Tim, a garbage handler in a post-apocalyptic bunker, loses the little he has. But then he finds Amy, the redhead with an attitude. Together, they will try to change the world they live in.
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Tim is one of those who shovel the shit and clean away th...
The surface held more plants and animals than men.
Now, it is dark and barren.
The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 3, Verse 5
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"What the fecking rat shit is this?" Amy said.
Squeezing her hand, I took a step forward and raised my gaze to look into that endless space above. The rock behind us and the highest branches of the trees weren't even close to the white, cottony things and the infinite blue background up there.
It was like an abyss, but instead of going down, it went up and up.
Dizzy, I closed my eyes and turned my head away.
"This..." I struggled to put something into words that was unspeakable.
This wasn't one of the caverns I had spent my life in. Nor was it one of the tunnels, corridors, or chambers Amy and I had climbed up through. No ceiling, no walls—it could only mean one thing.
We had left the bunker.
"This is the surface," I said. The words tasted strange on my tongue.
This was the place that stifled all life.
"Fuck this gobshite."
Should we run back? But once we returned, where could we go? Wolfe would be waiting for us. The bishop would arrest us, just like he had arrested my father and the craner. And he would have us killed, just like he would kill the two of them.
I let go of the air I hadn't been aware of holding.
I pulled Amy close, feeling the warmth and the trembling of her body. If the surface brought death, at least we would face it together.
For a moment, she tensed, but then she moved in on me, and her fingers dug into my back.
Daring the air to kill me, I took a deep breath.
It smelled richer than any compost I remembered—sweet and tangy, earthy and fresh.
And my heart was still beating.
"I thought the surface is barren, a wasteland." Amy moved one hand onto my chest and looked out into the trees.
"So did I. The manuals say so."
"They suck. The lying manuals of yer bishop and the blabbering image wee two point oh."
The play of shadow and light shifted, and a golden glow touched the trees with warm fingers.
The manuals said the surface was dark.
Bright shafts cut through gaps between the leaves, setting fine motes of dust agleam. And all that light came from a single source—the sun. Like a mighty lamp, it squinted through the white puffs far above. The sky—as the manuals called it.
