We waited two more days using the time for my arm to heal to the point where I could hold a rifle without too much discomfort and to prepare our gear. I insisted that we approach the city on foot to avoid detection. A hike that by reckoning would take at least a day or two depending on any obstacles we might encounter.
On the eve of our departure, Jake shared a potential safe haven for us to bunker down for the night, marking it on a worn and yellowed map of the area.
"Trevor did a sweep of that region a few weeks ago and reported nothing hostile," he informed us, his finger tracing the route we would take.
The team assembled for the journey included Beth, Trevor, and a young man named Ethan. While I had grown somewhat familiar with Beth and Trevor during my stay at the camp, Ethan was a newer acquaintance. Jake vouched for his sharpshooting abilities, emphasizing his hope, which I shared, that we would avoid any confrontations.
We packed our gear with essentials: bottled water, canned food, and ample ammunition. The night before we set out, we gathered in the garage's basement for a communal meal of beans and chicken. Jake, revealing a bottle of wine—a rare find in these desolate times—raised his glass in a toast. "May our friends find a safe route for us and return to us safely," he proclaimed. The warmth of the shared meal and stories bolstered our spirits for the journey ahead.
The following morning, I rose before dawn, meticulously checking my equipment. My Glock was clean, my ammunition within easy reach, and my rifle's sights adjusted. As the others joined me outside, Trevor offered a nod of acknowledgment, Ethan a tentative smile, and Beth, her customary cool gaze. Despite her inscrutability, I sensed a gradual thawing in her attitude towards me.
Leading this group, individuals who were strangers just days ago, filled me with a sense of responsibility and, admittedly, nervousness. We were embarking on a mission critical for the potential survival of an entire community, navigating through the ruins of a city fraught with danger.
"Ready to go?" I initiated, my voice steady.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Ethan replied, though his apprehension was evident in his eyes. The Wasted Earth was unforgiving, and the prospect of venturing into the city, a place we were taught to avoid from childhood, was daunting.
"You all know the drill. We're scouting the city for a safe passage. Cities can be perilous, and if this one is anything like those I've encountered before, it won't be easy," I explained, my tone serious.
"What are we likely to encounter?" Trevor inquired.
I pondered the potential dangers. "Marauders, most likely. If the bombs have left it in a similar state to the last city I passed through, it'll resemble a warzone. Our priority is to move through as quickly and silently as possible."
"Anything else?" The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken fears.
I sighed, the weight of our task heavy on my shoulders. "Mutants, and probably in large numbers. They tend to shelter in the ruins by day, but we should expect active areas. Avoid subways and entering buildings, no matter the temptation of loot. And most importantly, we must not be caught on the streets after dark."
“Sounds fun. What are we waiting for,” Beth said sarcastically as she hefted her pack and set off. The rest of us followed.
*
As the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon, casting a pale light across the desolate landscape, our group had already put a few miles beneath us. The Wasted Earth lay before us. Barren, dusty and desolate. Not all of it was like this of course. In the areas where the nukes hadn’t fallen nature had reestablished dominance over everything that humanity had built. My father would also say that we men are but nothing in the face of the power of nature. That even were we to go extinct the world would continue just fine without us. We followed the remnants of old road that led us through a small town. Prior to the wipe it was probably one of those places that housed the folks who were lucky enough not to have to live within the urban jungle of the nearby city. We walked on until we reached an onramp. Checking the map this was the most direct route to our destination.
Ascending the ramp, we emerged onto an old highway, that was cracked and overgrown with weeds that had forced their way through the asphalt, reclaiming the land piece by piece. The skeletal remains of cars lined the route, their rusted frames and shattered windows silent witnesses to the chaos that had unfolded in the frantic last days before society's fall.
In the distance, the ruins of buildings stood against the skyline, their structures eroded by time and neglect. Some were mere shells, their interiors exposed to the elements, while others seemed to teeter precariously, threatening to collapse at the slightest provocation. Nature was slowly encroaching on these ruins, with vines and foliage weaving through the rubble, a stark contrast to the urban decay.
