Before seeing them for the first time, Meriwa hadn’t had a clue what the bunkers might be. Now, she thought they looked rather like a concrete molehill, only less round. The roof’s top had been loped off, for all intents looking like that of a child’s first drawing of their home, with a vaguely house-like structure underneath.
It – they? She had no idea if it was one or many bunkers, but the man-made hill seemed to go on forever – was built into, and protruded from, the earth.
Grey and green and so nothing. They were cold, so impersonal. As if they had been designed and built by soulless, unfeeling beings. They were without an ounce of personality – even the small cabins elsewhere on the compound had their quirky imperfections, things that made them unique.
Meriwa thought of the beau
