#postapocalypse

Roy pushed the welding mask off his face. Despite the winter chill, rivulets of sweat streamed down his bald head. Wiping a filthy, gloved hand across his face, he stepped away from the bunker door. He

Quick fingers adjusting the nozzle on his hose, Roy took a backward leap. The weapons on his back stole his balance, making his heel barely clip a concrete stair. His weight dropped, leg flinging out before

A single bulb flickered in the tunnel's ceiling. Its twitching, dirty light painted the walls yellow. Cold air wafted in from outside, lessening the bleached-out stink of altered genetics. Crossbow thrust

Brakes shrieked. The van rolled to a halt. Beside Roy, Dave lurched forward, smacking his face into the dash with a loud thump. He moaned from the impact. In his peripheral vision, Roy watched the tuft

Not a short man by any definition, Roy guessed the mutant had a clear four feet on him. Corded muscles strained the creature's tanned skin, twisting like ropes in forearms almost as wide around as the