I woke this morning hungry on a cold and windy bay. Luckily for me the bay was fresh water and I still had plenty of meat. After a quick breakfast, huddled under my poorly constructed bedroll, I pulled up my improvised anchor and continued to the north-east at a slow pace. The wind shifted several times from pushing my into the shoreline or pushing me out into the bay. The sky was overcast and time dragged on.
After hours of travel I finally saw a large peak appear on the horizon. I knew that nestled in its shadow would be the door to the Bunker, to my home. I paddled faster.
By the time I arrived at the mountain I was wet, cold, and exhausted. I pulled my boat onto the shore. It was only a half hour walk from here to the Bunker. I ran.
I ignored the tree stumps that used to be trees, I ignored the hill that had been grass but was now wheat, I even ignored a mineshaft. But what I could not ignore, built in the clearing next to the bunkers entrance, was a makeshift sodden house and the three people inside.