The old folks claimed that this was the menacing intonation of the engine of a Harley, the iron mustang and friend of every free man. But Curtis never went into detail for him, the sound was associated only with one, very specific bloodthirsty creature.

"The window!" he shouted and drew his gun from behind his belt. He would have to walk to the vending machine and there was no time for that.

Curtis preferred to scout lightly, trusting the caution, silence and quickness of his own feet more than the combat effectiveness of a machine gun. But the pistol in his hand was far from simple: it was from some shaggy year, but had been reworked in terms of more killing power.

He put the creatures down easily and didn't need more than that. The next moment the frame, loosely covered with a sheet of tin, rattled under the weight of the wolfhound, its claws ripping through the metal like old paper, and an ugly bald head covered in sparse gray fur slid into the room.

Its hair was growing in wisps, Its skin wrinkled and hung in folds on cheeks and neck. There was also a greenish mould with inflamed red patches around the edges.

The creature was old and already beginning to rot alive. It had only a few months left, but it was in no hurry to retire.Perhaps it was the experience of its long life that enabled it to climb the wall. At least its peers had not followed its example, and wolfhounds were never known for their keen sense of curiosity or imitation.

If they saw potential prey, they would run towards it. If they noticed that the tribesmen were already corralling or munching, they would join in.

Curtis put a bullet in the creature's shoulder, it shrieked and leapt forward into the room.

Andre's belated automatic rifle shot wasted the innocent sheet and frame, making so much noise that the head seemed like a bell or an empty pot that had been hit with a cudgel.

But the firing could not be stopped.

In the absolute silence that followed, Curtis saw the creature twitch and retreat, dripping disgusting brown liquid from its bullet-riddled chest, stumble onto the window sill and topple down.

He didn't hear a muffled "slam", but he felt a vibration go through the whole building, shook his head, and the sounds suddenly returned.

The loudest of these was first a shriek, then a growl, and then a numerous 'chow-chow' coming from below.

"I'm going to puke," Andre spat under his feet. "And how it stinks! Shit."

"I can't stand the smell of your stinking garbage!" Eric grimaced and then turned to Tim, "Should we go next door?"

"Not maybe, but for sure," he sighed.

He looked at the window, wide open and now open to the winds, bad weather and all the other unpleasant natural phenomena and creatures of this planet. They are tortured by human reason, greed, stupidity and shamelessness.

A grey, gloomy sky took up most of the window opening. It seemed like an abyss to Curtis that he didn't even have to stare into in order for her to start looking back.

The skinny bare branches of the trees could be seen below. They reached up and sideways, wiggling their multi-fingered limbs and seemed to be just waiting to stab someone. 'I'm not a fan of clean radiation air.'

Andre nodded and sticking his finger under the rubber band of his gas mask, scratched his chin.

"Relax, Commander, I won't," he said as Curtis jerked involuntarily in his direction.

On other occasions, something has come over the fighters and they have taken off their gas masks and breathed in the contaminated air with their chests.

Of course, it didn't end well: without dying on the spot, people started behaving even more inadequately, spending more time on the surface, disregarding safety rules, and then radiation sickness caught up with them and mowed them down very quickly, turning them into walking ruins. -

"God takes care of you," said Eric, and nodded at Damian, who was unconscious again.

"You on the right, me on the left, less words, more action."

He got up and walked over to the wounded man:

"Cover it up, commander."

They chose a new home, not next door, but at the end of the corridor, just down the stairs. Both running and defence seemed a little easier here, and the window was nailed shut.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"What do you think was in here before?" Curtis asked, taking a seat on the floor next to Andre.

He shrugged, poked his finger at the branching crack running along the wall, and spoke without much thought to the question:

"Either a clinic or a school. Anything that could be useful was taken out a long time ago, why?"

There was a lone desk in the corner, with enough dust accumulated on it. From nothing to do, Eric strolled over to him and drew a crooked face on the tabletop.

"And write it down: we were here," Andre advised.

"They'll eat us up, and then one of our own will come and find out where the four brave fighters have gone."

"The building is old, from 19th century or so,"

Curtis remarked, looking at the once light-painted walls, the dirty linoleum with a parquet pattern, the ceiling that had had daylight bulbs ripped out of it.

