Ramshackle'd campsites lay scattered throughout the Shallows. A crash site was a bountiful find,
it retrofitted quickly it into a stable bunker to at last at least a storms night in the marsh wasteland.
Emery’s
frequent safe house was a broken ship. The rusted lump loomed out
of the fog when she stumbled upon it this time. A crumpled mass of steel plate, wood, and dirt. Much like anything for
miles. All that was salvageable from the wreckage was a portion of a hull
and the prow, embedded in a mound of
cemented muck and crushed boulders.
After many generations of repairs, it could weather anything Astus threw at it now. Its surrounding landscape was ever changing, but it remained unmoved. The perfect bunker.
Emery had planned to build a pantry cellar. Eventually. If she'd stay long enough to forage, prep her kit, and plan her exit route in the dawn hours. Another project between times would be good for her sprits and the bunker.
Emery noticed the hull sporting a new patch job as she approached. Wary of bunkmates, she surveyed the area before going in.
Inside, it
remained dry from the sudden downpour outside, no doubt because of the new patch-job. Dried clay bricks lined the inner metal walls. A salvage wooden platform walkway
led to a raised matching deck.
A solid bed platform replaced the floating bunk with an enclosed space
underneath. A crafty scrap wood staircase replacing the former ladder.
The space under the platform was a shallow bathing pit, supplied with
rain water barrels. Someone had also shifted the fire pit to another spot, made it wider than she remembered. They cleaned it with a
healthy pile of flint for long comfort. it
It was
dark and uninhabited. Just the way she liked it. In joyous solitude, her pack slid down her arms to the wooden platform with a soft thud.
A good bath made the perfect motivator for that pantry now. With a few hours of darkness and shower halting all foraging effort beyond quick traps, Emery grabbed the bunker shovel and got digging.
Comments (0)
See all