced since I was 11 years old; I guess my mom's work kind of got in the way, at least that's what I think. My mom is a virologist, one of the best in her field. My dad is remarried now, and my step-mom was about to give birth before everything...changed. When the virus began to spread, my mom disappeared into the lab and I stayed with my dad.

At first, it looked as though things were getting better, but a new, more deadly variant took hold. My mom was working tirelessly at the lab and I was quarantining with my dad and step-mom. I hardly saw her except for a weekly video chat. It's funny...I'd never really thought of my mom's work as important or even interesting. I was more concerned with cheerleading and my boyfriend. I can't help but feel regret for everything I took for granted.

Then, things took a turn for the worse.

342 days ago, the Centre for Disease Control, where my mom works, decided it was time to move their operation underground to continue the research out-of-sight because the virus was threatening to decimate the entire human race. The government had bunkers commissioned 20 years ago in preparation for a possible nuclear war. The bunkers were retro-fitted to contain a state-of-the art virology lab.

Day 1, my dad received a call from my mom. I had just finished a video chat with my best friend. We talked about what we were going to wear to prom once everything "got back to normal." My dad yelled for me to hurry and pack some clothes, enough to last a few days. He looked scared and I'd never seen him scared before.

We were given only 30 minutes to get to the airport where I was to be picked-up and transported to a bunker. I couldn't even say goodbye to my friends, my family, or my boyfriend. I didn't know where I was going or when I would return home. I managed to pack a couple of changes of clothes, my phone and the locket.

We drove to the airport and it was complete chaos! News of the relocation (that's what they were calling it), was leaked and hundreds of desperate people, even children, were begging to be let on the airplane to get to safety. I held onto my dad's hand so tight, I was so scared! As we were heading to the plane, my dad took me by the shoulders and said, "This is where I have to leave you now. You have to get on that plane. Your mom will meet you at the relocation point." I realized he wouldn't be coming with me. I begged him to let me stay with him. He told me this was my best chance and my mom needed me. The thought of leaving him was unbearable. He was always the one who was there for me, "two peas in a pod," people would say. "There's no more time," he whispered in my ear as he held me so tight. "I love you, you are my light." I was crying and he was crying too. I held onto the locked around my neck as I climbed the stairs to get on the plane. I turned around and watched my dad fall to his knees. I thought to myself, "I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I love you dad." This thought burned a hole in my heart.

When we arrived at the bunker, my mom was there waiting for me. She hugged me. She knew what I left behind. She tried to comfort me, but it was all too much. I realized I would probably never meet my new baby brother or sister.

It's been 342 days. The bunker isn't so bad. I made a few friends. I try to be there for my mom. She's working so hard, but so far the virus is winning. I finally realize everything she has done for us. I try to be positive, but it's hard. They give us an update on the outside world, once in a while. They say there aren't many people left. They still haven't found a cure or even a vaccine and it seems like the only thing we can hope for is for the virus to die out. Which also means that it will likely kill everyone I ever knew and cared for.

So, here I am on my 17th birthday, daydreaming of what my life was like before everything changed. I hold the locket close to my heart and I cry.