Post-Apocalyptic
Another Try
The rusted metal door groaned as Eli pried it open with his crowbar, releasing decades of stale air into the harsh afternoon light. He pulled his scarf tighter around his face, protecting against both the ever-present dust and whatever might be lingering inside the bunker.
Frozen Horizon
The air recyclers hummed their familiar drone as I packed my meager belongings. Bunker 42 had been home for ten years—since the bombs fell and the world turned to ash and ice.