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Albert jolted awake before dawn, just like he had every morning for the past four decades, retirement and apocalypse be damned. The ancient alarm clock beside his bed hadn’t worked in years, but his body hadn’t gotten the memo. “Bloody hell,” he grumbled, squinting at the faint pre-dawn light filtering through the mesh-covered window. The mesh was supposedly to keep the flies out, but Albert suspected it did a better job keeping his paranoia in. A warm weight shifted at the foot of the bed, and Winnie raised her golden head, eyebrows twitching in that way that made her look perpetually concerned about Albert’s life choices. “Don’t give me that look,” he told her, his voice gravel-rough from disuse. “Someone’s gotta be responsible around here.” Winnie’s tail thumped against the mattress twice, unconvinced. Albert swung his legs over the edge of the bed, each joint announcing itself with a symphony of pops and creaks. Sixty-eight wasn’t ancient by pre-apocalypse standards, but these days it practically made him a relic. “Getting old is a privilege, Winnie,” he muttered, sliding his feet into the boots he kept beside the bed. “That’s what they used to say. Didn’t mention it’d be so bloody uncomfortable.” The golden retriever hopped down from the bed and stretched, front legs extended, backside in the air, before padding after Albert as he made his way to the bathroom. Seven wasn’t young for a dog either, but Winnie carried her years with considerably more grace than her human companion. The bathroom mirror reflected a face that looked like it had been carved from sun-dried leather with a blunt chisel—all angles and weathered creases, grey stubble, and pale blue eyes that had seen enough to last several lifetimes. Albert ran a hand through his thinning hair, which stood up in rebellious tufts. “Handsome as ever,” he told his reflection with a snort. He brushed his teeth with ruthless efficiency, using water from a plastic cup he refilled from the small basin. The taste of homemade toothpaste—baking soda, salt, and dried mint from his garden—was nothing like the minty freshness of commercial brands, but it got the job done. Albert was all about getting the job done these days. Back in the bedroom, he dressed quickly in faded jeans and a flannel shirt that had once been red but had faded to the same dusty hue as everything else in this corner of the outback. The shirt hung looser than it used to; keeping fed wasn’t as straightforward as it once was, even with his vegetable garden and occasional hunting. Winnie waited patiently by the bedroom door, her tail swishing lazily across the floorboards. “Right,” Albert said, clapping his hands together once. “Breakfast for Her Majesty first, then.” Continue reading this post apocalyptic tale in Kindle Unlimited. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FTMJRSH2