Geoff lay sprawled on the floor of some battered concrete structure, sleepless, staring up in a zone. His eyes traced a winding crack in the crumbling ceiling right above him. He didn't want to die, at least not now, but he couldn't help but imagine that threatening chunk crushing his head in an instant. It gave him a strange thrill. He kept his eyes upon it almost in expectation, almost in wanting, as if their piercing gaze could nudge that chunk enough to give it way.
He was only eleven when the world went dark. Since then, his life was in a basement sustained by stocked rations and books. His father, paranoid as one could be, rarely let him out on his occasional journeys. One day he never came back, and poor Geoff remained as long as he could until supplies ran short. Finally, he emerged into the bewildering outside world. Unprepared. Terrified.
He clutched the metal rod in his hand. It was his only friend. His pistol lacked ammo. He was weak. He knew he should have spent more time training, but there was no more time for regrets. He had to start now.
Well, maybe not now. Later. Unless the ceiling falls.
