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...
All the knowledge you seek is enshrined in the Manuals.
Anything else is blasphemy.
The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 2, Verse 17
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The defunct swamp was a downhill run from the village, yet my breath rattled when I finally reached its edge. I stopped and peered into the pit my father and the craner had dug. Its depth made me dizzy, and I stood back. Steep walls led to a pool of stagnant water at the bottom. The basin ended at the back wall of the cavern. There, several man-high openings were partially submerged in the water. Metal grids covered them—the spaces between their fat bars blacker than the blackest latrine. The smell of rotten eggs wafted over me.
I tore my eyes away from the hole in the ground and looked up. The grapple hung meters above the pit, unreachable and still.
Was the craner taking a nap up there?
I gazed back in the direction of the village. Three figures were walking down the path to the swamps—towards me.
I waved my arms at the grapple, trying to discern the cabin hiding in the shadows above the lamps. "Hey, craner!"
This was the highest part of the cavern—he might not even hear me. I shouted again, louder this time. "Craner, hey!"
The people on the path broke into a run.
I seized a pebble from the ground and threw it at the grapple. It missed. "Craner!"
I grabbed another stone, a larger one, and aimed again. Before I could throw it, though, the humming noise of an engine set in, and the grapple swayed. It crept downwards and towards me.
My three pursuers were close enough to recognize them: two guards, one wearing the captain's blue ribbon around his chest. The man's copper hair shone in the light of the lamps. There were few people with hair of that color and no other with the blue ribbon—Wolfe. The third man was gangly, black, and bald. Frankie.
I positioned myself to intersect the grapple's path. Its three fingers were folded in on each other, ready to receive me.
"Stop!" Still a stone's throw away, Wolfe drew pulled a black object from his belt as his party was still advancing in quick steps.
I recognized what he held in his hands—it was a gun. A machine built by the engineers. It made a noise like two mighty rocks clashing against each other. I had seen it being used once, in the upper cavern. A man had questioned the holy words of the Manuals. And there was only one punishment for blasphemy.
Shaking my head, I forced my eyes away from the weapon.
The pit was too steep to climb into, and the grapple still hung above it, meters out. It wouldn't be here in time.
