Borrowed Heat

Penny Newcombe

Eve had never seen the world outside. Life inside the bunker was all she’d ever known: the fluorescent lights and aged grey walls, the same faces.

Her father brought her mother here when she was pregnant with Eve. His skill in nuclear and geothermic power was the reason they were selected. A talent he didn’t successfully pass on to Eve before he died. Today, of all days, that was an issue.

Loading Day. 

All members of the Hold were tested every year. Their knowledge of and resourcefulness to the bunker’s systems were measured. It started with a practical test, then a questionnaire. The rooms were the groups. Eve’s held only her now that her parents were gone. This was her first time doing it alone.

The losing room would lose its energy for the night. Few survived it. Eve didn’t expect to pass this year. Not without her dad. Everyone knew it. She had never been smart enough. Dreamy Eve, her dad used to call her. Her fog-coloured eyes stared out of the small skylight at the endless black void—the only glimpse of the real world she would ever see.

The dining hall was a long, utilitarian space, filled with rows of thick, grey plastic tables. Eve collected her bowl of mush served as food, longing as always for meals she’d read about in books. At the far end of the hall, boxes were being passed out, each containing the test.

Families were gathered at the tables, sitting close, holding hands with red-rimmed eyes. Eve scanned the room. Her gaze softened when she saw the only baby, Milly, with her mum. Then she spotted Mrs. Andrews, who had hugged her tightly when her dad had died on the engineering assignment last year. Eve gave her a kind smile, which was returned. Then Eve’s eyes landed on Callum. He was sitting at a table near the far wall, shovelling oats and vegetables into his mouth with that usual look of indifference. His expression was unreadable, as if everything in the hall were beneath him. She remembered when they were kids, how they’d spent hours running in the halls, pretending to be explorers in the real world before the Chill. But one day, without explanation, he had stopped talking to her. She hadn’t fought it. She had simply mirrored him the moment he treated her like she was invisible. She must have been staring too long, because suddenly his amber eyes snagged on hers. 

For a split second, their gazes locked. Her stomach flipped. She brushed her dusty blond fringe out of her eyes and quickly looked away, grabbing her box with the test from the counter.

It was the first time Eve had ever seen the infamous red letter, the one that marked her failure. Perhaps she should have shown some reaction. Shed a tear. Slammed her fist. Anything. But not even her hands shook. 

She wasn’t surprised. Compared to everyone else, she spent most of the test with her brain drifting into fictional stories. She really had to concentrate to come back to reality.  Logic was not her thing. It made her a liability to The Hold.

That was it then; her room was losing heat tonight, and there was nothing she could do about it. These were her final moments.

What a pointless nineteen years.

She opened The Wind in the Willows, letting the rivers and green meadows carry her to the world she would only ever dream of, and dived in fully.

…vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.

There was a knock at the door. Eve stood too fast. The book fell, its pages breaking free of the repurposed tape, scattering across the floor. The sight of her remaining lifeline torn apart stung more than the red letter.

The knock came again, louder. Who could it be? No one visited rooms. Discussions happened only in the halls.

She opened the door, relieved she wasn’t holding anything else.

It was Callum.

His expression was tightly furious. His eyes landed on the red letter on her bedside table before he grabbed her shoulders. Eve bit her lip, trying not to react to the feel of his large hands. He pushed her back into the room and shut the door behind him.

“What are—” she felt suddenly hollow with the sear of his hands already gone, leaving only the ghost of his touch.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he said, dragging a hand through his chestnut hair.

“I lost the test—you can’t!”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“…but only one room…”

“Looks like they changed the rules.”

His gaze glazed for a moment, then moved around the space, finally landing on the painting she had made of a boat drifting along a stream during what she imagined Spring looked like in the old world.

“Your room’s smaller than mine,” he said, flatly.

