by M. K. Dawn
The room was identical to the one she shared with Evelyn except for the ridges in the cavern walls. It was also vacant, much to her surprise. Perhaps her…match…had taken to his room for the evening. Not that she could blame him. She too longed for some time alone, but it would be nice to meet the person she would be sharing a home with.
As if on cue, the front door swung open. Sloan turned as Major Archer crossed the threshold, bottle of Bourbon in hand. He froze, eyes boring into hers.
“Major.” Sloan took a step back. “This is highly inappropriate. Shouldn’t you have at least knocked?”
Archer stormed past her towards the kitchen nook, grabbed two glasses, and took a seat on the couch. “Can you believe the damn bar is closed? On today of all days.” He poured himself a large shot, tossed it back, then poured another.
“Major, I think you should retire to your room for the evening.”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
A sudden chill pierced her core. “I don’t understand.”
“You,” Archer jerked his glass at her, the amber liquid sloshing over the side, “and me have been matched.”
The room spun around her. Sloan sank into the nearest chair, afraid if she didn’t sit she would collapse. “That makes no sense.”
“What, Slash? A soldier with a high school education not good enough for the brilliant, world-renowned Dr. Egan?” He gulped another shot, poured a drink into both glasses, and slid one in her direction.
“It has nothing to do with education. You and I come from two different worlds and are two very different people. I just figured I would be matched with someone—”
“Like Fletcher?” Archer snapped. The bottle was close to half empty—a clear sign Archer was not in his right mind. “Let me tell you something about your precious mentor. He’s a VIP, which means he knew this was going to happen. He sat there day in and day out for years and said nothing, as did all the fucking VIPs.” He slammed back another drink. “And you’re here because of him. He said as much earlier today, though then I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”
Sloan’s heart clenched. “You didn’t know.”
He leaned his head back on the couch. “Knew what?”
“That this…” She paused and took a small sip of the stout drink. “That this is why the attendees were brought here.”
“You think I’m capable of keeping something like that a secret?”
Her heart answered with an unequivocal no before her head had a chance to think. “When I didn’t see you in the dining room during the announcement, it was the only logical explanation I could think of.”
“I was there but left shortly after. Went to the operations floor then the restricted floor to get some damn answers except my access has been revoked for the foreseeable future.” He took another swig.
“Revoked? Why?”
“The execs are afraid someone might do something stupid.”
Sloan pictured all those angry, scared people in the dining hall. “They may not be too far off.”
He shrugged. “So I went to the bar and helped myself.”
“What’s the penalty for stealing from The Bunker?”
Archer snorted. “Thrown in the barracks for a few days, I guess. I’ll plead temporary insanity. You can back me up on that, right, Slash?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist, Archer.”
“They’re not going to do a damn thing to me. Not over a cheap bottle of whiskey.”
They sat there for a moment in silence, Sloan sipping on her drink and Archer tossing back shots.
“We both see how I’m handling this shit. How are you doing, Slash? You have a sister, right?”
Sloan’s hands trembled as she placed the glass back on the coffee table before it slipped from her fingers. “I think I’m going to retire for the evening.”
Archer straightened. “I’m sorry. Stay. We don’t have to talk about it or anything else for that matter. We can just drink.”
“No apologies necessary.” Sloan stood. “Do you have a room preference?”
“Since this has been my home for the past few years, all my shit is scattered in that room.” He cocked his thumb to the bedroom over his right shoulder. “But if you prefer it over the other, we can switch.”
“No, the one off the kitchen is fine.” She made her way towards it. “Goodnight, Archer.”
“Night, Slash.”
In a way, it comforted her being paired with a person she’d already become acquainted with—though she had no idea how she would ever see him as more than that. Maybe they could request a different partner, a more suitable match, after some time had passed. Right now, none of that mattered. All Sloan wanted to do was sit alone in a dark room and mourn the estranged family she’d lost.
She flipped on the light to her room and gasped. In place of the bedroom suite was a desk, chair, and shelves. “Archer? There seems to be some kind of mistake.” She came back into the living room. “That room is an office.”
Archer rushed off the couch towards his room. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Her voice shook.
“There are two full beds in here.”
Sloan ran to the room to check for herself. “No. This is unacceptable. We don’t even know each other.”
He leaned against the doorframe, allowing her space to enter. “Guess this is their way of speeding things up.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Sloan backed out of the room.
“The hell you will. The beds aren’t together. We’ll make it work.”
Her chest tightened. There was no way she would be okay with this. She needed her space and sharing a suite with Archer was already breaching her comfort level. “I just…I can’t.”
“I’ll take the couch tonight then. You take the bedroom.”
Sloan shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. The couch is almost too small for you to sit on.”
