A former journalist with vivid dreams.
“She can run faster than me,” James said out loud, between breaths. Eleanor always could outrun him when they were younger, even though she was smaller, she could run faster. When they raced to the lake, or home from school, she’d always get there first no matter how hard James tried to beat her. He ran as hard as he could until his chest burned and his legs wobbled, and yet Eleanor would always close the gap at the end and catch him a few paces before their destination, panting a little and giggling more.
One Shot Clive watched the bunker for the past eight days, long enough that his supplies were dwindling. He saw the skinny man head out before sunrise every other morning, with a rifle and a backpack, probably hunting for small game. He never heard a shot fired, and the skinny man always returned empty handed.