C3 Before the Sky Turned Dark

"Don't be afraid, Dad's here." He spoke reassuringly, yet he remained vigilant, bending down to pull a military knife from his pant leg and retrieving a small flashlight from his work pocket for his son to hold.

This teamwork not only instilled a sense of responsibility in his son but also underscored their mutual dependence for survival.

With his son providing the light, he cautiously pushed open the hazy glass door with his left hand.

The little one's hand, clutching the flashlight, trembled with nervousness, while his other hand gripped his father's shirt tightly.

"It's okay." He understood his son's fear, as a blood-red handprint marred the dusty white wall. He didn't hide it; instead, he traced it with his index finger, teaching by example, "The dust is thick, and the bloodstain is dark, indicating it's old. No need to worry. If the color were fresh, it would signal danger, and we'd need to leave quickly."

"Okay." The little guy mustered his courage and mimicked his father's gesture on the wall.

"That's the spirit of a true man, embarking on an adventure." He encouraged his son. In their lexicon, "adventure" was a euphemism for scavenging.

Though he exposed his son to the harsh realities of the world early on, he also endeavored to preserve his childlike wonder, for a child is still a child.

"There's an elevator." The little guy's voice chimed brightly, his adventurous spirit ignited by his father, as he eagerly pressed the elevator button, which naturally did not respond due to the lack of power.

He continued his lessons: "Remember, even if the elevator were operational, never enter it carelessly to avoid getting stuck. Particularly in an emergency, never use the elevator."

The small high-rise had eleven floors, and the father and son ascended the emergency staircase, methodically checking each apartment.

"Home" was a misnomer here, as these dwellings had long been abandoned.

Excavators never recklessly intruded into inhabited places, knowing that where there were residents, there would also be essential supplies for survival.

Survival supplies, not just everyday living supplies.

In this city, the ultimate goal for survivors is to simply survive.

Clean water, uncontaminated food, and essential medicines are the most crucial survival supplies.

If one were to intrude into an inhabited area, there's a risk of being killed. Of course, one could also kill in defense. At that point, they wouldn't be Excavators; they'd be robbers.

He wasn't a robber, but to survive and protect his son, he was prepared to kill anything that needed killing, including other people.

So far, he hadn't killed anyone and was contentedly pursuing the "promising" career of an Excavator.

His gaze was dull as he surveyed each door that had been forced open. The rooms were in disarray, offering little hope for scavenging.

Upon reaching the ninth floor, his spirits lifted. He had found an overlooked opportunity: a door marred with the scars of attempted break-ins but still secure. The anti-theft door was impressively resilient.

Most Excavators opted for the most straightforward and forceful approach: breaking down the door. A select few were skilled lockpickers, but that was a technical skill not everyone possessed.

He lacked such technical skills and disliked brute force, but he was adept at scaling walls and buildings. A sports champion during his school days, he had found his niche in excavation.

Initially, he would carry his four-year-old son on his back, easily scaling several floors.

Once his son grew a year older, he trained him to climb alongside him, securing themselves with a climbing rope for absolute safety.

Before long, his son became as adept at climbing as a little monkey.

Father and son made their way back to the eighth floor and entered an apartment directly below the one they had targeted.

He walked straight through the cluttered living room and peered out from the balcony.

Before the nuclear explosion, city regulations forbade the installation of anti-theft nets on the street-facing side of buildings to preserve the city's appearance. This now provided a significant advantage to future Excavators.

He assessed the situation with ease and pulled a gray-white climbing rope from his pocket, which seemed to hold an endless supply of tools, and began preparing for the ascent.

"Look, Dad!" the little one exclaimed, proudly displaying a plush penguin that held no value to the Excavators, still wrapped in its plastic packaging. He dusted it off and beamed as he showed it to his father.

Tragically, his joy turned to sorrow when he stepped on some trash on the floor, slipped, and fell, twisting his ankle severely.

Watching his son crawl on the ground, whimpering "Daddy, Daddy," his heart clenched with pain, but he steeled himself and chose not to intervene.

The little guy, feeling ignored by his father, began to cry from both pain and frustration, yet he remembered his father's lessons and kept his sobs quiet, biting his lip to stifle the sound.

"Son, I can't be with you forever. You need to learn to pick yourself up," his father said with a stern tone, yet he couldn't help but turn away to hide the tears of guilt streaming from his eyes.

Indeed, he couldn't always be by his son's side. In this endless, crumbling world, there would come a day when his son would have to walk alone.

The little trooper, perhaps out of defiance, managed to get up and started walking gingerly, adjusting to the pain in his foot.

"Can you still climb the stairs?" he asked, secretly wiping away his tears, and consoled himself with an old saying from back home: "Hide your pain from your child."

The little one nodded with determination, not uttering a word.

His father wrapped the climbing rope tightly around his son's waist, secured the metal buckle, and together they donned their climbing gloves. His voice softened as he said, "Let's keep exploring."

Noticing his son's attachment to the plush penguin, he pondered for a moment before tucking it into his backpack.

Father and son, one leading the other, navigated the balcony of the ninth floor and entered the last remaining apartment.

With one hand guiding his son and the other wielding a combat knife, he quickly scanned the rooms for any undiscovered survivors.

The apartment was a three-bedroom with a living room, and the master bedroom, study, and children's room were all intact, better preserved than he had anticipated.

However, he couldn't afford to explore further as his son's gait was labored. He hurriedly helped him sit down on a chair and gently removed the climbing boots from his aching feet.

His son's ankle was severely swollen, the sprain far worse than he had anticipated.

"Don't let it be a bone injury," he silently prayed. In a world where survival was paramount, any injury or illness was almost too much to bear.

He glanced quickly at his watch and nuclear radiation meter, pondering his next move.

His son could no longer walk; he had no choice but to carry him back home. But that meant their scavenging for the day had to be cut short; otherwise, he couldn't ensure they'd make it back before nightfall.

They absolutely needed to be home before dark.

For the survivors, mutated humans weren't the greatest threat. There were all sorts of horrific, mutated creatures lurking about, with giant rats being the most perilous of them all.