“I hadn’t planned on getting much sleep tonight anyway.” He lifted the whiskey bottle which he was now taking pulls from. “Me and Jack got a lot of catching up to do.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Go. Sleep.” He flopped back onto the couch. “We’ll work this out tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” As soon as Sloan closed the door, her emotional floodgates broke. She slid to the ground, unable to take another step. There she stayed weeping until her voice grew hoarse and her eyes ran dry. Until sleep took over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sloan woke confused, no longer on the cold ground she was unable to pick herself up from the night before. The bed was warm and plush, just as she liked it. She rolled onto her back and glanced to her left. The room was empty, as Archer promised. Which didn’t explain how she found her way to the bed.
An intoxicating, familiar aroma filtered through the air, beckoning Sloan out of bed towards the living room. Archer moved around the kitchen with ease wearing nothing but a ragged pair of sweatpants, pouring coffee and cutting up fruit. His physique was impressive. Cut with hardly any body fat to speak of. “Have a seat, Slash.”
How did he know she’d been standing there?
“I can sense when people are staring.”
Sloan sat down at the small table. “I wasn’t staring. Just surprised you’re up this early.”
Archer glanced over his shoulder. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
That wasn’t possible. Even after her longest most rigorous shift, she’d never slept so long. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“When I went in the bedroom around four to grab some clothes, I found you sprawled out on the floor. Figured it must have been a pretty rough night and you needed the sleep.”
“You put me to bed?”
He handed Sloan a steaming cup of coffee and placed the cream and sugar on the table. “I couldn’t leave you on the rocky floor. Not like there’s much padding.”
“Thank you.” Sloan grabbed the milk from the fridge. “How did
you sleep? You look rather well rested for a man who drank an entire bottle of Jack last night.”
“I’ve had worse mornings.” His face dropped. “Worse hangovers, I mean.”
Sloan’s throat clogged but she pushed the tears away. This was their life now. Sorrow would not change that. The quickest way to move forward was to leave the past behind. “So, we’re stuck in here until tomorrow sometime?”
“Mandatory lockdown.” Archer sipped his black coffee and handed her a sandwich with a side of sliced oranges. “Should have saved some of the booze.”
Sloan lifted the bread to check the contents. She was particular about what fueled her body.
“It’s plain old ham and cheese. I didn’t know what you liked. There’s some lettuce, tomatoes, and condiments in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Sloan opted for the mustard and veggies. “You need anything?”
“Already got all I need.” He licked a glob of mayo dripping out the side of his bread.
Sloan wrinkled her nose. “That’s not good for you.”
Archer took a seat. “It’s organic. Made right here in The Bunker.”
Another reminder of where they were and what had happened. She moved past the raw emotions, determined to accept their fate. “How does The Bunker expect to feed everyone for the foreseeable future? What about water?”
“That’s right, you missed The Farm tour.”
“I assume the name fits the description?”
“That it does. A working farm with livestock and crops. Plus the greenhouses. As for the water, there’s a million-gallon tank on the same floor connected to a massive aquifer.”
She jerked her head up. “A million gallons?”
“Yeah. It’s impressive.”
“Even with all of that, it takes time to replenish the resources we consume.”
“They’ve been stockpiling for years, the bastards. Played it off as a test run to ensure they were able to restock the items used in a timely manner.” Archer ran his hand over the scruff on his chin. “God, I feel stupid for not seeing it earlier.”
“You were just doing your job. How were you to know you were in the midst of a government conspiracy?”
Archer took a bite of sandwich and chewed in silence before responding. “It doesn’t feel real. You know what I mean? Like I know it happened but I can’t wrap my head around the thought of the world above us gone.”
Sloan pushed her plate to the center of the table and leaned towards him. “I understand and the only thing I can think to do is stay in the present. Forget about the past and what that looked like. Focus solely on the future. Is that foolish?”
“I don’t think that’s at all…” he leaned closer, the corner of his mouth turned up, “healthy. That kind of thinking is going to royally fuck you up.”
Sloan laughed. “Well, like I told you last night, I’m no psychiatrist.”
His smile widened. “Sorry about the language. My mother always said it was impolite to cuss in front of a lady.”
“Well,” Sloan tilted back, suddenly aware of how close the two of them were, “my father was a rancher, so I knew every curse word and the proper syntax by the time I could talk.”
“Good to know. Because I have a mouth like a…”
He paused so she filled in the proverb. “Sailor?”
“Hell no. I have the mouth of an Army Ranger.”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s all in the tongue, baby.”
Sloan dropped her head and scoffed at his crude attempt at witticism. “How many times have you used that line to pick up women?”
“More times than I can count.”
“And how many times has it worked?”
He took a long drink of his coffee and wiggled his eyebrows.
“You know, you’re not as charming as you believe yourself to be, Major.”
Archer snorted. “I’ve been told it takes a while but I eventually grow on you.”
He had already started to but she didn’t dare say as much for fear of his already inflated ego. Sloan decided it best to change the subject. “Any ideas concerning the sleeping arrangements?”
