Marcus watched the excavator maneuver into position, its massive treads leaving deep imprints in his carefully maintained lawn. The machine was enormous, towering over his single-story ranch house, its bright yellow paint almost garish in the early morning light. The diesel engine roared as the operator, a middle-aged man with sun-weathered skin and forearms thick as fence posts, skillfully positioned the bucket over the marked excavation site.
Jake Morrison stood beside Marcus, both of them wearing bright orange safety vests and yellow hard hats that Jake had provided. Jake looked like he hadn't slept - dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw, his usual easy smile replaced by something more serious and determined.
"Last chance to back out," Jake said quietly.
Marcus didn't take his eyes off the excavator. "How many people do you have working today?"
"Eight guys today. I called everyone I know, called in every favor. Tomorrow, when the concrete arrives, I'll have twelve. Day after that, assuming nobody bails, fourteen."
"Why would they bail?"
Jake gave him a look. "Marcus, the world is ending in forty-six days. People are going to want to spend time with their families. Hell, half my crew only agreed to work because they've got families they're hoping to save somehow. They need the money. They're desperate."
"Then we pay them enough to make it worth their time," Marcus said firmly. "Whatever they need. Double time, triple time, I don't care. Every hour they work here is an hour their families have a better chance of surviving."
Jake pulled out his phone and showed Marcus the screen. "I took the liberty of drawing up a quick estimate last night. Assuming no major complications, assuming we can get materials delivered on schedule, assuming the crew stays together... we're looking at around four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That includes the bonuses you promised."
Jake pulled out his phone and showed Marcus the screen. "I took the liberty of drawing up a quick estimate last night. Assuming no major complications, assuming we can get materials delivered on schedule, assuming the crew stays together... we're looking at around four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That includes the bonuses you promised."
Marcus felt his stomach drop. Four hundred and fifty thousand. He'd told Jake three hundred. Where the hell was he going to find another hundred and fifty thousand dollars?
But he nodded. "Do it. I'll get the money."
"How? Marcus, where are you going to—"
"I'll figure it out. Just start digging."
Jake studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. You're the boss." He raised his hand, signaling to the excavator operator. "Tommy! Let's tear this backyard to hell!"
The bucket descended, its teeth biting into the grass and soil with a sound like tearing fabric. Earth and roots lifted into the air, dumping into a growing pile at the edge of the property. The excavator's hydraulics hissed and whined as it repositioned, dug again, dumped again. The work had officially begun.
Marcus's neighbors were already coming out to watch. Mrs. Henderson from next door stood on her porch, her hand over her mouth. Mr. Patterson from across the street was filming with his phone. Two houses down, he could see curtains twitching, faces pressed against windows.
Let them watch, Marcus thought. In a few days, when the panic truly set in, when store shelves were stripped bare and gas stations ran dry, when the first fights broke out over dwindling resources, maybe some of them would remember this moment and understand.
"Your neighbors are going to lose their minds," Jake commented, echoing Marcus's earlier thoughts.
"Can't be helped."
"And the city might send inspectors. Building codes, permits, all that bureaucratic bullshit that suddenly seems really stupid when the world is ending."
"I filed for an emergency excavation permit online last night. The planning office is supposedly processing it, but even if they reject it, what are they going to do? Fine me? Arrest me? We've got forty-six days until none of that matters."
Jake laughed, but it was tinged with something that might have been hysteria. "Fair point. Alright, let me go coordinate with the crew. We need to mark the full excavation boundaries and make sure everyone knows the plan."
As Jake walked away, Marcus pulled out his own phone and started making calls. He needed money. Lots of it. Fast.
His first call was to his bank. The representative who answered sounded harried, and Marcus could hear phones ringing constantly in the background.
"I need to take out a home equity line of credit," Marcus said. "Maximum amount, and I need it processed today."
"Sir, I understand the urgency, but our normal processing time is—"
"There is no normal anymore," Marcus interrupted. "I need that money today. I will accept any interest rate, any terms, anything. Just process it immediately."
A pause. "Let me speak to a supervisor."
Ten minutes later, Marcus had approval for a $150,000 home equity line of credit at 12% interest. The money would be in his account by end of business day. It didn't matter that the interest rate was predatory. In forty-six days, the concept of interest payments would be meaningless.
His second call was to his employer. His boss, Sharon, answered her cell phone immediately.
"Marcus, I was about to call you. Obviously, with everything that's happening, we're moving to a work-from-home model indefinitely. I need you to—"
"I quit," Marcus said.
Silence.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I quit. Effective immediately. And I need you to cash out all my accrued PTO, my 401k, everything. I need the money now."
"Marcus, are you insane? This is exactly the wrong time to—"
"Sharon, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I need to be honest. I'm building a survival shelter. I'm going to spend the next forty-six days preparing to survive the next twenty years underground. I won't be able to work. I won't be able to think about code reviews or sprint planning or any of it. So I quit. Please process my final paycheck and my 401k withdrawal as quickly as possible."
