When the wind first rushed in, Chen Hao thought the door wasn't closed properly.
He glanced up at the monitor; the red storm cloud had pressed down to the coastline, its edges curling like charred paper. Nana's voice was half a octave lower than usual: "It's landed."
"It's starting already?" Susan's hand was still on the thermos, and the steam stopped as soon as it started to rise.
The sounds outside changed instantly. It wasn't the wind; it was as if the whole world was being pulled and swayed by something. The metal panels on the roof made a long, endless sound as if wires were being pulled. A muffled thud came from the direction of the generator room, like someone had pushed down an entire wall.
“The waterproof wall has collapsed.” Nana stared at the data stream. “The drainage channel is blocked, and the water is backflowing.”
Chen Hao grabbed the walkie-talkie: "Karl, can the generator room hold up?"
After a few seconds, there was only static coming from the walkie-talkie.
"The signal is down," Nana said.
"I'll go take a look." Chen Hao stood up.
“You can’t get out.” Nana blocked the doorway. “The wind speed in the corridor is over level 14 right now; you can’t stand up straight.”
"We can't just sit here doing nothing." Chen Hao walked to the window and lifted a corner of the partition. Rainwater slanted against the bulletproof glass, leaving streaks of mud. In the distance, only a crooked, rickety section of the sandbag wall remained, as if it had been chewed by a dog.
Another sound, this time closer. The ceiling of the main hall shook, and several screws popped out from the seams, falling to the ground and rolling twice.
“There are microcracks in the load-bearing beam.” Nana pulled up the structural diagram. “Continuous vibration may cause it to break.”
"Can you weld it?" Susan asked.
“There are no working conditions,” Nana said. “I suggest activating the final evacuation plan and transferring everyone to the underground storage warehouse.”
“Isn’t that the last thing we use?” Karl’s voice trembled slightly.
“This is the worst-case scenario.” Nana turned and walked to the cabinet, taking out an emergency kit. “The control room may lose its structural integrity within thirty minutes.”
Chen Hao didn't say anything more and started packing his belongings. He stuffed the last damp biscuit into his pocket and casually touched the lighter in his pocket—he hadn't used that thing for three years, but had always carried it with him.
The four of them shouldered their backpacks and lined up to walk towards the back passage. As soon as the door opened, the wind almost knocked Karl over. He stumbled a couple of steps and bumped into the wall.
"Rope!" Chen Hao ripped off the backpack strap and quickly linked the four people together. "I'll go first, you guys pull."
The corridor was more difficult to navigate than expected. The floor was slippery, water dripped from the pipes overhead, and every step felt like walking on tofu. The wind blew in from the side, causing him to sway. Chen Hao practically shuffled forward against the wall, his calves starting to ache.
Halfway there, the overhead light flickered twice and then went out.
"Voltage is unstable," Nana's voice rang out in the darkness. "The lighting system will be shut down soon."
"Then we'll feel our way forward," Chen Hao gritted his teeth. "Nobody should let go."
The last section was downhill. The stairs were narrow, and there was water on the steps. Karl slipped and fell. Nana reached out and grabbed his arm; the mechanical joints hummed slightly. She pulled him up half a meter and helped him regain his footing.
“Thank you…” Carl gasped for breath.
“It’s my duty,” Nana said.
The door to the underground compartment was at the far end. Chen Hao pushed it open forcefully, and the four of them squeezed inside, quickly closing the door. The latch clicked shut, instantly reducing the sound of the wind outside to muffled thunder.
The space was small, piled with several boxes of spare parts and two oxygen cylinders. In the corner was a folding table with an old-fashioned receiver on it. Nana went over and plugged it in; the screen lit up, but the signal was intermittent, and the image flickered.
“External monitoring is interrupted,” she said. “We can only judge the situation based on intermittent signals.”
The lights flickered. The first time they went out, no one spoke. The second time, Susan's breathing quickened. The third time, she leaned against the wall, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her clothes.
"Are you alright?" Chen Hao asked.
“It’s a bit stuffy,” Susan said. “This place is too small.”
“Think of something else.” Chen Hao sat down on the ground. “For example… I copied the answers from the girl in front of me during the last exam, and she ended up getting a lower score than me.”
Susan paused for a moment, then asked, "And then?"
"Then the teacher called us up and asked in front of the whole class, 'Did you two agree on who would copy whom?'" Chen Hao grinned. "I said, 'She copied me,' and she immediately said, 'He's lying.' In the end, we both got a demerit."
