Even though the tornado had missed the main house, it still did a lot of much damage. Gunnar spent the next three days using scraps of the trashed shed to patch up holes and cracks. Luck had kept him alive. His mind kept fixating on the crawl space and the strong underground shelter it offered. That was better than luck, it was smarts. The opening mechanism was busted now, not needing anything to break his way in, but also not giving him security from wind and intruders, should he need it. And he was sure he would.

A lock, cleaning supplies, bags and nails: he could and should add those to his list for his next visit to the shop. He dreaded getting rid of that body, tidying up life's passing like a murderer or a cleaning lady in a sketchy motel. His mom had done the latter for awhile, came home with the world's worst stories for he and Aida to hear. He'd usually have to send his sister off to bed and take another bottle away from his mother as she laughed away disgust at people's vulgar nature. The real death cleansing had been left to professionals who showed up to work to work sober more than once a week. Still, too much shit had rubbed off on her, on their family.

He decided to walk to the store, in case those cleaning buckets and liquids were real heavy. Hunter watched him from the front yard, but wouldn't leave his spot. He had sniffed away at the wagon that Gunnar planned to drag all the way there. It would have been great to have Hunter pull it like a sleigh dog, but the canine was not having that. Dog liked his home and wouldn't be leaving. In a way, it reassured Gunnar. If scavengers came, they'd have a grumpy guard to deal with.

The tornadoes had done damage to the road, tearing it up in places and blocking it off with trees in others. He set about clearing a path for himself and was thankful the hot sun had dried up most of the puddles in previous days. The last thing he needed was a pair of soggy shoes. Winds had torn fences down and flung the remaining road signs around. But the intense destruction only lasted a few miles past his place. The tornadoes travelled across the torn-up fields after that.

When he finally arrived at the store, exhausted and a bit thirsty, he took refuge in his regular look out shop for the night. The small business' drink supply had been spilled or scavenged since his last visit. Stupid call not to bring extra water. The weight would have been drunk on the journey.

Unease crept up his spine as he realized what a depleted supply could mean for his isolation. People knew about this place now. He could only find a thin beam, pried off a trashed shelving unit that had collapsed on packs of ladies products. It wasn't sharp but he could probably take someone out with it. First the water, then the hatchet left behind. How could he be getting so sloppy? The sooner he cleansed his home of the newfound death, the sooner he could be himself again.

He sat behind the counter, in the corner with no windows, clutching the bar tight. Every howl and noise made him jump up to a defensive position. Most were small animals or even the wind blowing debris around. Ever since that body... maybe something was coming for him.

Paranoid, Gun. Sit, relax, and let the reefer take you in.

He shook the thoughts from his head as fast as they entered. What had become of the psychopath? All he could hope for was distance or death. Rob wasn't smart enough to make it this long. He had too many vices, too many dangerous habits.

But, he was crazy, and the crazies outlasted the rest.

The sun came up, a reminder that he hadn't had more than twenty minutes of sleep in a row since he arrived. Might as well get the whole thing over with. He walked toward the store, and the light showed a cruel reality the night had kept to itself. Tornadoes had made it this far too, far enough to wipe out the whole side of the building.

The whole food section, wasted by the winds. Broken packages of flour, macaroni, and canned sauces, even mustard spray painting the parking lot bright colours. A few small animals and insects gathered to take advantage. His eyes surveyed the rest of the area. Desert, uprooted street signs, his convenience shelter and a busted up gas station; beacons of an abysmal future.

He could keep going back to city center and hope no one had bothered to clean it out. This part of the city had been an oasis of free and undisturbed goods. He hadn't taken much time to question it, but maybe he should have. Why did the outskirts have so much while they hardly made ends meet in the others? What had become of the actual people that used to live in these parts?

Even if he headed for a different outskirt, there was still Hunter. That mutt would be all alone if Gunnar kept going. Could probably survive, but it wouldn't be right to leave him. The house had shelter, water, and was too far out to be an easy target. He made up his mind and went into the store and see what was left to scavenge. He just needed to get over how messed up that body in the basement was and he'd be back on his game.

Hunter sat on the gravel driveway with his head down at his paws. His eyes followed all of Gunnar's movements as he neared the cabin. He didn't try to move until Gunnar came past him.

"You keep everything right with this place?"

Hunter lifted himself up and trotted past Gunnar into the house. Gunnar brought in the repair supplies that he had lifted from some of the damaged furniture in the store. The river of endless supplies had dried up, to his dismay. Still one bucket of bleach and some gloves to be found. He even got lucky with a shovel so he could bury the body properly, whoever the poor sap was: criminal or average Joe.

He started with the hole out in Hunter's trapping grounds. A few rabbits scattered as he went through the brush. Things were really starting to green up and grow like stink. But, plants could be dangerous for eating or itching if he wasn't too careful.

The night offered proper cool for him to dig the grave. His hands were calloused by the end and he really hoped there was only one corpse down there, or else this would have to be a mass grave. He hadn't eaten right in a couple days and could feel it in his muscles. Hunter must have sensed this and had one of those earlier rabbits waiting for him at the back step. Gunnar ruffled the fur around his neck before he went to work. He was getting better and better at being a woodsman. Maybe it was the grizzly beard.

