Survival.

Coughing loudly Tom climbs to his feet; the cracked urn that used to be a toilet seat slumps as if some immense exertion has been placed on its frame. He reaches down and grasps his friend’s shoulder, Henry heaves to the side, and Tom immediately feels the man’s eyes on him. Next he tries Albert, a strangled breath rolling around in his throat signals he’s ok; dirt and wood fibers rattle in the mans lungs and throat, a sharp cough manages to clear them.

Taking one step forward he rests his hand on the wooden door, “Its warm to the touch lads, and brittle.” With a mighty push he managed to wedge it open, with a dull knock several charred bits fall to the ground, and ash fills the air.

As the door opens and disintegrates before the men glowing flames can bee seen dotting the landscape, here and there piles of rubble burn while smoke dances upwards. Everywhere wooden support beams stand like massive crucifixes set alight, glowing torches lighting the cavern in a mystical aura.

Looking up Tom sees a sea of smoke dancing on the ceiling, playing like a million soot-covered children, each cloud swimming and diving into its neighbor’s mass. Giant smoky hands grapple with the sharp barbs that protrude through the ash-laden air.

As the three men step from the blackened shell, that’s protected them against the blast, they see the two immense structures that stood either side of the toilet, each has been blown away, only the walls closest to their abode remains, perhaps the saving grace they’d hoped for when ducking inside, a shelter against the tide of heat and violence.

“Well, cough, cough…” Albert starts, “would you look at that.” His finger pointing towards the remains of the large hanger nearly a hundred feet away.

In the structures place a large crater, perfectly round and bowl-shaped, rests, the edges turned up and accented with twisted bars of metal and wood, the remains of the hanger burn in a expanding ring around the caldera.

“I suppose that’s the end of Gestalt?” Henry asks.

“Yes, or that which he became.” Tom responds, “Let us hope that the same fate doesn’t become us all.”

Henry and Albert look towards each other, neither having to add that they know Tom is refereeing to all of mankind, the sentence says enough in its delivery.

“We should go men, after all the battles not here anymore.”

“What do you propose we do Tom, we’ve no weapons, no supplies, nothing of any use?”

“That’s not totally true Henry, we’ve the element of surprise, and those damn things, whatever they are, have no idea we survived that blast. Besides we know the Cave of Beasts better than them, after all we’ve been there.”

“Besides chap I’m sure that we’re not the only things to have survived the blast, look at this.” Albert says while bending to grasp a metal hook from the ground. With a strong pull he manages to yank the thing free, dirt and ash tumble away.

Attached to the hooks end is a simple wooden box, the hook end having been frayed and burnt while the portion that was buried remains somewhat in tact. Laying it on the blackened ground Albert props the lid open, inside, lined up like dominoes one hundred rounds of ammunition.

“It’s a wonder it didn’t explode with the heat!” Henry says in surprise.

“Perhaps the heat wave was to quick for the gun powder to be effected, after all if it’d been any longer I’d say we’d be toast.” Looking over the chaos Tom adds, “No pun intended.”

Albert hefts the box up as he looks around, the shells rattle and clank together as he does, “I’d say with a bit of luck and a some careful looking we might find a gun or two to go with this.”

“Right’o lets get to it then, are you in Henry?” Tom says pushing his hand out to his friend.

“Was there ever a doubt?”

For an hour the men scramble over the remains of buildings, abandoned vehicles and mountains of rumble comprised of bricks, debris and solid earth rent from both the ground and the ceiling of the cavern. Every step reveals something to the men; the remains of a beast, most likely a horse, its charred flesh horrid to the sight, even more so to the smell. A fuel dump that’s managed to escape the massive blast somehow rests in glistening barrels, each lid still labeled with the word DIESEL.

Working their way to the periphery of the cave they find the chaos and destruction lessens somewhat, here and there some building have survived, and pleasantly the contents of them has too. Some stores of food, all canned and boxed in large wooden crates, an all-terrain vehicle equipped with four jerry cans of fuel and various other tools. An insurmountable number of weapons resides in an untouched hanger: hand guns, rifles, swords, daggers and several boxes of manacles all lined along the walls like soldiers in regimental formation.

The men take what they think they’ll need, each being careful not to over pack and over burden themselves. Each one shoulders simple canvas bags; straps on the sides accommodate a rifle for each and an aluminum canister for water on the other side.

After some careful packing they each have enough food for several days, and more than enough ammunition for their accumulated arsenal.

“I think we’re ready gents.” Tom announces once his bag is secured on his back, “What say we start this expedition?”

“Right lad, you lead the way.” Henry adds while pulling a strap tight over his shoulder.

“I thought you’d say that.” Turning on his heal Tom advances towards the mouth like opening at the end of the cave, a simple gravel road leads the way, ruts in the path identify where the heavy vehicles and beasts of burden rolled out.

Falling in behind him Henry and Albert ignite their lanterns to help light the way.

⚅⚀thoughts