Another long silence. Then, quietly: "Good luck, Marcus. I hope... I hope you make it."
"You too, Sharon."
By noon, Marcus had liquidated every asset he could think of. Early 401k withdrawal: $89,000 (minus penalties, roughly $67,000 net). Final paycheck plus unused PTO: $8,200. His car, which he sold to a panicked neighbor who was trying to get his family out of the city: $15,000 (half its actual value, but he needed cash immediately). His parents' old jewelry and valuables: $12,000 to a pawn shop that was already packed with desperate people. Every item of value in his house that he wouldn't need in the bunker: another $6,000.
Total new capital: roughly $258,000.
Combined with his previous liquid assets: approximately $461,000.
It was just barely enough. If everything went perfectly. If there were no cost overruns. If materials didn't skyrocket in price. If, if, if.
The excavator worked continuously, the operator switching out with another crew member every two hours to maintain maximum efficiency. By 2 PM, they'd removed enough soil to create a rough pit about fifteen feet deep and thirty feet across. The dirt was being piled at the far corner of the property, creating a small mountain that blocked the view of his backyard from the street.
Jake had laid out the final dimensions using spray paint and stakes. The shelter would be forty feet wide, sixty feet long, and forty-five feet deep when complete. The size was necessary - they needed separate chambers for different functions, and Marcus had calculated that anything smaller would be psychologically devastating over years of confinement.
At 3 PM, a police cruiser pulled up in front of the house.
Marcus's heart sank. He'd hoped to avoid this confrontation for at least a few more days. He walked to the front yard, removing his hard hat and wiping sweat from his forehead.
The officer who emerged was young, probably early thirties, with a serious expression and a hand resting near his service weapon. His name tag read "DAVIS."
"Marcus Chen?" the officer asked.
"That's me."
"I'm Officer Davis. We've received multiple calls from your neighbors about the construction work happening here. They're concerned about the noise, the equipment, whether you have proper permits..."
Marcus had prepared for this. He pulled out his phone and showed Davis the email confirmation of his emergency permit application. "I filed for an emergency excavation permit two days ago. The city planning office confirmed receipt and said I could proceed while they process it."
Davis examined the email, his expression skeptical. "That may be true, but—"
"Officer, are you aware of what's happening Of what's coming in forty-five days?"
Davis's expression hardened. "Everyone's aware, Mr. Chen. That doesn't mean we abandon all rules and laws. Society needs to maintain—"
"Society is going to die," Marcus interrupted quietly. "In forty-five days, everything we know will be gone. The grocery stores, the hospitals, the police stations - all of it. Billions of people are going to die. This shelter is my only chance to be one of the ones who doesn't."
Officer Davis looked at the excavation site, at the massive pit growing deeper by the minute, then back at Marcus. His expression was conflicted, something like understanding warring with duty.
"I understand you're scared," Davis said. "We're all scared. But that doesn't mean we can just tear up residential neighborhoods without following proper procedures. People are watching. If they see you getting away with this, everyone will start building their own bunkers, and we'll have chaos."
"We already have chaos," Marcus replied. "Have you seen the news? The riots in Los Angeles? The looting in New York? Three people died at a Costco in Phoenix yesterday fighting over water. This is just the beginning."
Davis opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. He looked tired, Marcus realized. Exhausted. Like a man carrying a weight too heavy for him to bear.
"I'm going to need to see all your permits and insurance documentation," Davis finally said. "And I'll need confirmation from the city planning office that you're authorized to proceed. If everything isn't in order, we'll have to shut this down. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Have everything ready."
As Davis walked back to his cruiser, Jake appeared at Marcus's side. "That could have gone worse."
"We need all the documentation ready by tomorrow morning. Can you handle that?"
"Already on it. I've got my office manager pulling together everything we need. Insurance certificates, contractor licenses, the works. As long as your permit application gets approved, we should be fine."
"And if it doesn't get approved?"
Jake's expression was grim. "Then we keep working anyway and hope they don't actually shut us down. What are they going to do, arrest all of us? The jails are probably overflowing already."
Marcus nodded slowly. It was insane, this complete disregard for normal procedures and social order. But then again, nothing about the current situation was normal. The old rules didn't apply when extinction was staring humanity in the face.
By 6 PM, the excavation had reached thirty feet deep. The walls of the pit were shored up with heavy timber beams to prevent collapse, and a temporary ladder provided access to the bottom. Marcus climbed down carefully, his boots finding purchase on the rungs, until he stood on the damp earth at the base of what would become his home.
It was larger than he'd imagined. The excavation was creating a space roughly forty feet wide by sixty feet long, with another fifteen feet still to dig. Once the concrete floors and walls were in place, the interior space would be around thirty-eight feet by fifty-eight feet, with a ceiling height that would eventually be nine feet after all the infrastructure was installed.
