Aftermath

It's been a decade that I've spent in this bunker. Nothing but the sound of my own heart beat, and breath, has broken the silence. However, I'm running low on rations of food and water. It's time to open up the hatch.

I don't know what to expect when I climb out. I put on my hazmat suit, grab and holster my Desert Eagle, and spare .50 AE rounds. I secure my water canteen on its strap, and throw it over my shoulder. I then pocket my swiss army knife, that my father gave to me when I was 10. Where him and my mother are now, I don't know. A part of me doesn't want to find out, either.

It was just about the moment of truth. I grab one final item I need: a map. Looking at the map, I pinpoint the location of a convenience store my family always went to. This was it. The big moment. I open the hatch, and immediately felt the shock of freezing temperatures. Before retreating back to my bunker, I take a good look. Snow and ice cover the landscape, as far as I could see. However, that's only 3 feet, as snow is still heavily falling in front of me.

I retreat back to my bunker, and weigh my options. My food supply is scarce. I need to gather more. I grab my bag, and go out one more time.

I walk for what seems like miles, following the road. The cracks in the asphalt are the only thing giving it away. The trek is nearly 2 hours, but I found what I was looking for. The walls are decayed, but still standing. A couple shelves are toppled over. I enter the building, hoping to find something.

As I enter, I see what looks like old footprints.

"Someone's been here." I say to myself. To my surprise however, the inside doesn't look tampered with. I start skimming the shelves searching for canned, and dried foods.

I find a few boxes of mashed potatoes, some cans of tuna, roast beef, and mixed vegetables and fruit. I also found one can of spam. There's more on the shelves, but I decide to leave it there. Maybe someone else needs some food. If not, it'll be better preserved out here.

I tie up the bag, and get ready to leave. I keep my hand on the grip of my Desert Eagle, in case someone is here. I throw my bag over my other shoulder, and get ready to leave. As I stand up, I see someone else's breath condensing through the corner of my right eye.

"Don't move."

As I stated in the description, this is a rewrite of a series I started on StoryFire, written from Hunter's perspective. Let me know what you think, and if there's anything I could do differently. This is the first story I've ever written.