“Okay.” Kev folded his arms as he examined the lean-to he’d built. “That’s not so bad.” It was a damn sight better than the one he’d built the night prior, but staying in the forest preserve had been a last minute idea, and his training had been in an area where shelter was a matter of piling sand around a hastily dug trench. He still didn’t have any kind of hatchet - just his chef’s knife, and he’d never use that to try and cut through wood. And the only reason he had the knife was because the tools they gave him to work with at the diner were worse than useless. Sure, it was short order cooking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need a good sharp knife.

Lots of reasons to need a good sharp knife.

He turned away from the branches he’d arranged took another careful look around for that Ranger, checked again to see that his bike was well-hidden. He’d probably have been more comfortable at one of the park’s campsites, but the pendejo Tanner was a hard-ass who’d roust him for squatting If the texts from his cousin Jave were right - and Jave was always right - the world was ending out there. Guys like the Ranger wouldn’t care, they were sticklers, following orders even if the whole chain of command were gone.

Kev couldn’t put up with more than two tours of that shit, so he’d mustered out and gone to culinary school. The degree hadn’t helped much in the economy on the outside, so he ended up as a cook in a cheap-ass diner in the ‘burbs, working out his frustrations with long bike trips through the local forest preserves and nature areas.

Of course, he never expected to be caught out during the end of the world, but that’s not the kind of thing you can plan for.

Kev did a quick inventory. He had his bike - an aluminum framed hybrid mix between a road bike and a mountain bike. His whole first paycheck had gone to the purchase to help with his commute, and he hadn’t regretted it for a single day.

He had his chef’s knife - paid for with his third paycheck - a Japanese Artifex with a long blade, stainless steel but of high quality.

He had his shatterproof plastic water bottle, fixed to the bike - the campsites had hand-pumps, so he could keep that full.

And a few protein bars.

That was it. He’d had a little wilderness survival training, but it was more applicable to the mountains of Afghanistan than the woods of the Midwest… still, maybe he could catch a rabbit or something. Try and remember what plants were edible. That kind of thing.