The Low Pulse

I sat back upon the leveled tile. The foundation wall was cold against my spine. Overhead, a copper pipe began to hum. A dull vibration traveled down through the timber floor joists. I raised my primary right arm. Pressed two thick fingers against the curved metal. A faint pulse. Warmth moving through the cold subterranean air. Below, the shadows thickened across the concrete. No movement along the perimeter. The drain stayed silent. I lowered my arm and planted my lower hands flat across my knees. The bunker holds. The watch continues.