Gunnar rose out of bed as the sunlight trickled through a stubborn crack or two in the boarded-up window. He pulled the loose plank of wood back and took stock of the yard. A fallen tree had managed to avoid damaging his water collection project by five feet this time. Firewood and water instead of repairs and cursing. Something good was looking out for him now.

About damn time.

As much as he missed his family and Mischa, Gunnar felt at peace on this patch of land, a feeling he had only known once before. When he was eight years old, his grandmother had taken him and Aida up to Sante Fe.

Before they left, his mom had argued, screamed and cried as her children prepped to leave the house. Back when she actually gave a shit. For a moment, he had thought they might actually be leaving to live with their mormor. Maybe to a place that didn't look like a tornado blew through on a daily basis. His grandmother had been quick to correct him.

"My sweet Gunnar," she had said in her choppy Swedish accent, "I only have a week with you. Then you are back with your mother. But a great week it will be."

His mother had grabbed a brown bottle off the counter and retreated into her bedroom while they began their adventure with mormor.

The last morning of their trip, his grandmother had woken them up before the moon disappeared. Gunnar threw on his over-sized shirt for the fifth straight day much to mormor's protest. It had still smelled new like the store if he focused close enough. He hadn't believed he'd be lucky enough to get anything but goodwill or hand-me-downs. 

They had driven over an hour into a big valley where a river rushed far below. The three of them had sat on the hood of the well-used car, "as old as mormor", he and Aida joked. The sun slowly rose over the horizon, lighting up a big, metal bridge and the mountains in the distance with pinks and oranges. The only cries had come from birds flying overhead. Hardly another soul to spot.

He hadn't seen real mountains before and his jaw dropped at their jagged peaks and impressive size. He couldn't believe something so big a beautiful could exist so close to home. He bet there were no sirens, gun shots and angry voices to ignore all night up there. Just air, sun, and peace. Aida had fallen asleep on mormor's shoulder and missed the whole thing. She had been still too young to understand.

"Gunnar, you're going to have to be strong for your family. Your sister will need a brother to protect her from the dangers you may already know."

Gunnar had nodded. His mother was never thinking clear enough to even get him a lunch for school every morning, assuming there was more than ketchup packets, soda and beer in the fridge. He couldn't expect her to protect him from strangers on the street who would call things out to her as they walked by. Things his teachers had forbidden him from ever repeating again when he wanted to know what they meant. It hadn't seemed fair just to be left with his mother.

Sighing heavily, Gunnar replaced the board on the window and suppressed his memories. He hadn't realized at the time that his grandmother had been quite sick. She passed away only a week later, and his mother's tears made much more sense. They didn't make much of an appearance after the funeral.

Hunter's paws clacked against the wood floor as he returned to the bedroom. The dog must have been antsy as he rarely rose before Gunnar. Must be time to get started on the post-storm clean up. A quick sift through the dresser confirmed he still had an extra shirt or two before he really needed to do laundry again. At first, these shirts make him feel like a skeleton, swallowing him whole twice over, but now they clung tighter to his chest and arms.

"Alright Hunter, I can let ya out, but don't ya go catching more rabbits now. I still gotta figure out how to make 'em last longer."

Hunter looked up with his jowls hanging loosely and a blank, fixed stare as if to refute the point.

"We can eat other stuff ya know. Don't always have to go to the trouble of starting a fire and wasting our wood. Probably going to get cold come winter and the desert ain't no rainforest."

Hunter dropped his gaze to the ground before spinning in three hesitant circles and plopping himself on the ground. He rested his chin on his outstretched front legs and fixed his eyes back on Gunnar.

"Okay, get one for yourself then, but ya better like it raw. No more for me. Just let me find some pants."

He shuffled through the reusable bag filled until he found a pair of jeans and ripped off the useless tags. The dead man's shirts had begun to fit but the same couldn't be said for the pants that even a belt couldn't help. Luckily, most other post-disaster raiders weren't his size. He threw a couple gloves in his pocket and cast Hunter a glance as he left the room.

Hunter's claws drummed against the wood as he rushed to catch up with Gunnar, who along with becoming a water collector, designer, inventor, sketch artist, and failed cook, could now add doorman to his resume. The dog kept him on his toes and made sure that they were well protected.

With the hot sun beating down on him, Gunnar spent the better part of the morning chopping up the fallen tree and lay the pieces out to dry in the sun. It would be enough fire wood to last him for quite awhile or until the next violent storm came about. Assessing the trees near the house, he decided to do a little trimming to minimize the damage to his home should the winds return. He grabbed the smaller of the hatchets and scaled up the branches until he reached the highest-risk area. He hadn't seen a tornado come through yet, but with the hottest month of the summer approaching, it was only a waiting game.

After he finished, he used the water sparingly to rinse the sap and dirt off his hands. The sticky substance still hung on. Cereal, granola bars and crackers weren't the tastiest lunch, but it was good energy. He left the dried pasta on the counter for supper, a pretty great find on his last trip into town.

The clouds rolled in late afternoon. Gunnar carried a large pile of wood to another shed he had yet to explore. The owner put a padlock on the door, but a swift knock with the back of the hatchet fixed that quickly. The space was mostly bare except for an old wooden rocking chair and some old Halloween decorations that he could burn. Gunnar pushed them off to the side with his legs and body to make room for wood storage.