The meal gave him the energy to tackle the body in the basement. He knew there was a flashlight down there to help him out, but couldn't decide if seeing the body was better than going in blind. Looking death in the face left a man very aware of his own mortality. Left him wondering what the hell was in store for him.

Hunter wouldn't join him down in the cellar, but that just meant he wouldn't have to jump so much when the dog's claws clacked away on the floors. He closed the entrance door, even though the smell begged him not to. He couldn't risk attracting larger predators to the area. The remains were buried far enough away that distance should keep them at bay. He brought the trash bags down. Would they even fit a whole body? Turned out it didn't matter so much, the more he lifted the body, the more it fell into smaller, goopy pieces.

Everyone is one more you don't have to carry out again. Come on now.

The floors were covered, the garbage bags not helping one bit. How were people supposed to do this? He trudged on, every gassy smell, squish and slimy texture ignored as he thought of better things. Better to do it when time was on his side than being forced to share the space with that thing to ride out a storm. Just like the rabbit, only much more dead and falling apart. He finished the whole feat, making more trips to that grave then he imagined possible, rinsed off really well, then passed out in his bed.

Day two of the clean up sat much better with Gunnar. Wiping away the evidence was so much easier than getting rid of a body. No wonder murderers in his neighborhood had left stuff in place and gotten caught. Too damn much work otherwise. At least they fed you in prison. He left the door open this time and threw a scarf over his face to get rid of the chemical smell. He wished he thought of that the day before.

While wiping the gunk off the metal doors at eye level, he noticed a gunshot had compromised one of the locks. He looked through it and the entire whole cupboard was empty. The one next to it was still locked. The lock was more sophisticated that the average key lock that he could typically pick. He felt the metal inside the open cupboard that connected the two cupboards and it flexed easily against his palm.

Child's play.

He took off to get the hatchet. After a few hits with the blunt edge of the weapon, the metal began to cave in at the center and separate from where it had been welded on the edges. Bold locks for a flimsy storage device. He was hoping for some kind of crazy technology, because he doubted this guy was rich. What was worth killing for and stealing for?

He pried away the sheet metal and his lips curled down. Rolls of papers, a voice recorder, pictures, but nothing that actually looked useful. What a bust. He left them there and went back out to the house to whip up some lunch for him and Hunter.

As he sipped away on the fresh water, letting hydration take him back in, his mind wandered back to those locked cabinet. The stuff had been worth killing a man for, assuming the two acts were related. What if it was some kind of crazy conspiracy? Secret mission? A trip to outer space to leave this whole destroyed earth? In any case, it was probably over and he should let it go.

His feet and hands refused to listen, so he walked back down into the cellar of harsh chemical smells. He pulled out the rolls of paper. They looked too big to be a book -- to his delight -- so he unrolled them and placed a few rocks on the edges to keep it from curling.

Squares and rectangle together, one next to the other, random symbols repeated, little lines on the interior rectangle.

His art teacher had showed him stuff like this once. Told him he'd probably be good at this type of stuff based on how well he drew buildings and random rooms. But it had all seemed boring at the times, flat pictures with no detail to show what a house or whatever was supposed to look like. Plus teachers doing anything other than calling him a pain in the ass or flunking him another year felt fake. Just another chick trying to be nice to feel better about herself.

With nothing but time on his hands, these could be clues. Maybe this bunker was bigger than he had imagined. The hallways and rooms didn't seem to match. He couldn't even find a door to lead into this random imagined building, but it had a ton of floors, all pretty similar looking.

He flicked on the audio device and hit play, figuring that it would be more helpful than figuring out what was on these confusing maps. He didn't even bother to touch the intimidating notebooks with crazy handwriting.

"May 9th, 2018. I've begun to fear what will become of these plans. My requests to see if the designs have been implemented up to code have been repeatedly denied even with the help of a consulting engineer. More and more traffic has begun to come down this road, uncharacteristic for this time of year. I fear they are here to keep an eye on me and ensure that I keep to my vow of secrecy. I only have a few more plans to draw up. I don't know what this group intends to do with their underground facility, but I've begun to fear the worst: an underground prison of sorts, torture chamber, human trafficking. It seems inhumane to keep so many people underground, even with proper medical and food production services."

If he designed it from here, it was unlikely that the plans had anything to do with this place. Bummer. Would have been a real find.

"September 15th 2018. My expedition to suspicions locations proved fruitless. No suspected sites in the New Mexico and Arizona areas showed evidence of recent construction or large enough infrastructure to support such a large organization. The traffic has slowed since my final drafts were completed."

"December 23rd 2018. My attempts to contact the organization have all met with deaf ears. The organization that seemed legitimate a year ago has evaporated into thin air. No one has heard of them or done business with them recently. Their landlord denies they even occupied the building when I know for a fact we have met there. I have the business card to prove it. When I showed the security guard, he told me in his five years working there, no such organization existed. I've begun to look through tax records, hydro, electricity with a little help, but still no leads. They must have been a shell company for something larger. Something that doesn't want to be seen or heard."

Gunnar shut the recorder down and placed it back in the box. The man had probably gone mad out here or been on some wicked drugs, looking for things that didn't exist. The fact that he had his brains blown out did argue in his favour, but it could just have been a simple robbery. Best just to accept the house and cellar for what it was, shelter and nothing more.