Ryan sprinted for the bunker, the heavy thud of Ileana's boots keeping pace right behind him. The massive steel door ahead was sealed shut, a monumental obstruction for anyone else. For Ryan, it was just a minor delay.
Inside, buried under tons of concrete, Marcel squeezed his wife's hand, his other arm wrapped tight around his daughter. He was supposed to be waiting out the storm, but his mind was out there, bleeding into the dark where his other children were still trapped.
'If we survive this,' he promised himself, the thought a desperate prayer, 'I'm pulling Ileana out of the militia. I don't care if she fights me on it. She shouldn't have to look at those horrors anymore.'