The air was thick with the scent of dust and the faint, lingering traces of smoke from fires long since extinguished. Every so often, the wind would carry the sound of distant movement—perhaps the scurrying of animals or the shifting of unstable debris. It was a constant reminder of the need for vigilance; danger could emerge from any quarter.
As we progressed, the remnants of what had once been a thriving community became more apparent. A playground, its swings rusted and motionless, lay beside the road. Further on, the charred facade of what might have been a supermarket. Now it was a burnt-out shell with walls covered in bullet holes. No doubt rival scavvers had clashed there at some point and in the violence that often followed the place was torched and probably took out some invaluable salvage with it.
To my right was Ethan, who despite his earlier nervousness, moved with caution, his eyes scanning the environment, rifle at the ready. Trevor was on my left his experience was evident in his deliberate pace and the way his gaze darted to every shadow and sound. Beth, who was takin up the rear guard, for her part, seemed unfazed by the desolation around us, her focus fixed on the path ahead.
Our journey was punctuated by brief stops to check our map and ensure we were still on course. During one such pause, we observed a group of deer navigating through the wreckage of a gas station, a surreal sight that underscored the stark contrast between the resilience of nature and the fragility of human constructs.
As the sun climbed higher, the heat intensified, mirroring the growing tension within our group. We had yet to encounter any direct threats, but the oppressive atmosphere and the evidence of past violence that surrounded us served as a constant reminder of the perilous nature of our mission. We were getting close to the spot Jake had marked on the map, we’d made very good time. Nonetheless, I looked up at the sky and surmised that we probably had around three hours of daylight left to us.
“I don’t know about you guys, but my feet are killing me. Let’s find this safehouse and rest up,” I said.
“We’ve got ages before the sun sets,” Trevor said, his impatience evident.
“Maybe, but I’d rather we tackle the city with plenty of light ahead of us and not be caught out.”
“He’s right,” Beth chimed in just as it looked like Trevor was going to argue the point. “We find that safe spot you found, and we hunker down. We’ll hit the city in the morning.”
Trevor shrugged his shoulders.
“You got it boss.”
Any illusions I had that I was in fact the team leader was shattered right then. I chuckled. How arrogant was I to assume I could lead these people. Beth was the de facto team leader, and everyone knew it but me.
“Something funny scav?” Beth remarked.
I shook my head.
“No boss,” I replied with a wink.
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With the debate settled we pushed on deeper into the suburbs.
*
We arrived at the location marked on Jake's map—a seemingly ordinary house at the end of a cul-de-sac, its exterior bearing the scars of abandonment and decay.
Ethan surveyed the scene with a mix of disdain and skepticism. "Doesn’t look like much," he muttered. "We might as well have picked any random house."
Trevor responded with a knowing chuckle and a reassuring pat on Ethan's back. "You might think that now, but just wait until you see what I've discovered."
Instead of heading towards the house, Trevor led us around it, where we navigated a dilapidated, rotted fence to enter the property's expansive, unkempt garden. The grass, nearly as tall as a person, swayed ominously in the breeze, prompting me to grip my rifle tighter, wary of what might be lurking within.
At the garden's end, something caught our eyes—an unusual, large metallic oval shape, ingeniously hidden amongst the overgrowth. "Trevor, is this what I think it is?" I inquired, approaching the object and giving it a cautious tap with my rifle's butt.
With a sense of ceremony, Trevor cleared away the surrounding debris and leaves, revealing a handle. Grasping it firmly, he heaved the structure open, unveiling a concrete staircase descending into the earth below.
Trevor led the way down, his flashlight cutting through the darkness, illuminating the concrete steps that spiralled downward. The air grew cooler as we descended, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the day.
Inside, the bunker unfurled into a surprisingly spacious interior, the walls lined with shelves stocked with an assortment of supplies. Canned goods, bottled water, and medical kits were organized meticulously, evidence of a once-thriving preparation for long-term habitation. The air was stale but breathable, a sign that the ventilation system, though likely rudimentary, was still operational.
