Our ancestors had locked the bunker behind them and forbidden all kin and descendants to ever open it again. We were never told why but as the air turned sour and the world around us started a new cycle of decay we had no choice but to try and return to its safety once more.
We only wanted to survive just like they had, we never could have imagined that some of them had never left. They refused to open the doors to us and claimed we were too tainted by the unclean outside to be let in, that we would jeopardise their survival for our own.
When we returned back to our settlement nearby, a vote was made to storm the bunker or leave it and die with dignity under the ashen sky. I voted for the latter but most others voted to storm the bunker, even if it meant killing our cousin folk and breaking our ancestor's promises - they were desperate to survive too.
I and a handful of others refused to join the storming party, choosing to setup dying grounds instead, to make our final days comfortable and joyful rather than risk it in bloodshed to obtain shelter in a place that might not even work once the storming was done.
It's been silent out there for several days now, no signs of life since the initial explosive breach.
Our handful is now only me and the smiling bodies of my kin.
I'll die with my eyes keeping watch for the others return.
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