Reflections on Continuum

The alarm goes off at 5 AM. Four of us wriggle, groggy, out of sleeping bags. The whistling whisper of sleeping bags thrust into stuff sacks. The rhythmic crunch of footsteps on astro-turf. We leave one bunker to prepare to enter another bunker by sunrise.

The rest of the enclave gathers on the peninsula that's called an island. We drink warm liquids. We make our way to the bunker, the cave, the Continuum.

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