The little pot of stew sent rumbles through my stomach, but it wouldn’t be done for some time yet. I leaned back against the wall and listened to the savage cry of the wind and rain outside my little shelter. It was good craftsmanship, this place, even though I’d been in a hurry when I’d first set it up two weeks ago. Cracks all sealed up, double-insulated against the cold nights, small bedroll in the corner. Warmth and relative comfort, pretty much all one could ask for.
Today’s catch had been pretty good. An intact box of handgun ammunition, a small bottle of sealed water and some dried beef strips. Ammo, water and food all in the same day, pretty much the best haul since I can remember. Seems like anything worth having is rare now.
Still, it’s about counting the blessings. The stew’s nice, the last of the wild goat I’d shot two days ago mixed in with the dried beef and some wild onion. Good stuff, and I can probably keep some for tomorrow too. Maybe my luck’s goning to hold out for once.