I browsed what was left of the store, shoving foodstuffs at random into my satchel. My new companion seemed content to follow me, as long as I breadcrumbed his path with his favourite bacon-ranch treats. Eventually my bag was full and I was sick of the place. Night was maybe an hour away and I didn’t trust my sense of direction in a dark nothingness. I grabbed an armful of chips and headed out. The pig, who I had named “Junior” trailed along, continuously crunching.
We were maybe half a mile from town when I realized what was wrong. The doorway to my shelter – the only thing more than a foot high – was wide open. A spear of yellow light shone out like a beacon into the dusty sky. I might have been half-assed about securing it, but I had certainly left it closed. Apparently I had been as wrongly optimistic about scavengers as I had about bizarrely hungry mutants. I looked down at Junior who gave a hungry grunt. Then we were both running across the ashen plain, trailing supplies as fast as I could throw them.