Carl chuckled: "Then you've lost out big time."
"Loss? I'll just have to write one less self-criticism." Chen Hao shrugged. "Anyway, I've always had bad luck."
Nana suddenly raised her hand and pressed the receiver. A blurry image flashed on the screen: a corner of the control room roof was raised, flipping up like a piece of paper.
“The roof of the main hall is damaged,” she said. “Rainwater is seeping into the core equipment area.”
"Then what did all that repair work amount to?" Karl's voice tightened.
"It wasn't a complete waste," Chen Hao said. "At least it gave us two more days to live."
The light flickered again. This time, the pause was longer. In the darkness, only Susan's breathing and the buzzing of the receiver could be heard.
As the lights came on, Nana was pulling up an image. The starry sky was slowly rotating, without any planet markers.
“What is this?” Susan asked.
“It simulates the night sky,” Nana said. “Based on common star formations in the Northern Hemisphere, it helps alleviate psychological stress in enclosed environments.”
"You hid this function?" Chen Hao stared at the screen.
“There are 327 psychological intervention programs in the database,” Nana said. “This is just the most basic one.”
Chen Hao lay down, his head resting on his backpack. "How about we reminisce a bit? Who goes first?"
No one spoke.
"I'll go first," he said. "I remember the steamed buns in the high school cafeteria had thick skins and little filling; every bite was full of fatty meat. But I always bought two because they were cheap. Back then, I felt that as long as I was full, failing a course wouldn't be so bad."
Susan said softly, "There's a bubble tea shop downstairs from my university lab that sells hot cocoa in the winter. Every time I finish an experiment late at night, I go and buy a cup. The cup is hot to the touch, but after taking a sip, it warms me up completely."
Carl hesitated for a moment: "I used to have a pothos on my balcony. I didn't change the soil for three years. The leaves would turn yellow and I would cut them off, but they would grow back. My mom said it was tough, just like me."
Nana looked at the three of them and said, "The food, plants, and drinks you mentioned all have in common that they provide basic energy."
“That’s not the point,” Chen Hao said. “The point is… I didn’t know what despair was back then. I was tired, but I could start over after a good night’s sleep.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the lights went out again.
It didn't light up this time.
In the darkness, the receiver was still working. A sharp metallic scraping sound came from the intermittent signal, like the roof being torn apart bit by bit.
"The support frame in the main control room is failing," Nana whispered.
"Can it be fixed?" Carl asked.
"No," Chen Hao said. "Going out now would be suicide."
"Then what should we do?"
"Wait," Chen Hao said, leaning against the wall. "The typhoon will eventually pass."
Susan slowly slid to the floor, her back pressed against the cold metal wall. Carl wrapped himself tightly in a thermal blanket, huddled in a corner. Nana stood beside the receiver, her eyes reflecting the faint light.
After some time, the noise outside seemed to have subsided a little.
Chen Hao looked up: "Has the wind weakened?"
Nana shook her head: "It's just a brief respite. The center of the cyclone hasn't passed yet, and the strongest phase hasn't arrived."
"Oh." Chen Hao lay back down. "I thought it was almost over."
"There are still at least six hours until the end," Nana said.
"That's really long." He closed his eyes. "If I have to wear it back next time, could you please do it on a sunny day?"
No one laughed.
Suddenly, a clear image appeared on the receiver: the door to the generator room had completely fallen off, and rainwater was rushing inside. Sparks exploded in the water and then went out.
"The power system is damaged." Nana closed the interface. "The backup power will run out in two hours."
"So that means the lights will go out completely?" Susan asked.
“Yes,” Nana said. “We will be in complete darkness from now on.”
Chen Hao sighed, "I should have brought a deck of cards."
He took another bite of the biscuit, chewing very slowly. It still tasted like cardboard.
The wind outside picked up again, sounding like a group of people banging their heads against the wall outside the door. The door frame of the underground warehouse trembled slightly, and a trickle of rainwater seeped in through the cracks, flowing down the corner of the wall and gathering into a thin line on the ground.
Chen Hao stared at the drop of water.
It fell and hit the concrete, splashing up tiny water droplets.
The second drop followed.
The third drop.
When he counted to the seventh drop, Nana suddenly turned to look at the vent.
“The wind has shifted,” she said. “The outer circulation is reorganizing.”
“What does this mean?” Susan asked.
"This means the real eye of the storm is just around the corner."
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