“Yeah. I thought I would take one of the beds apart and move it to the other room. I’ve got a few tools lying around. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great.” Sloan felt an unexpected release of tension. A little bit of privacy would go a long way in her acceptance of this new life.
Archer took his dishes to the sink. “I’ll get started on that now.”
“And I’ll move my stuff into the office.”
“Why don’t you take the bedroom? You’re a girl and girls tend to have more stuff.”
“I brought nothing more than a few pairs of clothes and shoes. You’ve lived here for a while. Keep the bedroom. I insist.”
“We do have shops, if you remember. You’ll pick up stuff along the way.”
“Archer, keep the bedroom.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. Just trying to be a gentleman.”
“And I appreciate the gesture.”
While Archer worked on taking the bed apart, Sloan gathered what little items she had and organized them in the office. In the bottom of her bag laid the pictures of her family she grabbed before leaving her apartment. The one taken months before her mother’s diagnosis was her favorite: a summer road trip to the Grand Canyon when her world was still whole. She placed the picture on the desk alongside the other of her nephews and niece this past Christmas and pointed towards where the bed would be.
“Hey, Slash.” Archer peeked his head into her room. “We have a problem.”
She followed him back towards the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the damn bed. It can’t be moved.”
“Why? Is it too big?”
Archer chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ever heard of the ‘that’s what she said’ jokes?”
Sloan hesitated. “No.”
“Never mind. The problem is there’s a sensor in the headboard and the mattress.”
“What kind of sensor?”
“The kind that sounds an alarm if The Bunker’s property is moved from its designated area.”
“Ugh,” Sloan groaned. “Can’t you remove them?”
“No. The tech people thought of that. If the sensor is removed the alarm sounds. If it crosses the threshold of its intended room, the alarm goes off.”
Sloan tapped her foot. “We’re stuck sharing a room?”
“‘Fraid so, Slash.”
“That’s just great!” She stalked back to the office to retrieve her things.
“Let me help you,” Archer offered.
“I’ve got it.” She stormed past him, fighting the urge to scream. It wasn’t like she wasn't able to hold everything she owned in one armful. Except for the picture frames, which she didn’t want to accidentally drop.
Back in the bedroom, she slammed doors and drawers as she replaced all her stuff.
She sensed Archer reenter the room but was too angry to acknowledge him. Even though it may have seemed that way, she wasn’t mad at him. He had done nothing wrong.
Maybe he was right; forgetting about the past wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with the tragedy they’d been sucked into.
“I’ll give you some space.”
She looked up to apologize as he closed the door behind him. Tears burned her eyes as she turned for the bed. On the nightstand sat her family photos. He had brought them in for her and placed them as she had in the office, facing her bed.
Her heart sank as she fell to her knees and sobbed.
***
Sloan spent the remainder of the day in their room, hidden under her blankets, trying to forget all that she had lost in such a short amount of time. The strong, confident woman she was a few days ago had all but disappeared.
Around seven, Archer knocked on the door and offered her dinner, which she
declined. He came back every ten minutes and insisted until she conceded.
“Hi,” he said when she emerged. “I’m sorry about the bed thing. I’ll sleep on the couch again tonight.”
Did he spend the entire day thinking she was angry with him? “Archer, I’m the one who owes you an apology. I was in no way mad at you and shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve never had a roommate before and the thought of not having my own space on top of everything else was my breaking point. And when I broke…I just needed a little time to myself to grieve.”
“I get it.” He sat two cold grilled chicken salads on the table. “Dinner is served. It isn’t much. I think they are trying to starve us so we will be more willing to venture out tomorrow.”
Sloan took her seat. “Thank you.”
There was no playful banter between them. Archer ate without a word or a glance in her direction. It was so unsettling she decided to break the silence. “It’s not fair for me to ask you to sleep on the couch when there is a perfectly fine bed waiting for you in the bedroom.”
“You’re uncomfortable with the situation. I don’t mind giving you space.”
Sloan laid her fork on the table. “Archer, look at me, please.”
He turned his head.
“I’m sorry about my behavior this afternoon.”
“You’ve already apologized, Slash. Why are you doing it again?”
Her eyes flickered to the left as to not meet his gaze. “You seem angry or maybe upset with me. I would understand if you were. My behavior was atrocious.”
Archer rested his hand on hers. “I’m not mad at you, Slash. I’m pissed at the situation. The way we were all conned into coming to this place. How, after the world literally fell apart around us, we’re forced to not only live with someone we didn’t choose but share a bedroom with them.”
Sloan had been so focused on her disdain for their living arrangement she hadn’t stopped to consider whether this was uncomfortable for Archer. “You don’t want to share a bedroom with me either.”
He dropped his hand and sighed. “What I want doesn’t matter. If you’re not okay with it then I’m not okay with it.”
“I’ve thought about this a great deal and I’m fine with the sleeping arrangements.”