“We should take what we can when we leave here,” Beth said taking stock of the supplies.
“Oh, that’s not the best part. Check this out.”
Trevor flicked a switch near the entrance, and to our astonishment, a series of dim lights flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the room. The main living area was furnished with a sturdy table and a handful of chairs, suggesting a communal space for eating and planning. Along one wall, a workbench cluttered with tools and mechanical parts spoke of repairs and maintenance performed in isolation.
“A working generator?” I said dumbly. It had been many months since I’d seen a place with working electricity. Some structures would still have lighting, and once I’d even found an old factory complete with still running machinery. The marvel of fusion generators had only just come into existence shortly before the wipe and the few places that had them could in theory be powered for a thousand years or more.
Adjacent to the living area, a narrow corridor led to smaller rooms, each serving a distinct purpose. One appeared to be a sleeping quarters, equipped with bunk beds and personal lockers. Another door revealed a compact but functional bathroom, complete with a shower stall—though the availability of water and the state of the plumbing were questionable. I tried the taps and aside from a loud clunking sound only a few drops dripped lamely into the sink. That was disappointing. I could’ve killed for a hot shower.
As we explored further, we found a small kitchen area, complete with a gas stove and a sink. Nearby, a map of the surrounding region was pinned to the wall, marked with notes and symbols that hinted at scouting expeditions and resource locations.
Ethan, who had been quiet for much our exploring, glanced around the kitchen area. "Makes you wonder what happened to the owners," he mused aloud, a hint of unease in his voice.
“Looking at these maps they probably ventured out and didn’t make it back,” Beth remarked studying the notes.
Me and Trevor did a final sweep of the bunker and were satisfied that no critters had made their home within. With the bunker we settled in for the evening. The interior was cramped but more than comfortable for us.
As we shared a meal of canned stew warmed over a portable stove, the tension of the day began to ease. The bunker, for all its simplicity, felt like a haven—a small bubble of safety in a world fraught with danger.
However, the calm was short-lived. As we ate, Ethan froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Did you guys hear that?" he whispered; his eyes wide.
We all fell silent, straining our ears.
“You’re hearing things. It’s probably just the generator or the place settling,” Beth said.
We listened for a few minutes more with bated breath but heard nothing. I checked my watch and dusk was quickly descending on the outside world.
“Let’s do another sweep and make sure the bunker door is secure. Last thing we want is something getting in here," I said rising from my chair. The meal had been filling and I was longing for some shut eye. Me and Trevor did another sweep and found nothing untoward. No strange sounds, nothing. Satisfied that we were safe and secure I choose one of the bunks and gratefully climbed into it.
*
There it was—a faint scratching sound, seemingly coming from the walls. The noise was irregular, a soft scuttling that seemed to move from one side of the bunker to the other.
It was dark the bunker’s lighting must’ve been set to a timer. I checked my watch. It was almost three in the am. I lay still straining to hear. There was nothing and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I stretched my tired legs and twisted my neck from side to side. Should I wake the others I thought. Beth was snoring gently on the bunk across from mine and the other two were also fast asleep. Quietly I slid out of the bunk and pulled on my boots. Obviously not quietly enough.
“Nathan?” Beth’s groggy voice whispered in the gloom.
“It’s all right,’ I whispered back. ‘Thought I heard something.”
She turned away, snuggling further down under her blanket. Beth was already back in the land of nod. I sat there on my bunk, my ears sensitive, eyes watching the darkness. The bunker was far from silent. An old ventilation clanked somewhere deeper within its bowels and the feint sound of acid rain falling outside filtered in via the vents.
The scratching sound came again.
Somewhere outside the bunk room. Inside the bunker itself. Not wanting to disturb the others I slowly exited the room. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. Something wasn’t right. I drew my Glock from its holster and flicked on my flashlight. At once the blackness scattered as though afraid of the light. Slowly I moved down the corridor, in the dark the place took on a completely different feel. No longer did it feel like a place of safety, instead it was starting to feel more akin to a tomb. A relic of a bygone age haunted by the ghosts of the past.
