after days of scavenging these sprawling suburban ruins with very little to show for it, i have finally found it.
amongst the rubble and radiation, i’ve come across a mostly intact house, the structure is gutted out through the back, almost like an explosion of some sort happened. maybe it was a water heater, there’s no telling now.
the air is horribly hot, and in some places the radiation is enough to boil an egg. but i’ve learned very quickly. its a hard life.
taking cover under what remains to be the kitchen, i step cautiously across the debris, shingles, cabinets, broken glass, cooled slag of what i suppose must have been the water heater.
i wipe my grimy brow and hold my salvation high above my head. i lick my dry lips, and whisper, "a cheeseburger, god bless america"
right before she took a bite however, a long bolt of steel sliced right through her greasy pink side shave hair. she heard it, but it didn’t cut her.
she stumbled to her feet and then darted behind the partially collapsed ceiling, barely registering the irritable, muffled profanity above the wind scraping it’s way through the ruins.
her heart was pounding, but she remained cool, eyeing the assailant bolt jutting out from the opposite wall. she reached for her scrappy 10mm pistol, and ventured to gaze around the heap of rubble and petrified wood.
a tall man, with a dark, burnt complexion was making his way quickly down the opposite wall of the wide, storm drain, which was less than 15 yards away from the building’s crumbling foundation where she was at. no wonder he missed, taking a shot from that far. hell, she was wholly surprised he managed to graze her at all.
wind swept through the ruins again, causing the dilapidated structure to groan ominously. she should just turn and run, but god damn she couldn’t run fast enough to outrun being impaled by some obviously pressured weapon. he carried no compound bow, so it must have been a firearm. holstering her firearm, she drew out a small, fashioned blade from its sheath.
a few stray clouds drifted across the sun, signs of the rain which would undoubtedly flood the city again. it granted a moments relief from the searing heat and blinding sunshine.
the man stumbled awkwardly through the blasted exit. he mustn’t have seen her duck behind. she figured he must have assumed she fled. the dark man, with a face akin to many of the vicious dogs she’s encountered over the years, was donned in skin tight jeans, scrappy boots and loosely worn headwrap. she squirmed around with discomfort, imagining how incredibly awful those pants must be in this ungodly heat.
he surveyed the sun-scorched kitchen with contempt, clutching a lengthy, gauge studded, homemade rifle in his long spindly fingers. gravel crunched underneath his gait, as stepped towards the wall where the bolt was stuck.
she readied her knife, about to spring upon him.