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14. My muse left yours, promising it would be only for a couple of minutes. They come back in a couple of years.

Bryan had stepped out of the bunker for five minutes. He’d promised Clarke that it would be five minutes tops. Five minutes for him to do a quick scan of the outer area, to make sure that there was no one else that was out there, that everyone was safe in the bunker that they’d managed to find. Five minutes before they were going to lock and seal the door completely so that they could survive the five years it would take for the radiation to be survivable again.

Six minutes. He glanced down at the watch he had on, realizing that it had been six minutes. And he was at least three minutes away from the bunker if he ran. He took a few steps back towards the bunker, heart pounding in his chest. Would he make it? Could he? If he sprinted, if he could get back… But no, Clarke had told him when they were sealing up the bunker, and that they wouldn’t be opening the door again. Not until it was over.

There was a loud rumble, and Bryan’s heart sank to his stomach. No… No, they couldn’t have been that accurate. They couldn’t have been that right, could they? That the storm was now? He ran. He ran, and ran, and ran, and stumbled, and fell… only to find a door in his face. What was this? He yanked it open, and seeing that it seemed to be shelter, quickly ducked into it. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but if he could at least die being comfortable…

Five Years. Five years passed with Bryan curled up in the small underground shelter. Five years of suffering; because the bunker was safe, but not completely; because somehow he would get blisters, and others he wouldn’t. Five years of starving, of taking the few cans of food that had been left, and rationing himself enough to just barely survive. Five years of marks on the walls, counting down the days until thought he could return above ground.

Five years and one day. He waited and waited, glancing at the stairs, wondering when would be time to try again. The small space he was in was so claustrophobic, and all he wanted was some fresh air. All he wanted was to get out of there and go to the bunker, to see if his people had survived, to see if they were still alive, and how they all were. He slowly pulled himself up off the couch, a shell of what he’d been when he got down here, ready to live again.

Then he heard it. Yells. Cheers. People’s voices. His heart leapt and he tried to quicken his steps. He could hear them. It was faint, but they had to be nearby. Were they all out there? Testing and seeing that they could live? He forced himself to climb the stairs, wincing at how heavy the door felt now as he pushed it open, wobbling and nearly falling. He pulled himself out of the hole in the ground, glancing around.

…Clarke. Bellamy. Octavia… He let out a weak laugh. They were there. He could see them. Yards away, but there, with so many others, so many who’d been save in the bunker. He couldn’t stop grinning, because they’d done it. They’d survived. They were five years older, but they’d survived. He struggled, trying to push himself up to stand, wanting to get closer, to go see them. His body was weak though and he wobbled…

Then Clarke was there, grabbing onto him to hold him up, looking at him in shock, like she’d thought he was just a hallucination or something. He was breathing hard with how much of a struggle it was, but smiled more at Clarke. “Guess those… minutes turned… into years, huh?” He tried to joke with his friend, as he heard the others coming over to them.