Once he had made five trips and the clouds looked ready to spill over at a moment's notice, Hunter settled himself on the floor of the shed. Gunnar gave him a quick nudge, but his stubbornness continued. The rattling walls indicated the storm was approaching. Gunnar had no problem leaving the rest of wood and drying it another day, but he didn't think this little shack would hold up very long should things get nasty.

Almost on cue, the thunder crashed in like a wave. The walls and the trees shook with the increasing winds. Hunter remained unaffected, lying on the ground with his eyes now closed.

"Ain't animals suppos'ta be afraid of storms. Let's get back."

Hunter let out a low whimper and opened his eyes for a moment. The open door slammed behind Gunnar with a deafening crack. Gunnar's eyes shot around, instinctively looking for a window in case someone had found his hideout. The shed offered no view. When he crept the door open, sheets of rain greeted him, quickly smacking and soaking his face and clothes.

"Looks like we won't be making it back in time. What if the tornadoes come around then?"

Hunter dug at the floor for a moment.

"Right, we're going to dig our way to freedom? Storm won't be that patient."

The saggy-faced dog sighed and laid his head back down on the ground. The action drew Gunnar's eyes the outline of a handle next to Hunter's ear. Great, now even the dog was smarter than he was. Gunnar bent down a reached out. The smooth metal met his skin and he tugged. The action met with more resistance than just Hunter's paws. Gunnar tugged again and tried to focus on the origin of the pull. Two points of resistance, equal distances from the handle made things a bit more difficult.

The room itself contained very little so finding a potential key didn't seem likely. As he walked around the room and ran his hands along the shelves, he found a metal ruler. He spotted a small lantern on the floor and twisted out the handle to use the wire. The makeshift tools would have to work for now. Metal wasn't a top choice in a thunderstorm, but if the winds kept up, he'd have no shelter in a matter of minutes. Another boom echoed much closer than the last. The winds howled almost as loud as Hunter currently did.

The howls continued to challenge the storm's soundtrack until Gunnar could no longer concentrate on finding the release mechanism. While he was used to working under time limits and stress, Hunter's concern seemed more legitimate than the other Shadow's patronizing comments ever had.

"It's alright, Hunter. We'll be down here in a minute, just let me finish."

The howling wouldn't stop so Gunnar reached out a hand and patted him on the head a few times. Nothing changed so Gunnar went back to picking the cellar door. It only took him a couple minutes longer before both bolts released and he was free to open the heavy door. Although the floor was wooden, the attached panel was made of thick steel.

"Hello," he called down into the darker hole.

He likely would have pissed himself if there were any other answer than Hunter's howls. A set of steps made of an equally strong metal led down a few feet. Groping around, he could find no railing. Hunter quickly trotted down the stairs, so Gunnar could secure the trap door back in place before the winds tore the shed to smithereens. He kept walking until the steps disappeared. The low ceiling had him inches away from having to duck.

Darkness put him at a severe disadvantage to attackers and he brandished the hatchet just in case. He hadn't come across much life since Trevor and the bandanna gang, but he could never be too careful. The shaking of the ceiling muffled any possible sounds to alert him. His eyes slowly adjusted. The shadows and outlines that met his eyes left him further confused. He walked over to a rectangular table to confirm that a computer monitor sat upon it. Was this an office? A home?

He found a flashlight beside the monitor and clicked the light on. The room lit up like bonfire and strained Gunnar's eyes, which hadn't experienced artificial light in over two months. Pushing the computer buttons gave him the opposite results. 

The room, while not generous with its altitude, had plenty of girth as it expanded with each flick of the light. Walls made of metal, thick enough to hurt his hand when he hit his fist against them, reflected the rays back toward him.

Straight ahead, another door with an intimidating, locking mechanism stood before him. His eyes trailed from the frame over to a nearby bookshelf. It was old school, but Gunnar walked over hoping the owner had a taste for the classics. The book spines were coated in a reasonable amount of dust, but one green had a thinner layer. He pulled on the book and a faint clicking emitted from the door. A smile spread across his lips. Just like an old spy movie he'd watch with mormor. 

He took the metal handle of the door and turned it clockwise. No picking required, just free entry. A warm body brushed against his leg. His muscles tensed and his heart beat wildly. Gunnar had to relax his instant death grip on the hatchet once he realized Hunter also wanted to case the joint.

The smell accompanying the new room burned their nostrils. After the disaster, Gunnar was no stranger to rotting odors, but this deadly cocktail had been fermenting and trapped much too long. Gunnar shined the light around the room until it landed on a large dried pool of blood on the floor. The corpse's skin had dried out but three gunshot blasts were evident in through the man's skull. The back shelf's brain matter decorations had likely not been the guy's first choice.

"C'mon Hunter, we have better odds with the storm," Gunnar said as he ushered the dog upstairs.

He knew the odds of this man's killer sticking around were next to none at best, but he wasn't ready to take that chance down in this dark cellar.

It took more than a regular push to get the trap door to the shed back open. Once outside, he realized why. The building that had stood not even fifteen minutes prior was now flattened to the earth. The winds had started to die down although the rain kept falling. A quick glance at the main house confirmed he still had a place to sleep free of mysterious bodies at the moment. At least, he knew the owner of this home wouldn't be after him anytime soon.