Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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They had elected to remain in the underground bunker. Even this deep below the earth it was apparent the storm up top was not to be faced. Gareth was nervous to remain underground though with no light source; and needed to be very reassured that Dwayne could, even in the absence of torches find his way to the surface without question. Dwayne patiently assured him repeatedly that this was the case, and finally, as the last torch sputtered and died the three settled down against a wall to rest.
Warren was dog tired, however, he could not sleep. He was far too uncomfortable and cold. He envied his companions who seemed to be able to rest adequately in the field. He thought of Lucy all evening and wondered if she was safe and well, and how the others were weathering this severe storm.
*****
The following morning with little rest, and some scant rations, the search was resumed. Dwayne true to his word found his way to the surface, kindled a fire, and relit the brands.
"It's strange up top," he reported to his superior. "Storm was bad, lots of damage, some rain. I can't find the horses, eerily quiet."
Gareth's mouth formed a straight, hard-line, he had truly hoped the animals could be located. It was a long walk home and how would they transport anything of use on foot? It would be terrible to come this far and be robbed of a sure victory by such stupid misfortune.
"I don't think they were stolen." Dwayne ventured. "Nothing touched in camp."
"They probably ran in the storm, we'll find em." Gareth assured.
Slowly the installation revealed its secrets. Though some doors remained off limits to the trio, tightly sealed and impassable. Most of the facility appeared evacuated, many storerooms stood doors flung open, empty. Thus far the search seemed futile. Turning up plenty of memorabilia of another age but little of any real use.
"Shit, Gareth look at this!" Dwayne exclaimed.
They had all been about to lose heart, wondering what their leader would say to them when they returned before him empty-handed. Each man was sure that ugly ramifications would ensue for failure, and each had his own private and dark reservations were they to return with nothing. Hence they had continued to stay and scour the complex with more zeal.
Warren teetering on his makeshift walking stick deathly tired. He looked up hopefully at Dwayne's outburst. The heavy door was partially open, it seemed that a pallet of stacked items had fallen against it, and to begin with, neither man could push it inward.
Dwayne had decided to give it one more determined try and the door budged a little as a metallic canister bumped down the pile and hit the floor below. It rolled some way to come to rest at the foot of a pallet loaded with yet more of the numerous items. Sleek, gray, and pointed rods, row on row all identical.
