Tim, a garbage handler in a post-apocalyptic bunker, loses the little he has. But then he finds Amy, the redhead with an attitude. Together, they will try to change the world they live in.
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Tim is one of those who shovel the shit and clean away th...
The bunker's two large halls—the caverns—are set aside for the people.
Anything beyond them is barred. It is the realm of the machines—tireless and unfailing.
The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 1, Verse 22
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I touched the bruise Frankie's spade had left on my temple, and my fingers came away bloodied.
Groaning, I got up and looked around. The mounds were deserted. Frankie and Carp were gone. So was my apple. And my dignity.
Assholes.
Not even Jasmine had cared to check on me.
I should go straight to my dad and rat on them. After all, my father was the foreman, which placed him above Frankie.
But that wouldn't restore the apple. And it definitely wouldn't restore my dignity.
Nor would it fix Jasmine and me.
But then, had she ever cared for me? I had thought she did.
Anyway, my dad kept telling me that you can't guess a woman's mind. He was probably right—men were easier.
And easy company was what I needed now. I'd go to Ed, my cousin. He shared my feelings about Frankie and would lend me a commiserating ear.
A whirring sound from above cut these plans short. Against the glare of the lamps, something descended towards me.
A rusty, rivet-studded metal claw the size of a man—the crane's grapple. It was closed, its three fingers touching each other at their tips. It stopped a few inches short of the ground, hanging in the air before me.
I didn't hesitate and climbed it, placing a foot between the fingers with practiced ease. With a jerk and the rattling sound of moving chains, the grapple rose.
Moments later, my upward motion stopped at the height of a ladder hanging from the cabin. I clambered over and ascended its metal rungs one step at a time. Keeping my gaze ahead, I never looked down—I hated heights. At the top, I reached a door. It stood open. I pulled myself in and closed it behind me.
The craner was perched on his seat, a hand on the controls beside him. He smiled at me from the myriad of wrinkles that covered his face. "Hey, Tim."
"Hey, craner."
"You look like shit. Are you okay?"
I felt like shit, too, so I nodded and winced at the pain the movement caused in my temple.
"It looked as if you could have used some help down there. But I was too late. I'm sorry." He pushed a black lever forward. With the groan of ancient metal, the cabin started along its track.