For six people, for potentially twenty years, it would have to be enough.
Dr. Sarah Chen, the hydrologist Jake had hired, was already at work examining the walls of the excavation. She had equipment set up, measuring instruments and testing kits, her expression focused and professional.
"Dr. Chen," Marcus greeted her. "Any problems?"
She looked up, adjusting her glasses. "Call me Sarah. And no, no problems. Actually, you got lucky. That aquifer I mentioned? It's cleaner than I initially thought. The water's been filtering through limestone and clay layers for probably thousands of years. Quality is excellent."
"Can we tap into it safely?"
"Absolutely. We'll need to install a proper collection system - essentially a small well pump with a sealed intake. But the advantage is huge. This aquifer should be deep enough and isolated enough that it won't be contaminated by surface pollution from the impact. You'll have a renewable water source potentially for decades."
Marcus felt a wave of relief. Water had been one of his biggest concerns. Six people needed roughly eighteen liters per day just for drinking, plus water for cooking, hygiene, and eventually crop irrigation. Even with recycling, they'd need a constant supply.
"What do you need to make it work?"
Sarah pulled out a tablet, showing him schematics and equipment lists. "I need to do a full survey of the aquifer's depth and flow rate. Then we'll need a submersible pump, sealed piping, a filtration system just to be safe, and a backup manual pump in case we lose power. Total cost, including installation, probably around fifteen thousand."
"Do it. Whatever you need."
"I'll start tonight. We can have the initial survey done by tomorrow afternoon."
As Marcus climbed back out of the pit, his phone rang. Lisa.
"Marcus, we're on the road. Packed everything we could fit. David is driving. The kids think we're going on a big adventure."
"How are the roads?"
"Getting bad. We saw three accidents just getting out of Portland. Gas stations have lines wrapped around the block. We filled up before we left, but Marcus... people are panicking. It's only been two days and everything is falling apart."
Marcus looked at the excavation site, at the eight workers still laboring despite the late hour, at the pile of earth that represented his only hope for survival. "I know. How long until you get here?"
"Thirty hours, maybe? We're going to drive as much as we can tonight, sleep a few hours, then push through tomorrow. Marcus, is this really going to work? This shelter?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm going to do everything I can to make it work."
"That's good enough for me. We'll see you tomorrow night."
After Lisa hung up, Marcus stood in his destroyed backyard, watching his neighbors watching him. Mrs. Henderson was still on her porch, though she'd been joined by two other neighbors. They were talking in low voices, gesturing at the excavation site.
A moment later, Mrs. Henderson approached, her expression worried.
"Marcus, dear, what on earth is going on?"
Marcus had known this was coming. He'd grown up next to Mrs. Henderson. She'd brought him cookies when his parents died. She'd watched his house when he went on vacation. She was a kind woman, a widow, seventy-two years old with no children and no family nearby.
"I'm building a shelter, Mrs. Henderson. An underground bunker to survive the impact."
Her face went pale. "Oh. Oh my. Is that... is that really necessary?"
"I think it is."
"But surely the government—"
"The government shelters are lottery-based. Even if you get selected, they'll be overcrowded and undersupplied. I'm taking care of my own family."
She was quiet for a moment, looking at the massive pit. Then, in a small voice: "Is there room for one more?"
Marcus's chest tightened. This was the question he'd been dreading. The shelter was designed for six people. He'd already committed space to himself, Lisa, David, Emma, and Jack. That left one spot. But adding Mrs. Henderson would mean six adults plus two children sharing a space meant for six adults. It would mean less food per person. Less water. Less space. Less of everything.
And if he said yes to Mrs. Henderson, what about Mr. Patterson across the street? What about the young couple three houses down? What about every other desperate person who would ask?
"Mrs. Henderson," he said carefully. "I'm sorry. The shelter is barely large enough for six people. We're already going to be cramped. Adding anyone else would reduce everyone's chances of survival."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I understand. I just... I'm scared, Marcus."
"I know. I'm scared too." He paused, making a decision. "Mrs. Henderson, do you have a basement?"
"Yes, but it's not very deep. Maybe eight feet."
"That might be enough. If the impact isn't directly on this hemisphere, if the seismic activity isn't too severe, a basement with enough supplies could save your life. Stock it with food, water, batteries, blankets, anything you can. It will increase your chance to survive
She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Marcus."
The excavator continued working into the night. At midnight, Jake finally called a halt.
"We need to let the crew rest. We'll start again at six AM."
Marcus went inside, tried to sleep but couldn't. His mind kept running through calculations, contingencies, worst-case scenarios.
At 3 AM, he gave up and went to his computer. More shopping. More planning.
Day one complete. Forty-five days remaining.