It didn’t take Brady long to decide that Mother Nature would likely go scorched earth on humanity this time around.

A second flood, according to the Bible, was off the table.

“And I will establish My covenant with you: Neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.” Genesis 9:11 reads.

“In 2 Peter 3:10, the Good Book is pretty clear,” Brady told Eve and Donnie over a cup of morning coffee. “‘But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare.’”

“And Christians aren’t the only ones who think that way,” he said. “To the Zoroastrians, fire represents the creator’s energy. The sun is a manifestation of Ahura Mazda’s divine light. Fire is seen as the embodiment of Ahura Mazda’s son. And, come Frashokereti, they believe fire will consume the universe and purify it once and for all.”

“They believed that 1,500 hundred years before Christ,” Brady noted. “Zoroastrianism is one of the oldest religions out there. Hell, the three wise men who were at Jesus’s birth were Zoroastrian magi.”

“And, closer to home,” he continued, “the Hopi believe fires and earthquakes will signal the start of the Fifth World.”

“So, who’s the pyro that’s gonna light it up?” Donnie asked.

“Not who,” Brady said. “What. If I was a betting man, I’d say Mama Earth is gonna play with her supervolcanoes.”

“Supervolcanoes?” Eve gasped. “Plural? You mean, like, Yellowstone?”

“Yellowstone, Campi Flegrei in Italy, Lake Toba in Indonesia, Lake Taupo in New Zealand, or Japan’s Aira Caldera could blow its top again,” Brady answered with a sigh. “And right here at home, there’s also the Valles Caldera in New Mexico. It’s been more than a million years since that one went off. Let’s just hope it isn’t the Long Valley Caldera. That one detonated 16,000 years ago.”

“Where’s that?” Donnie asked.

“About 200 miles south of us, next to Mammoth,” Brady replied flatly. “That baby blows, and we’re gonna be buried in ash.”

Donnie stood from the table, coffee mug in hand, and, in his Scooby Doo pajama bottoms and his MyPillow slippers, walked out the door and into the main yard.

He squinted toward the front of the property, near the road, where the well house stood. His eyes followed the length of the concrete duplex, past a patch of garden, to the entrance to the Forever Place.

The bunker was built into ground that backed up to BLM land. The government, disguised as a forgotten logging forest, bordered the length of Eve’s property before spreading across the land for as far as the eye could see. The only other property that touched hers was Steve’s, across the creek.

The privacy was one of the property’s best features, Eve recognized the moment she stepped foot on it.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“What the hell is he looking at?” Eve wondered aloud.

She and Brady grabbed their mugs and joined him in the yard.

“Whatcha doing?” Eve asked Donnie.

“Measuring my give-a-fuck,” he said, his eyes scanning the duplex’s metal roof.

“Your give-a-fuck?” Brady asked. He’d been up all night for damn near five nights straight going through geological surveys and ancient prophecies, and he just didn’t have the patience to decode Donnie-speak.

“Yeah,” Donnie replied. “The world is ending, right? I mean, we know that. So… I’m just wondering if I give a fuck about money and building permits anymore.”

And so it was decided: They would enclose as much of the top terrace of Eve's property as they could, starting at the well house and stretching back to the bunker’s support walls.

The Forever Place would make for a great panic room if the nukes do start flying, they reasoned, but they’d likely suffocate or starve if volcanic ash circled the planet. If they were to survive the turn, the group quickly agreed, they’d have to plan on a shelter that would sustain them for months, if not years.

The new structure would branch off the existing duplex to form, essentially, a self-sustaining, covered concrete villa, complete with its own water supply.

The engineering it would require to keep clean air circulating and electric essentials running would mark the single greatest accomplishment of Chuck’s racing mind.

Patty would design a vertical grow room that would be lit by generator-powered LED lights. They would order pallets of bagged soil, free from the toxins that would soon choke the life from the land. And a chunk of space would be devoted to the needs of two miniature goats, some hearty hand-picked chickens, and one proud cock. The eggs and milk would be invaluable in the new world.

Once enclosed, the duplex doors would come off, and the two homes, with their two kitchens and two bathrooms, would become common areas. Eve’s side would house a library of everything they could get their hands on before the clock ran out. The other side would largely remain a storage area, with the exception of Donnie’s bedroom. It, at Patty’s suggestion, would become a meditation room — a quiet space where anyone could, day or night, escape everyone else for at least a half-hour, no questions asked.

In the center of the new structure would be a large family-style table and an industrial-sized, vented fire pit that could, for example, be used to convert reclaimed water into steam to power the grow lights. An attached enclosed patio on the side of the building would house as much firewood as they could chop and gather, the largest stash of gasoline they could safely store, Donnie’s motorcycle, and two ATVs, to be purchased and maintained by Steve and Trevor.

It would be cramped, but the remainder of the fortress — because that’s exactly what they would make it — would be divided into tiny, private living quarters, including one each for the teens. Each would be the size of a master bedroom, and a nursery space would be added to Chet’s and Luka’s. Without words, Donnie and Eve agreed they would bunk together, each with their own bed.

Each room would have its own vented wood-burning stove and a small, porthole-sized window that could be sealed behind an iron hatch in case of an emergency.

And it would, both Brady and Donnie insisted, be defensible.

“Let’s not sugarcoat this,” Brady told the bunch. “When the shit hits the fan, the folks left standing are going to become savages real fast. And I’m not even talking about the turn. If we’re right, and the Ghouls are planning some sort of first strike, people will be starving before the first volcano belches, and places like these are going to become targets.”

“Ours, especially,” Eve added. “Building this now is going to bring eyes on us, and if the Ghouls get wind of what we’re prepping for… That BLM land behind us could go from buffer zone to staging zone in a heartbeat.”

“Look, I don’t want to get morbid, but we ran these kinds of scenarios on the force,” Chet said. “Your fucking neighbor will slit your throat for some bread when things go sideways. Now, we’re better off up here, because people tend to be somewhat ready for bad shit to happen, but we’re going to have to make some really hard decisions, and I think we should make them now, before things get crazy.”

“Like?” asked Steve.

“Like what are you going to do if a bunch of starving locals show up at the front gate?” Chet said. “We might be able to take care of ourselves, but we sure as hell won’t be able to house and feed anyone else.”

“He’s right,” Donnie agreed, holding up a hand to silence the protests he knew would spill from Eve’s lips.

“No, he’s fucking right,” Donnie said firmly. “We have got to keep our eyes on the bigger picture here. We’re not trying to survive this for shits and giggles. We have a mission. We’re supposed to help save humanity’s souls, right?

“So e-fucking-scuse me if I’m not gonna get broken up over a few dead vessels,” he stated. “They’re going to be the lucky ones, I guaran-fucking-tee that.”

It was a solemn point no one could argue.

The fortress would have gun turrets, an arsenal, and rooftop watchtowers, accessible through lockable hatches in the ceiling.

Every cent every one of them either currently had or could get ahold of in the next seven months would go into bringing this project to fruition.

And nothing, they agreed, would stop them from building it.

Nothing, and no one.