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...
Death awaits those who enter the realm of the Engineers and the machines.
The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 1, Verse 23
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We climbed in a hurry—rung by rung, up into the darkness.
I glanced down. The platform below was cast into the bright light invading the shaft through the open door. Nothing moved there.
With each step we ascended, the illumination waned. The rough rungs became harder to see, but their regular spacing made them easy to find.
Suddenly, the light faded. I looked down once more. A shadow had fallen onto the platform.
"Someone's coming," I whispered. "Stop and be quiet."
Her footfalls ceased.
Down below, a man crept through the door. The blue of his belt and the red of his hair told me it was Wolfe—small from this distance.
Perching on the platform, he looked around, then down into the depths of the shaft, and finally up.
I froze, my heartbeat loud in my ears. Would he see us? A soft shimmer of light touched the walls next to us, but the captain's eyes may not yet have adapted to the dark.
The gleam of the gun in his hand dimmed as another shape cast a shadow over the entrance. Wolfe turned his head and spoke. A brief, unintelligible exchange of words followed.
Then he retreated.
I counted to ten. "Let's go."
Climbing on, the last vestiges of light faded.
Would the guards follow? Would they dare enter the forbidden tunnels?
The air carried a sour smell. Bat shit? Amy had talked about it. The stench hung thick in the air, closing in on us, worse than anything coming down the chutes.
I looked down, seeking the orientation of the bright speck below.
It was gone.
Had they closed the door? I hadn't heard anything. Or did the shaft bend, ever so slowly, cutting us off from the last remnants of lamplight?
I clenched my jaws and continued, following Amy's heavy breathing.
The smell was solid now, suffocating, and almost palpable. The rungs grew slimy and slippery. I missed the light, but I was relieved not to see what I was touching.
And the bats stirred with a dry flapping of their wings. The noise mingled with a scratching sound, like a nail scraping stone or an evil creature clinging to rock.
Some of the animals swooshed around my head, and one crashed into my side.
"Fuck ye, critters." Amy's swearing reflected my feelings.
