The bunker was decades old, probably built during the height of the Cold War when everyone was pissing themselves over the thought of Russian warheads falling from the sky. When I found it, it was a crumbling, stinking pit of rusted metal and rat shit. But it had potential. Over the years—weekends, late nights, days off—I’d gutted the place and rebuilt it into something solid. Airtight. Self-sufficient. Mine.

I told no one. Not a single soul. Because the second word got out, people would come clawing at my door. Then they’d come armed. They’d try to take it from me, call it “for the good of the community” or some other bullshit. I didn’t care about the community. I wasn’t going to share. I wasn’t going to save the fucking neighborhood. That bunker was for me and whoever I chose. Period.

Then the sirens came—wailing, screaming across the city in that bone-deep, soul-dissolving tone that made you want to shit yourself. Nuclear missiles were in the air. We were done. No turning it back, no negotiations, no last-minute treaties. The world had already signed its death warrant.

I’d spent every dime getting ready—food, meds, generators, water, tools, fuel, batteries, air filters, radiation scrubbers. And yeah, I planned on being underground a long-ass time. Maybe the rest of my life.

But I wasn’t going in alone.

I had a list—people I wanted with me. Not to save them out of kindness. Fuck no. I wanted company. Specifically, women. No dead weight. No weaklings. No competition. I knew who I wanted, and I knew exactly what they were bringing to the table—tight bodies, willing mouths, tits I’d been dreaming about, and cunts I planned to fuck until the bombs stopped falling and the ground stopped glowing.

I was running when the sky started to go that sick orange—half sunset, half explosion. Ten minutes, maybe less. Just enough time if I didn’t fuck around.

I slammed my fist on the first door hard enough to rattle the frame.

It swung open, and there she was—Alison. Blonde, long legs, perky tits barely contained in a tank top. I’d been trying to get into her pants for years.

“Alison.”

“James?”

“You heard the sirens?”

“I think everyone heard them.”

I nodded, panting. “I’ve got a bunker.”

Her eyes blew wide. She knew I wasn’t joking. Knew this wasn’t some weird pickup line.

“But I want something from you.”

She flushed, already guessing what I meant. “I don’t think we have time.”

I laughed. Bitter. Borderline crazy.

“I didn’t mean right now,” I said.

“Oh.” She grinned. “Can I at least grab my mother?”

“Yes,” I said. “But the same deal applies.”

“Okay,” she said, and kissed me. Lips soft, just a taste. A promise. She understood the trade. Cunt for survival. Fair enough.

She packed in a frenzy—some clothes, makeup for some reason, then dragged her mom and a pile of photo albums out with her. We hit the street running.

“Come on,” I said, sprinting to the next house.

“Do you have a fucking list or something?”

I grinned but didn’t answer.

Alison rolled her eyes. She already knew.

Next house—another name on my list. Black chick, long frizzy hair, toned thighs, hips made for fucking. I’d had her once, after a party. She liked my cock in her mouth, and I’d been meaning to get a repeat performance. I slammed on her door, and it opened to panic and fear and sweat. She was barefoot, her tits jiggling in a thin T-shirt, no bra. Her eyes locked on mine.

Behind us, the sky rumbled again—deep, angry, apocalyptic.

“Hi Becky.”

“James,” she hugged me tight, her hands trembling against my back. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“You heard the sirens.”

“Nuclear war?” Her voice cracked. Her skin had gone pale, and her eyes darted around like she was expecting the sky to split open at any second.

She looked like she was going to vomit right there on the lawn.

“You want to survive?”

“Yes, dear God.”

“You suck my dick?”

“Here?”

“No. In a shelter I have.”

She paused—just a second—but the next rise of the siren, long and shrill, ripped any hesitation out of her. She frowned, then looked at the street, saw the neighbors shouting, cars crashing, people sobbing and running in all directions. The decision was made for her.

She nodded her head quickly. “Yes. God, yes.”

“Come on.”

I didn’t wait for her to process it further. I turned, grabbed another girl nearby—Kim, an Oriental chick with dark, serious eyes and a dancer’s body. She followed wordlessly, her bare feet slapping the pavement, no questions asked. She’d seen the same sky. She understood exactly what this was.

The group was coming together now—Becky, Kim, Alison and her mother, plus the others I’d picked up already. I moved fast, cutting down side streets, keeping us off the main roads to avoid the spreading chaos. The city was unraveling fast. Sirens, both the warning system and emergency vehicles, screamed from every direction. Lights flickered, smoke already drifting from a few buildings.

We reached the bunker. Steel door. Reinforced walls. Hidden in plain sight. I herded the girls inside, barking orders like I was born for it.

But I still had time. Not much, but enough. I left them there, sealed the outer hatch, and bolted back out into the madness.

On the next block, I saw them—three black women moving quickly along the sidewalk. One of them was Jessica.

“Oi, Jessica!”

She turned. I saw her face register me, saw the flicker of recognition, confusion, and then alarm. She was with her 13-year-old daughter and her sister, both clinging close to her like baby birds under a collapsing tree. Jessica and I had history—well, not real history, but tension. I’d been after her for years, always flirted hard, always made my intentions clear. But she never bit. Too proud, too stubborn, too moral maybe. She was hot though—full lips, thick hips, soft curves that had haunted more than a few of my late-night thoughts.