A car pulling into my driveway snaps me out of my lazy Friday evening mood. That must be Kyle. Man, it's been ages since I last saw him, and I was incredibly surprised when he recently called me out of nowhere, asking me if I wanted to reconnect and take a weekend off at his vacation home, which is something I'm quite excited to do. Why, back in school, the two of us were best friends, and it was only with him going off to college and me getting a job that we were separated. I'd always wanted to get back in touch with him, but to my embarrassment, I lost his number, so it's quite fortuitous that he still had mine. Grabbing my suitcase with enough stuff for a weekend plus a bit extra just in case, I head out and lock the front door before turning to face my friend. "Hey, man, how have you been? It's great to see you again, Kyle!" I shout, waving at him.
Evidently, Kyle is still similar to how he was, because his response to my boisterous greeting is a meek wave back and a muttered "Um, y-yeah, great. C-C'mon, let's go, it's, uh, a long drive..." That's not exactly unusual for him, he always was a bit shy and not really that forward, so I just nod, pack my suitcase into his car's trunk, and the two of us drive off. However, the drive is immediately off to a strange start, as when he turns on the ignition, the radio crackles to life as well, and it then begins playing a radio show I recognize—a local Christian fundamentalist that's been fond of preaching about the impending Rapture since even before I was born and was a constant source of amusement during high school as a laughing stock. Why is Kyle listening to that guy? And it seems he very quickly notices my consternation, changing the station and not saying a word, and in the interest of not starting a potential argument by digging, I, too, say nothing.
Because of this, the drive is somewhat awkward, but eventually, my exhaustion gets the better of me and I fall asleep in the passenger's seat. When I wake up, it's from Kyle poking me in the ribs. "Hey, we're here," he says before getting out of the car. I manage to stumble out myself, still half asleep, and we make our way inside. However, the first thing I notice is how tiny the place is. Why, it's practically a slightly above average tool shed.
"Um... what is this place? Seems a little small..." I ask, very much confused.
But Kyle just steps over to a corner, moving a small painting to reveal a tiny fingerprint reader. "I, er, bought this for cheap from an old survivalist's estate sale. Took a bit of work to change the locks, but, um, it works just fine..." he explains before pressing his finger to the reader, causing part of the floor to slide open and reveal a staircase. "It's, uh, a bunker. C'mon, let's get your stuff downstairs..." he continues. This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but sure, why not, it's certainly going to be interesting. I follow him down the staircase and through a heavy door, into the main part of the bunker.
The hallways are, of course, quite drab, being mostly plain concrete with the occasional painting hung up to try and make it look slightly more palatable. It's got a kitchen, a storeroom full of non-perishable and long-lasting food, a decent bathroom, and two bedrooms that, while also plain, certainly look comfy enough to relax in. I plop my suitcase down on the bed, digging through it to unpack some stuff. "Well, I think I'm going to head out and check out the surrounding forest after I'm done here. Seems like it could be a relaxing time," I tell Kyle, but his response surprises me.
"N-No, you can't. You, uh, can't go out, it's... it's too dangerous... there's, like, bears and stuff," he says.
That does track with Kyle, he's always been a bit of an easily scared type, but I didn't expect him to outright tell me I can't. "Ah, come on, you know me, I was in the Boy Scouts and everything, I kno—"
But my explanation is interrupted. "No! You can't leave!" he yells with an intensity that I never knew he was capable of. And when I turn to face him, wanting to ask him what his problem is, I am greeted by a gun pointed directly at me. The sight scares the hell out of me, sending me stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and against the wall, staring up at him, wanting to say something but unable to. "Y-You can't... can't leave..." he repeats, his voice now shaky. "...can't leave me like everybody else..." he adds, even quieter. Then, he seems to catch himself. "The world is dangerous, Steve. The New World Order will make their move soon and turn it into Hell on Earth. But we... we can wait it out. Wait it out until God comes to save the virtuous and purge all the sinners, like those liberal deviants at college. And you too will be saved from Hell. When we enter Heaven together... I'll finally be happy. But until then, I can take care of everything. We won't have to leave this place. You can't, anyway. The door requires my fingerprint and a password, and you slept on the way here, so you don't know where to go anyway. So please, Steve, just accept it. Don't make me hurt you, because I will. If you try to leave, I'll... I'll k... k..." he trails off, unable to bring himself to say the word, simply staring at me.
Now, I'm completely dumbstruck. What the fuck happened to my old best friend? Looking into his eyes, I can hardly recognize him anymore. There's a crazed tinge to his expression that I've never seen before... did all this happen in those two years where we were apart? He just threatened to kill me, even if he couldn't say the word. But whatever is going on with him, the most important thing right now is to get him to calm down. "OK, OK... I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you..." I tell him, trying to be as calm as possible. Then, I get an idea, and so I add, "...until the end," trying to play to his apocalyptic delusions.
That has the desired effect, and the sharp edge in his gaze ever so slowly leaves him, being replaced with a much softer one. "Yeah... that's right. Until the end," he mutters as he lowers the pistol. "It's all gonna be OK, Steve. Just try to get used to it quickly, and I won't have to..." Again, he trails off, visibly cringing at the prospect of saying what he's thinking. This is much more the Kyle I remember: meek and incapable of hurting a fly—even incapable of using harsh language. "I'll make us some food later, OK?" he then tells me, his tone now having regained its calmness. And as he places the pistol into his pocket and leaves, I notice something peculiar—it's not loaded. He was threatening me with an empty gun, which does track with the Kyle that is scared of loud noises. I figure he's never even fired the thing.
The rest of the day is strangely uneventful. I try to get used to my surroundings, which are at least fairly livable in the short term, though I can't help but wonder what the long term will hold. Someone's going to notice if I don't get back to work after the weekend, and they're going to call the cops. Will they find this place? Who knows. I suppose that is for the future. At least lunch and dinner are palatable enough despite being made from components of military rations, and there's even a little smile on Kyle's face as he eats alongside me. For a moment, it's enough for me to forget that he rambled about the end of the world while attempting to threaten me with death. Just what happened to you, Kyle? What hurt you? Will it fall to me to try and find out?
At the end of the day, my sleep is restless, obviously. How could it not be, given the situation I'm in? After waking up for the third time this night, a look at the digital clock on the nightstand tells me it's 2 AM. While I would have expected silence in this bunker, I instead hear heavy breathing from a nearby room. And then, sobbing. Is Kyle crying? As if to answer my question, I can then hear him talking, his voice quiet and labored. "What the fuck did I do... I threatened my best friend, my only friend. What's wrong with me? Why... why can't I stop being such a fuck-up? I already killed my parents, ruined my college degree, screwed up every chance I had at making any friends there..." he trails off before sobbing once more. But his parents died in an accident... does he blame himself for it? I remember how fucked up he was after that happened back in high school, I really needed to support him to get him out of his funk. Did his time in college and away from me lead to him falling back into that and getting worse from there?
This seems like a very important moment. I could get up and try to comfort him, try and show him that I still care about him and maybe start moving him towards giving up those crazy ideas of his. He's clearly in a very vulnerable state right now, so he might be more receptive. But at the same time, he could be more erratic, possibly dangerous. In the end, I make my decision, and