Callum was perched on the edge of her bed, stacking the loose pages of her book neatly. Eve stood in the far corner, unsure where she belonged now that he was here. She’d already questioned him on why they shut down two rooms this year, but his answers were all the same. 

“I don’t know.” The delivery, more gruff and more irritable every time she asked.

She swallowed, finally changing the subject, as the truth of what was happening settled into something real. “When does the power go out?”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “You honestly think I remember that? I was ten.”

“You’ve been through this before?” she asked, genuinely shocked.

The book made a soft sound as he closed it, testing the spine, then set it beside himself on the bed.

“You seriously didn’t know that’s how my parents died?”

The silence became heavy. Eve felt like she was choking.

She knew his parents had died, but hers wouldn’t tell her when or how. All she knew was that Callum had stopped being her friend, and she had never understood why. The image of him as a boy, freezing cold and between his parents’ corpses, flooded her mind.

Callum’s knee bounced, then stilled. “It doesn’t matter when,” he said. “You’ll… feel it when it happens.”

Eve stepped back toward the wall. It already felt cold as she leaned against it.  

Callum moved like a man possessed. From his pockets came chemical hand warmers, a folded Mylar blanket that glittered under the fluorescent light, and a thermos bottle. Each item he placed on the bed with militant precision. Switches clicked; the little devices waking to life as he stuffed them under the bedsheets.

Eve stood there, gawping, unsure where to look, what to do, or even where to put her hands. Realisation dawned—he meant to get into her bed with her. He was here to share body heat.

“Do you have thicker duvets?”

She just stared at him, mouth dry.

“Eve, you need to focus. We’re going to need everything if we’re going to survive tonight.”

She snapped back to life, as though her dad had returned, telling her what to do. She pulled out everything they had and spread it across the bed. Fumbling slightly, Callum leaned over to help, and their fingers brushed. Eve froze. An electric current spiked through her arm, down her spine and right back up.

His amber eyes—that had always reminded her of a tiger’s—landed on hers, unflinching and not pulling away. Her pulse hammered up into her face. Kindly, and so unlike him, he chose not to notice.

Or he was simply unaffected.

They had each taken their showers separately. Eve had gone first. He had told her to, so she could get the warmth into her bones before the power went down. He went second while she dried her hair. The air held the clinically harsh aroma of antiseptic soap.

She stayed ultra-focused on her tasks when he stepped out. His form blurred in her peripheral vision, muscles rippling as he dried.

Now that they were dressed in night clothes, they could look at each other again. Yet she still couldn’t.

His pyjamas were the standard grey ones issued by The Hold. She wore a soft white nightgown that had once belonged to her mother. She tugged at the hem, the fabric awkward against her legs. Why didn’t she own pyjamas like his?

She glanced at Callum. The breadth of his shoulders was impossible to miss with so little fabric. Blood rushed to her cheeks, a hollowing drop low in her stomach. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes landed on hers, then away again.

“Let’s climb in,” he said. “We don’t have much time left, I think.”

The room felt muffled with anticipation as the fluorescent lights dimmed, shadows stretching long across the walls. Their bed coats hung loosely from their shoulders, fluffy socks pulled up high.

“OK,” she whispered. 

Callum pulled back the layered blankets and climbed in first.

There was a tink, tink sound as the continuous humming of the power went out. The temperature was dropping. Cold invaded the room, ghostly forces slithering through the ceiling, the walls, the floor.

“Eve,” Callum shouted.

Only then did she register how little light remained, how he was reduced to a smudged outline. She slid in beside him. He sealed the blankets around them in quick succession, trapping the heat from whatever he had done to them.

Their shoulders met. The backs of their hands touched and stayed.

 “You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“You’re not.” 

“I’m not cold yet.” 

“Neither am I,” she whispered, her teeth chattering

“You’re scared?” 

“Aren’t you?” She looked at him then, really looked, only seeing a grey outline while her eyes struggled to adjust. But he said nothing. She turned to the black ceiling, her nose already tingling pink.

