He checked the rain filter. Cleaned the screen. Poured the collected water into a pot and set it on the stove. The stove ran on compressed wood gas, scavenged from a car engine. It worked most of the time.

He opened a can of beans. Smelled it. Not bad. Just old. He ate.

The basement was divided into two rooms. Carl's room had a cot, a shelf, a desk. Old Joe's room had a bed, a chair, a stack of canned food. They had been living together for ten years. They argued every day. Joe talked too much. Carl talked too little.

"Turn off that light," Joe said.

"It's not on," Carl said.

"You're breathing too loud."

Carl did not respond. He sat on his cot and stared at the wall.

Joe talked for another hour. Then he stopped talking. Carl knew because the silence was different from the usual silence. The usual silence was waiting. This silence was done.

Carl went to Joe's room. Joe was lying in bed, eyes closed, breathing stopped. Carl checked his pulse. Nothing. He spent two hours digging a hole in the concrete floor. He wrapped Joe in a sheet. He lowered him into the hole. He covered him with concrete mix from a bag he had been saving.

Then he went back to his room and checked the rain filter.

He decided to go to the surface. He climbed the stairs. Pushed open the heavy iron door. The sun was bright. He could not open his eyes. He walked for a long time. The surface was a desert. Rusted cars. Broken glass. Shattered concrete. A dead tree in the distance.

He found a building that was still standing. Inside, on a desk, a computer. It was old but not broken. He spent three days fixing it. Wires from the basement. Parts from broken appliances. He connected the power. The screen lit up.

On the screen, tiny figures. Moving. Dancing. Singing. Embracing. Small as fingernails. Glowing eyes. Silent.

Carl stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he pulled the plug. The screen went dark.

He walked back to the basement. He sat on his cot. He looked at the bucket. Water was still dripping. Seven drops per minute.

He looked at the bucket. He looked at the ceiling. Then he put the bucket on the floor and sat down. He did not speak. There was only the sound of water dripping.

Drip. Drip. Drip.