"Well, that's a bit too much," Andre grinned.

"Allen said these are the ones that have survived best. Those of the late twentieth or early twenty-first century were built as if to get away from the customer. Some new buildings are already sold or in the hand of customer. Again, they were giving money to officials and generally churning out dough."

It seemed the old building or house were dedicated for long time utilization. The materials were more solid and sturdier that could withstand even the effect of the cataclysm.

Andre grinned. "You know, it's bad enough to say that, but I'm even glad the cataclysm happened. So many scumbags got rid of all at once."

"Do you remember Remy Brun serving in the warehouse? The bastard was stealing, stealing, and trying to paw the convoy when they came to get him. Your uncle kicked him the hell out. What if everything had been quiet?"

"This Remy would sit in an office, grow a potbelly, have a special car with a private driver, steal wagons, eat cisterns of alcohol, and pour it on as if he was concerned about the public good."

"You'd think you'd have any idea about those times," laughed Eric.

"My mother told me," Andre blurted out and then stopped. "I'm sorry, commander."

Curtis waved him off. He had been friends with all his fighters since childhood and was not always their commander. He remember when he was ten years old, he was very acutely affected by the lack of a normal family. Uncle, as guardian, was busy most of the time and Curtis found himself left to his own devices.

Since then Andre had considered it inappropriate to mention his parents in Curtis's presence. The years gone by did not matter to him anymore.

The closed army camp was in a forest near Belford, near The Capital, and the bunker was located there.

However, it was not only military personnel who found shelter there, but also people from Belford who decided to spend a sunny day under the canopy of trees. They were much luckier than the capital's residents. The Capital was bombed deliberately, and what's near it was just a matter of time before it arrives.

That was why radiation was easier to deal with here. The forests were full of creepy things, but not so much that you had to sit underground and shake with fear.

The bunker was mainly inhabited by families, as they went out of town with their children and spouses. they stayed underground, plus those who, like Allen, lived in a closed settlement. Now, It housed not only humans, but also the lesser brethren.

There was nothing left of the pedigree nowadays, genetic perversions in the form of something small and incapable died out on their own. The rest mixed up to become mongrels, but hardy, prolific and healthy, and above all very clever.

Even a wolfhound could not take a man easily, let alone smaller creatures or feral dogs, which the settlers called jackals. There was panic, of course, but Allen somehow managed to persuade people to calm down.

The generators were working properly, there were more than enough supplies, and there were no water shortages.

And some agronomist got the amateur gardeners together and set up the greenhouses: a lot of different seeds were found in the warehouses. We're getting on with our lives.

Among the officers' wives were nurses, cooks and teachers.

The latter were especially numerous, so it did not take long for the children to rejoice at the cancellation of classes. The teaching process was resumed quickly, without allowing civilization collapse and regression to the Stone Age to occur.

And there were also qualified doctors, engineers, rocket scientists, biologists and physicists. Some elderly people said it was even better than before the cataclysm.

Grandfather Percival, however, bemoaned the philosophy of liberalism, which had died with the old world, but Allen called him a liberal a couple of times and that was the end of his discontent.

Curtis was still young at the time and did not know what liberalism was, but he knew immediately that it was something unpleasant and cowardly, capable only of shaking the air with empty words and showing discontent on any occasion; it immediately subsided when someone strong and confident in its rightness stood up against it.

After a few years, Grandfather Percival decided to call himself The Father and tried to preach. Either someone really got into his speeches or they just took pity on the old man, but a sect of twenty gathered together.

Allen had to nip this initiative in the bud too. Illegal meetings of a bunch of citizens inflamed by excessive religiosity had to be cancelled.

At the time, the uncle saw in grandfather's speeches a danger to the normal life of the village, and he was probably right, too many people suddenly remembered that power should be elected.

Unlike most of his friends, who had mother and father or even grandparents, Curtis only knew Allen, who was in charge and therefore was not home very often either.

He asked his nephew twice or even four times more than even the strictest of parents. At the age of nine, Curtis had a real nervous breakdown because of all this. Then Allen relaxed the pressure, but was neither more affectionate nor more attentive.

Now, after fifteen years, Curtis was still at times still experiencing his loneliness, but he was not about to throw a tantrum or cry out loud to anyone who would listen.