The covers needed to turn into a sort of tent. The room was too cold for any bit of skin to touch it. Breathing felt heavy, the numbness was spreading. Eve’s feet, hands, ears, all the edges of her body. Every part of her yearned to burrow into the scorch of a man next to her. But she didn’t move. Neither did he. Their bodies were stiff, frozen in the positions they’d taken when they first got in. Only their shoulders and the backs of their hands touched, their index fingers brushing feather-light and somehow, slightly interlinked. Some kind of endless fluttering feedback loop sprout up wherever they touched.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. The room felt smaller, like a place she had never been.

“Are you feeling it now?” he whispered. 

She nodded, making the sheet ruffle.

“Can I… hold you to me?” he asked. She could hear the chatter in his teeth. She let herself do what she’d been craving in the silence, leaning into him, shuddering as if her body had been holding back its relief for too long. She felt it from him too.

He shifted carefully, one arm sliding around her shoulders, the other supporting her back. Comfort spread between them, like a heated blanket. She let herself melt into him. It still wasn’t enough. She wanted more. To entwine their legs, to tuck her feet against his but she held back. She felt him swallow; his neck pressed against the top of her head. His scent wrapped around her, a strange mix of Callum pheromones that made her want to taste them on his lips. What she imagined the wind tasted like. She didn’t remember him ever smelling as good as this.

She felt the cold along her arms despite being entirely under the covers. But she knew it could have been worse. If Callum hadn’t been here, she would have felt it in her core by now, and the night had only just begun.

The many warmers he had cracked and scattered through the bed helped fight the ever-pressing chill the room was giving off now that the power was gone. Her fingers twitched against his arm where she clung to him.

“You can come closer… if you need to,” he said.

Eve shifted her hips into the only gap left. She heard his fast intake of breath. She immediately pulled back a little, apologising. But his arms tightened around her, drawing her fully against him now. Her eyes closed at the miraculous feel of him, and she tangled her limbs in his.

“Thank you,” she said. All of him against her made her flush. It was a weird sensation, feeling cold and hot in equal measures. It was difficult to breathe under the covers.  Steam from their exhales coated her face. She wanted to push her head out for just a second, to feel fresh air, to wipe her cheeks.

She pushed herself upwards.

“Eve, no—” Callum started.

But it was too late. The moment she lifted the sheet, the cold struck her face like metal. Callum sealed them back under the covers immediately. But the feel of the air above the duvet was enough to leave her face burning. It felt tight, raw, almost painful.

“Are you OK?” Callum asked, rubbing her cheeks with his large hands, forcing circulation back into them.

“I didn’t—it burns,” she whispered.

“Don’t lift the covers again.”

His hands stilled a moment longer than necessary on her cheeks before he pulled them away, tucking the blankets tighter around them. Their small cocoon dampened again with their breath.

Eve snuggled closer without thinking now, zero embarrassment. The realisation of what waited above the covers, especially knowing this was only the beginning of the cold, meant this was probably their last night alive.

Callum’s inhale was deep when her nose brushed his neck as she tucked her face in there. She didn’t think he could hold her any tighter yet was surprised when he did. She had never felt so cherished. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, done with the pretence.

“Me too,” he murmured, stroking his palms soothingly over her back, the sensation sending tingling zings everywhere.

“I can’t believe they did this to two rooms this year.”

“Yeah…” he replied, with a swallow.

Eve heard the deception in his voice, but the way his arms tightened made her close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of their bodies pressed together, her knee sliding between his.

It felt so nice that it was hard to believe they were living on an uninhabitable frozen planet in a room with no power. They were so close now. Eve could hear his heartbeat. “I missed you,” she said with a nervous whisper. “When you stopped talking to me…  I know it’s been ten years, but you were my best friend.”

Callum said nothing.

“I didn’t know why you stopped talking to me. My mum and dad never told me anything. I didn’t understand that your mum and dad had… I didn’t know—” The tears came then, and he turned fully toward her.

