Panic Room

"Mae, you most likely will never need to use it, but it's good to have one, just in case."

My dad told me this many years ago, when he let me inside for the first time - and only time. The memory of steel trap door, boxes piling up everywhere, and an unrecognizable smell still lingers in my mind.

Pajamas and bare feet are never good running gear, but this is what I have to work with today. My legs pump across the backyard. My heartbeat is just as quick, loud against my eardrums. The coldness of a December evening makes my breath visible. 

I know they - whoever they are - aren't far behind. I didn't bother to count all of them. Their towering frames and identical black clothing make them impossible to keep track of.

I make it to the woods behind my house, the soles of my feet shrieking in pain as twigs stab them from underneath. My lungs scream at me to slow down, they can't keep up, but I ignore them, focused only on finding steel somewhere in the ground.

I know it can't be far, but the idea that I might never find it pulls my nerves apart. Dad keeps good maintenance of the bunker. Every other evening, he tells us, "I'm gonna pop out and check on it," and didn't come back for another half hour or so. While he never elaborated what it was, we all knew what he meant.

Too bad none of them are here right now.

I nearly stumble over myself. Steel pokes out from underneath dirt and dead leaves. The sight is enough to make me croak out a strange-sounding laugh, like choking on the air around me. I drop to my knees and reach for the handle with both hands. I grunt as I heave it open. The hinges creak, an unnatural sound in such a densely wooded area.

A stench wafts from down below and hits me in the face the way a baseball bat might. I nearly fell over backwards. This must be the same smell from my memories, only much stronger than eight or so years ago.

Maybe they're gone? I think, firmly planting my feet on the ladder. Maybe I can run to the neighb-

I nearly slip off the rung.

A barely visible figure emerges from the trees. Its steps are slow and short, yet its speed is unnaturally quick, like a ghost gliding. Against my better judgement, I scream, "Go away!" and drop to the ground below, the door slamming above me. I hear the lock automatically click-ing in place.

I groan, prepared for the worst. I've never broken a bone before, but the weirdly dull feeling in my leg can't be good. Hopefully there's a first aid-

I hear a shuffling sound from... behind the boxes? This room has no light, but I still catch movement...

My scream echoes before I even realize.

Those aren't boxes.

They got here first.