The scratching sound again.
My chest pounded and I held my breath. I stepped into the living area and swung my torch into a far corner. Nothing there. I move on the feeling of unease growing with every step. I cast my flashlight into every corner of every room. Then reached the storage room. The light revealed danced over the shelves and crates. I stopped.
A shadow. But I couldn’t see what was creating it. I approached it, gun held at the ready-
Scrabbling sounds from above!
Frantic. Claws digging furiously through earth and then like razor sharp claws on a chalkboard they began to rip into metal. I staggered backwards in surprise as earth began to fall into the room, and then with a loud crack the roof fell in. I jumped back, the ceiling beam missing me by mere inches. And then they came through.
Large creatures, the size of small dogs their bodies covered in black fur, their eyes glinting yellow in my flashlights glare. Rats! Mutant rats!
You may think that rats wouldn’t be much of an issue, when we must contend with killer robots, cannibals, and all manner of horrors. In the Wasted Earth even a creature like a rat was no longer something trivial. The mutation virus hadn’t just affected we humans but also much of the animal kingdom. Rats in this world were dangerous predators, who now, thanks to years of consuming the dead had a ravenous taste for human flesh.
There must’ve been dozens of them as quickly they filled the storage room, their excited squeaks filling the air. I fled and slammed the storage room’s door shut with a loud bang. That’d wake up the others I hoped. I fell back as one of the monstrous rodents threw itself against the door. Then another and another until with a crash the door burst open, and I was sent sprawling to the bunker’s cool metal floor. A rat leapt on me, its razor-sharp incisors seeking to rip out my throat. I raised my Glock and blew its brains out, the gunshot booming in the confines of the bunker. Panicked shouts came from within the bunker. The others were now up and alert. I shoved the dead rat off me and scrambled back as another sought to devour me.
“Keep your head down!” yelled Beth with rifle in hand.
She pulled the trigger sending a hail of automatic gunfire into the storeroom. The rat in front of me exploded as its grotesque body was shredded to pieces. The sound was deafening. Trevor dashed forward and I grabbed his offered hand grateful for the assist. The rats were now in a frenzy at the smell of blood. They didn’t care if one of their own was dead. They tore into their deceased comrade ravenously.
“What do we do?” Ethan yelled over the din.
My mind and heart were racing. The noise was sure to attract other things in the night, but I knew that to flee blindly into the dark would be a death sentence.
“Kill them all. We must hold this bunker until dawn,” I shouted. Trevor raised his rifle and with Beth they unloaded onto the swarming rats. More and more kept pouring through the roof, they’d run out of bullets before long. Ethan opened fire with his gun, and I popped off a few rounds with my Glock feeling a sense of satisfaction as I took the head clean off one of the vermin. Their numbers were overwhelming, and we were forced to retreat deeper into the bunker.
“Get to the living quarters there’s a blast door there,” Trevor yelled.
Falling back and shooting any rats that drew too close we slowly reached the living quarters. Once inside Trevor grabbed a handel attached to the wall and pulled it. A loud clank sounded and then a heavy steel door dropped crushing four rats in the process sending blood and gore into the room. The door banged violently as the rats sought a way through the barrier. It was holding but none of us took our gunsights off it.
“That should keep them out, right?” Ethan panted.
“Those fuckers can chew through anything. It’ll slow them down but we’re not out of the woods yet,” I replied. I jogged back to the bunkroom and grabbed my rifle and pack before returning.
“Get your shit and get ready to run. We have to hold here until the sun comes up,” I ordered. The others did as I commanded and soon all of us had our packs with us. I checked my watch. Dawn was still hours away, and in the darkness of the bunker, surrounded by the threat of mutant rats and the unknown dangers outside, I did something I hadn't done in years—I prayed.