“Hey, hey—”

He wiped the corners of her eyes with both thumbs.

“I’m angry that they tried to keep me safe from stuff like that. That’s why you stopped speaking to me, isn’t it? Because I didn’t show sympathy, for what you must have been through. I can’t— I should’ve—”

But she never finished the sentence.

Callum’s lips were on hers. The softness of his mouth startled her, the pressure of it sending a strange ripple all the way down, and up like it had joined with her circulation.  When his tongue touched lightly at the edge of her lips the sensation sent a sudden, spark through her, settling between her legs. It made her toes curl inside her socks. Though his tongue was rough, it felt nice when he brushed it against hers. He tasted like everything she didn’t know she was missing.

She had never been kissed before. Not once in nineteen years. Not that others didn’t try, Eve just kept herself to herself, wouldn’t meet people’s eyes and ran like a startled ferret when guys tried to talk to her.

While for Callum… it was probably nothing. The rumours about him had travelled through The Hold, he was known for messing around with many girls. Just not her. She assumed he hated her. The warmth suddenly faltered as Eve realized the truth. Hers was the only room he could come to if he wanted to survive the night. That was the only reason he was here. Not because of her but because he had no other choice. He needed her for survival.

She pulled away, the space between them growing colder by the second. His eyes searched hers, brows creased in confusion. He didn’t know what had changed, but Eve couldn’t hide the hurt anymore. She wasn’t good at hiding her emotions. 

“I…” he said, trying to understand her sudden withdrawal. “I…stopped talking to you because I didn’t want you carrying that shit. I was ten. I didn’t want to watch it… happen to you too. You’re the only sun in this place.” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to dim it.” She shook her head against the pillow.

“If I’d have known—”

“I liked that you didn’t,” he said, brushing his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I liked knowing you were still… you. Still pretending to sail.” A humourless laugh escaped him as he remembered the games they had played. She always let him be captain. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to…” He trailed off unable to finish the sentence. He changed the subject. “When your mum died,” he gulped, “I tried to reach you.” A memory surfaced. Familiar hands pressing something into hers while she waited outside the infirmary for her father’s screams to stop.

“That was you?” she whispered. “The chocolate?”

Callum’s hands paused against her neck. “You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t see properly. I thought maybe… but then I thought that it must have been impossible, that I had imagined it.”

“We were thirteen,” he said. “I thought you didn’t want me near you. I thought I would just make it worse for you.” He hesitated. “And last year, when your dad died… it was too late. The way you looked at me by then—”

 “I thought you hated me,” she said. “I was looking at you the way you looked at me.” Callum let out a snort. Eve mirrored it, letting a laugh escape herself, at how idiotic they’d both been.

His fingers circled her cheeks, stroking tingles.

Their lips met again, exploring what felt nice. This time she pressed fully into him, drinking in the tiny noises he made in response, letting herself feel everything all at once, until she wasn’t sure where she began and he started.

There was no cold in any part of her now. He was gloriously warm, and perfect. If she could bottle up his taste and scent and save it for later she would. Eve pushed even harder against him desperate for more and felt his hardness. She pulled back a little then, and opened her eyes. He was already watching her.

“I’ve… never—” she started to say, needing him to understand her inexperience. She did want him, desperately, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, but she was afraid, of being disappointing.

“We’re not—” he murmured. “I wasn’t… I just… can’t help. Especially around you.  But I’m not…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and Eve felt the flush radiating off him. “I’m not expecting it. I didn’t come here for that.”

“You’ve done it before?” She knew he had, and didn’t know why she needed to hear it from him, nor why she was pushing against him again. Pretending to herself it was just for shared heat—she was so perfect in her body temperature, in this moment to even think about how frozen her room actually was. How bad it would be if he wasn’t here.

