Virtually mirrored

The refuge

Consciousness came slowly, edging him awake. Still the same wall, same bunker. Grey rock, grey metal, but colors present in the room. Unnoticed reds, blues, whites and browns. The clothes strewn around him, personal effects on the table and nightstand. Even a couple posters on the wall. They were of women, the kind Nathan would daydream about. Getting up was slow. How long did he sleep? Felt like more than a full night. Dragged tired feet to the living room. The hands on the clock said fifteen past one. Except... the counter at the lowest section of the clock showed a day had passed. Did he really sleep for an entire day? Never slept that long before in his entire life. Movement was survival.

Thirst struck him like a hammer. Backpack was on the floor of the main corridor. Untouched since arrival. The canteen inside was quickly drained. Still thirsty. Nathan walked to one of the machines in the living room. It spanned the entire rightmost corner. Looked almost like one of the dispensary machines father would describe. A test was in order. Glass retrieved from a metal cabinet Nathan pressed it to the nob. Clear water came out. Amazed, he spent five minutes smelling it just in case. How much was in there? He hoped a lot while shrugging. The man must have lived here for years, if there was still water it stands to reason there should be a supply equal to the pantry. Decades worth. 

An urgent call of nature forced him to search the bunker. There was an actual toilet hidden behind the door that lead into the corridor from outside. Small and cramped, but an actual metal toilet bowl. The water used to flush way grey and smelled salty. Obviously the refuse went out into the sea. There was even a mirror, cracked in the corner. A sad bearded face greeted him. Unrecognizable by now, creases beside the eyes and on his cheeks. The elements of the wastes took their toll. The last mirror he owned was passed down by mother, and that one broke five years ago.

Sitting at the table he planned. First there must be a complete inventory. Everything should be written down. Too much to commit to memory. These were not simple stashes of food, notches to be scribbled on a map. It was a treasure hoard. A search of lockers and drawers produced paper. Real, unused paper. The kind Nathan had never seen before. All paper was always crumpled, brownish and used. All maps needed to be covered with the thinnest plastic he could find to last. His charcoal tip seemed wholly inadequate. Further searching provided pens, six in all. Well stored and functional, along with a box of spare cartridges. Taking only one Nathan went to the pantry.

It took until evening to catalogue everything. So much paper wasted, but he had no plastic to save it. Didn't dare to try for another meal after yesterday, still felt half full. With clothes so readily available he decided to change. Even if they were a bit large it didn't matter. Nathans hands on the table looked so thin and frail in this grand environment. Several layers of patchy sleeves shed, the only parts left were skin and bone. Survival had a cost.

The rest of his waking hours were spent searching around the bunker. Two more passages discovered. One a small hatch hidden behind the metal lockers in the bedroom. Opening it released heat into the room. Very slight hum of machinery beyond, a narrow ladder leading down. Diffuse yellow light reaching from below. Nathan passed on going down there until morning. The other was a small trap door in the living room. It revealed only darkness in the room below and a much shorter ladder. No point now. For the first time in many years Nathan crawled into a real bed with a quilt and blankets. Naked and filthy, didn't care. It was so warm that sleep came quickly.

Morning brought an intensity of hunger never felt before. Probably a consequence of the very large meal from two days ago. Nathan carried a small can to the dinner table, cradling it gently between palms. Cooking will have to wait for other days. This can will need to last three days at least. The taste and feel of the previous meal still permeated memory, delight. It brought comfort and joy, a sweet melancholy accompanied. Contents of the new can were carefully divided into thirds. One eaten slowly and meticulously.

Cans were rare to find in the wastes. Sometimes Nathan would chance upon a few, not for years now. When opened preservation was always a problem, and he had no suitable plastic covering left. Fortunately the pantry inventory found plastic foil, an entire box worth tucked underneath a shelf. The bunker had a functioning ventilation system. There was no way of knowing where it led or if there was any kind of filtration in place. The vents were fist sized, present only in the bedroom and living room area.

For the first time in years Nathan understood just how bad he smelled. In this clean, almost sterile environment with no wind it was an inescapable fact. Didn't want to waste water stored in the bunker. Less than a day to his marked fresh water spring. No need to carry the entire contents of his backpack now. If no one else found this place in many years, chances were slim anyone would. Except... the body. Nathan emptied the back pack, leaving only the empty canteens and the hand shovel. Empty plastic liquid containers from the pantry would supplement carrying capacity. The last plastic container broke two years ago. They were very useful but fragile, impossible to find these days. One was so large he simply tied it to the backpack, twelve liters capacity.

First he walked to the body. Not far away, easy to find in the empty wastes. No one can find the refuge. Nathan dug for an entire hour, then labored for another to fill in the hole. Rocks placed on top made it seem more natural. Spare dirt thrown into the wind and grey. Felt an odd sense of gratitude to this man. No words spoken, just a nod at the end.

The trek to the fresh water spring was uneventful and grey. All the rags in possession were washed thoroughly. Nathan only washed his face. The rest would be done in greater safety. The walk back was much more difficult. Sweat beaded his forehead from being weighed down by thirty liters of precious water. It didn't matter. This supply would last a while, the lost moisture no longer a waste. Darkness fell shorty before he reached the refuge.

In the bunker Nathan took off his clothes and prepared all the rags, along with a bucket. The fresh towels stored in metal lockers would not be used until all the rags were completely spent. Not all the towels were brand new, but compared to the rags they were pristine. There was an ample supply of soap in the pantry, two boxes. He indulged. Two liters of water, carefully measured. Spent an hour scrubbing himself. The water kept getting dirtier despite, or more in aid of the soap.

The result was satisfactory. Hadn't felt this clean since... forever. Even smelled lightly of the soap. Some kind of unrecognizable gentle smell. Fresh clean clothes felt like a burden, something to take special care of. Only his old boots stayed, the previous occupants feet far too small to take possession of shoes. Cleaned those boots with the dirty water, then dumped it into the ocean.

The screen in the living room was functional and dazzling. Naturally there were no live channels, but there was an entire treasure trove of entertainment. Things Nathan had never seen, only heard about. Movies, tv shows, other recorded media. Some even appeared to be... drawn. Liked those the most. The entire night spent viewing so many, each from first to last minute. Sleep came in a chair, with his head on the table still watching the screen. Eyes closed of their own volition for the first time in many years. A guilty pleasure.