My grandfather always said things would have to change. I knew he was right. I always had. We had only ever had enough food and to last us ten years down here, if we rationed very strictly. But now I was out and things had to change.

               I hadn’t seen the outside for eleven years, but I felt prepared. My grandfather had warned me of what to expect. Still, it was nerve-racking, but it was the type of nerves that came with something new. I was sure I could handle it, but I had become so used to life inside the bunker that I was doubting myself. Sure, training is one thing, but the real world is unforgiving. One mistake and it’ll kill you. At least that’s what my grandfather had told me. But I’m ready. I’m ready.

               My bags were packed. I had everything I needed to go about a month, but that was in extreme cases and it would never get to that. I looked, more or less, like a camper preparing for a month-long trip. I had a large backpack and a wrapped sleeping bag on my back, ready for a venture into the outdoors. I also carried a small black pistol in a concealed holster at my side and stored a sniper rifle in my backpack. I’ve been out there, my grandfather had told me. Guns run the world. Bullets are one of the most precious commodities for wanderers. You’ll need to know how to use one.

               I began to make sure all my skin was covered. I wore a long trench coat to conceal my sidearm that extended with sleeves that tightened on the end, ensure they would never slipped. The end of the sleeves had been fashioned with a makeshift clip that snapped to my gloves, which perfectly covered all of my skin. My pants were similar; pants that connected to socks at the end and ensured complete coverage. I pulled on a complete face mask which connected similarly to the top of my shirt. Only my eyes were left showing over an almost completely unrecognizable body. I looked myself over once or twice, checking if I was showing any skin. Once I was satisfied, I began my climb to the ladder and leave my home behind.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

               Routine, my grandfather had said, was the key. The best you could ask for out there was a good routine. It may not be exciting for you, but it’s the best you gon’  get. And pray that it don’t get interrupted. Because there ain’t no control for people who go through life expecting more. I got that. Nobody else seems to. And that’s why we’re alive and they ain’t. That’s why you need to recognize this place as your home, and good one at that. It is a place where you can survive. You’re safe. What more could you fuckin’ ask for. I remembered nodding my head and him scoffing and muttering something. I didn’t know if he was right or wrong. He was all I really remembered. I had to trust him. He had survived and when most others died, he had to have some wisdom. I thought, at least. So I looked back at the old, worn down room. It was never meant to be interesting. It had a television, a couch, supplies, and a bed; it was never meant to be interesting, but I did look at it as my home. Somehow if I managed to get a lot of supplies, maybe I would come back. But do what? There was nobody here, nothing I hadn’t done. I could live here, but…I just don’t know if I want to anymore.

               So with that in mind I climbed the ladder to the outside. I turned the wheel, ready for what was to come. Finally ready for what lies beyond.