"I can't believe you want to keep helping those people after what happened today," Mike said loudly as he slammed the door of the Jeep. This argument had been going on since we left town.
"You know that there are only a handful like that. The rest are just trying to live until the end," I replied harshly.
"So, you want to run off to the bunker and help bring in food, for what? To die in a hole being baked alive?" he asked.
"I love helping people and I want to live the rest of my life doing something I love. I couldn't kill myself no matter how terrible of an end is coming. It's just something I'm not capable of," I explained.
"I won't die in a fire. I just won't," Mike shouted then turned his back to me as he leaned on the ATV in front of the house, "You know I have a history with fire because of that camping accident. I won't feel that pain again. Until this whole sun thing happened, I never thought I would have to worry about it. But now it's here and I'd rather take a bullet that go through that."
I put my hand on his back and just caressed him for a moment. I had forgotten all about his accident. Mike and his brother were messing with the fire when his brother dumped some fuel on it. The fluid splashed off the logs, ignited, and covered Mike's legs. The burns were only second degree and there was little permanent scarring from it, but the trauma was still very much there.
"I'm sorry, I forgot about your accident," I said softly, "I understand why you wouldn't go through that again."
"And I know it isn't in your nature to give up," he said still facing the ATV, "That's why I'm so upset. I know how this is going to go."
"What do you mean?"
"This is where we end. There's just enough time left for me to go off and climb a mountain peak to enjoy the view and you're wasting time here if you want to get to the bunker. We can't do both."
I felt the tears welling up when I realized he was right. We wanted different things and neither of us would cave. I hugged his back and cried.
He turned around and we hugged each other crying. This was not the way I pictured our eight-year relationship ending. He let go first and wiped his tears away.
"Let's get you packed and ready to go otherwise we'll never be able to leave," Mike said before heading into the house.
I followed behind, still crying as my heart was breaking. We've rarely spent more than a weekend apart in eight years, and I always thought we'd die old still holding onto one another. The end of the world sucks!