His entire body was unrelaxed, unsure where to hold her. He answered her question with a nod, looking unusually guilty. “But never. Not anything like this… not anything that…  mattered.”

“This was my first kiss… I’m sorry if I was bad—”

But he didn’t let her finish. His lips were on hers again, harder this time, as though he were branding himself on her—a mark she’d never be able to erase and would never want to. “You’re perfect,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve wanted you for so long… I never  thought—” He swallowed. “If I’d known you’d felt the same way…”

“Me too,” Eve whispered, remembering when they’d been children and had their pirate wedding, and he’d made her a ring out of his mum’s hair band. She smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Callum asked, tilting his head.

She told him.

“I remember. And I meant it,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Yeah, sure, I bet you meant it when you said I poo over I do!”

“I did not say that.” He squeezed her ribs, making her giggle, it was her ticklish spot.  “I told my mum and dad we were married,” he went on. 

“No, you didn’t!”

“I absolutely did. I asked if you could come and live with us. Made a space for you under my desk.”

Eve’s eyes crinkled, only her toes felt cold but easily fixed under Callum’s knees. “I think I said something similar to my mum and dad,” she told him, trying to remember. “I’m sorry,” she said, again, her memories taking her too far, “for not being what you needed back then. For copying your emotions instead of—I mean… I wasn’t a very good wife.”

“Well, you were a child bride…” He smirked, making her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

“But truly, it wasn’t you.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for you to lose both your parents at that age. It was tough enough for me as an adult, but Callum… you were so small, to go through that, to have them die next to you… and now The Hold doing it to you again. If we survive this, we need to demand to know why they did it—to shut the power from two rooms.  It’s… it’s evil.”

Callum went silent. Eve felt the warmth she was used to vanish. A sudden tension that ran along his arms. Gooseflesh appeared along his skin.

Eve felt like she had a very large ice shard lodged in her windpipe as she realised.  “You… didn’t fail the test… did you?”

Callum didn’t answer. His grip loosened. Suddenly, he felt far away, though he was right beside her.

“You didn’t,” she whispered.

“Eve—”

“You knew I failed and you—”

“I tried to reason with them, tried to get them to let you stay with me in my room…  but because we’re not married, they wouldn’t… I even asked what if we did that today but  they wouldn’t budge.”

She felt like she was going to be sick, “It’s suicide! What have you done.”

“I wasn’t going to let you—“

“Let me? It was nothing to do with you. I was never going to pass, Callum. You know that. Everyone did, it was only a matter of time. You’re the smartest person in this place, you passed this test over and over even when you were just a boy. You’re the kind of person The Hold needs, not me.”

“None of that matters to me… you more than anyone should know that.”

There wasn’t anything left to say, and what was the point? They were in it now, with no escape.

“I wish you didn’t do that,” she barely whispered.

 “Do you?”

She shook her head, eyes glistening. “I wish I did, though. Truly I do. I wish I wasn’t a coward. If you weren’t here I—”

“Shh.” He pulled her in again, and this time she went fully, with zero space or hesitation. Her leg over his, his hand at her back, pressing her into him like he could meld her there, where she belonged.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she said, her voice cracking, unable to hide the tremble.

“That doesn’t matter now. Nothing else matters,” he told her, sounding and feeling like he meant every word.

Their breathing filled the space under the covers, humid and damp, nowhere for it to go. It should have been too much, and it would have been, with anyone else. Above ground, hollow moans and cracks echoed as the ice shifted, the vibrations almost musical, like the whale sounds she’d seen in the documentaries her dad had saved. She had never heard anything from outside the bunker before; the constant drone of electricity had always drowned out the world beyond. Now, for the first time, she was hearing it, alien, yet oddly peaceful, a muted lullaby from a world she had never been to despite living on.

They kissed, deeply, both wondering why they had ever held back. He held her tighter, like he wasn’t going to let anything take her. The warmth they created together was almost metaphysical.

This, she imagined, was what a sunrise felt like.