Bunker 31

The Salvaging Voyage

A SMALL SALVAGING CAMP IN THE WASTELANDS:

                 "Put some more firewood onto the fire, it's getting colder!" said Jake, though heavily bundled in several layers of wool, cotton, and protective gear, starting to shiver as the ragged group of salvagers sat huddling around the dimming blaze after a long and difficult day of salvaging.

      "No, we need to save what little wood we have," said Lieutenant Harkszkold, a tough, muscular, and courageous hulk of a man who happened to be their leader. On his head he had a giant ugly scar, replacing almost half of his short auburn hair. Lt. Harkszkold was treated like an outcast because of it, nobody wanted to be with a man with such an ugly injury. His tough, battle hardened body was covered in scars achieved in battles against the horde, which he called "proof of courage". Kaylen thought they were signs of insanity. The Lieutenant's disposition was as rough and tough as his body was. 

   "Only put more firewood on if absolutely necessary."

       "I'm going to bed," muttered Pedro, their hoverspeeder pilot,  sleepily. Beneath his protective clothing he was a small, but fit middle-aged man with walnut-colored skin. He had a wide face plastered with a stringy goatee. Despite his mean look he was really a friendly guy. He slowly got up and started walking towards his tent.

     "Man, I hate salvaging duty," moaned Jake, although he usually was a wiry, wily imp but sometimes seemed to have issues with everyone and everything. "Having to drag our hides to some random heap of petrified rubble, then spend a whole day searching aimlessly for who knows what in who knows what weather in this perilous and spooky environment!! I don't want to die out here!"

  "Relax, Jake, we're finished. We're going back to the bunker tomorrow." Kaylen reassured. 

       He did hate this job though. It was really spooky out here in the barren remains of Earth, especially at night. His wimpish physical structure didn't reassure him much either. He couldn't really defend himself in hand-to-hand combat and wasn't the best shot either. He looked out beyond the camp and into the wasteland beyond, the silhouettes of once tall skyscrapers looming eerily in the distance.

                          "Hey!!"

    "Whuh?" Kaylen asked, snapping back to reality.

     "I said, git in your tent! It's not safe at night! Hurry up!" Lt. Harkszkold yelled.

     "O gosh, sorry sir!" Kaylen yelled as he scurried inside his dome-shaped tent, quickly sealing the protective entrance covering behind him. "Oh well, time for bed," he thought.

        In his bed, he pondered as one naturally does before one goes to sleep, thinking about today's events and his whole life in general.

         When Kaylen was young, if you had told him he was going outside the bunkers as his career-assignment, Kaylen would have laughed. He was a naturally timid person, although he wasn't a complete wall flower. He never was too good at any classes that involved physical force, always getting pummeled by the stronger kids. He did excel in his history courses though, and he assumed that was why he had been chosen for salvaging after the final test and assignment. He didn't know who his parents were, there were no parents.

        The directorate wants only an absolutely perfect society, and as such it must be populated by absolutely perfect members. They would not allow anyone with physical and mental defects to exist. To weed out the weaker ones, everyone was raised and taught as groups, learning and growing together. Every year after fifteen there was a test, and those in the bottom ten percent  were deemed "unworthy" and had to be "redeemed" . In short, nobody wanted to fail. Kaylen didn't know how he passed each test, considering he was poor in the physical department, relatively shy, and not physically perfect. He assumed it was his keen knowledge of history, science, and math that got him through, and assumed him a career in salvaging. He sighed as his mind began to wander.

"Time to go to sleep," he thought, trying to consciously command his body to sleep. As he struggled to fall asleep, he hoped  that a Deathbeast wasn't in the vincity.

      A deathbeast, despite the protective tent covering him, could easily slash through the tent and gobble him up like reaching into a jar to grab some cookies. He shivered as he remembered the vibrant retelling of Deathbeast and Horde attacks he had picked up in the bunker. Humans in full protective gear sliced to ribbons like shredded cheese. Hoverspeeders that left to take goods between bunkers that never arrived only to be found days later, a heinous wreck on the ashen ground, carnage everywhere. Bodies littering the barren landscape, twisted and mauled into various forms, most missing numerous body parts. And who knows what other strange creatures, altered by radiation, could easily rip him into shreds like paper.

    "Think happy thoughts" he thought to himself repeatedly, to try and ease himself into dreamland. "Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. Think happy-"zzzzzzzzzzzzz.