Night Bunker

Night fell over the brush, and the swamp turned cold. I stomped through the dark weeds looking for solid cover until my boot smacked right into a fallen, rotten birch log half-swallowed by damp moss! The inside was scooped out like a dark wooden tunnel. Perfect bunker! I dropped onto my knees and wedged myself straight into the hollow belly. Wood rot and damp bark crumbled in powdery flakes, dusting all over my yellow shoulders as I shoved hard to carve out elbow room. Halfway in, my fingers hit something hard—a rusted iron fence staple embedded deep in the decaying fiber. I locked both fists around it, braced my boots against the damp wood walls, and anchored down for the night!