She stepped wearily through the airlock and slammed the wall switch. The immense door swung shut behind her, the rapid change in air pressure letting her know that it had sealed itself, sucking the contaminated air from the tiny chamber as it did so. The UV lights flared on around her and her helmet’s filter automatically darkened. The familiar patter of the chemical shower beat down against her visor. After a few minutes, the yellow indicator light on the wall blinked a calming green, letting her know that she was cleared of contaminants. She felt the rush of the air press against her suit as the room re-pressurized itself. She unlatched her helmet with a tiny hiss, relieved to be free of the stale recycled air of her suit. The bunker’s air was recycled too, she knew, but somehow it felt less stifling. Funny how that feeling never got old, she thought, no matter how many times she’d been in and out of that stupid suit. And how many times had it been? She glanced at the date indicator on her arm and realized, with a start, that she knew exactly how many times. In the antechamber beyond the airlock, she released the airtight seals at her wrists and ankles and stepped carefully out of the suit, placing it gently back in its storage chamber. She took the handle of the heavy wheeled chest that contained today’s salvage and started towards her lab. Normally she’d turn on some music while she worked to stave off the unending silence of the bunker, vintage audio files that she’d pulled from previous salvages. 1980’s pop rock was her favorite, Bowie and Journey and Depeche Mode. But not today. She punched up a file on her viewscreen, and the monitor filled with the image of a handsome young man in a lab coat. “Hi baby,” he said with a grin, clear blue eyes sparkling despite the pixelated image. “Sorry, I think I have a bad connection-but you won’t believe it, babe. I figured it out. I found the answer. I can’t believe we’ve been missing it this whole time, when it was right in front of us. I spoke with the council, and they’re flying me out in about six hours to meet with the President. This could all be over by tomorrow.” He continued to explain the details of his findings, and she smiled in spite of herself as she watched him gesturing excitedly, only pausing momentarily to sweep his long hair back out of his eyes. He went on for several minutes, until the transmission image began to crackle and waver, finally freezing on his childlike half-smile, the last image she would ever see of him. The date stamp read one year ago today.