He lies back, his body shot of all resources; muscles pounded to putty, bones pressed with the strain, eyes dry with near constant use, his stomach pulling tight like a purse, his whole person shaking. He settles back against the hard concrete floor, his head propped up against bales of hay. This small feeder station, its thick concrete walls, steel, barred windows, and tin roof, offers little in comfort besides the heater it uses to fend off the damp. Outside, the tropical storm lashes against the rainforest. Rain pours, drumming against the roof. What a day.
Out there, in the clutches of night, genetically tailored monstrosities roam the dark. He’s evaded them all day, to varying success. He’s in one piece, mostly. At least in here, he’s safe. They’re too big to fit in through the door, if they could break it open, and this small hut is specifically designed to keep them from getting in. It does, after all, contain all their food. Including me, he thinks, with a small smile on his lips, as he drifts off to sleep.
Paddy Dobson
9th April 2021