Dad shut himself in his bunker at the beginning of 2020. He said the world was about to end,

and when we didn't believe him, he told us the wake-up.

He was raining that day. I remember focusing on the water hitting the window-pains on my

sister trying to change Dad's mind. I knew it was no use. He was too stubborn to listen

to anyone except Trump, who had just declared that COVID-19 had pushed the world into a pandemic.

Dad wanted us to join him, and when we told him no, he called us brainwashed.

He purchased the land before I was born, only because of the dilapidated military facility

that came with it. It was abandoned some time in the 60s, I think. My sister was there from

the beginning, even before Dad's obsession pushed mom away. It's hard for me to imagine what he

was like back then. Mom says he was a gentleman, but they married young, and a person couldn't change

a lot during those years, and so did Dad. All I remember from him during childhood are the weekends

of the bunker, constantly renovating it, and stuck piling it with everything he would need to

survive down there. We couldn't stop him. He wasn't the best at, not even a good one,

but he was sad to seem go all the same. He was excited, even though he thought that civilization

was about to collapse. I guess that's what happens when you spend your entire adult life preparing.

We had to set up an old radio to keep in touch with him. He didn't trust mobile phones.

We didn't hear from him often, just once a month, sometimes less. The last time he radioed in,

he said he found a hidden door. He said he was going to see where it went.

That was three months ago.

You think it's okay, my sister said. He wasn't in great health, I told him.

We sat on a car on the way to check up on him, driving through the heat wave.

His radio might have broken down, I said, let's not assume the worst.

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