As with most people still alive in today's troubled world, Terrence suddenly felt paranoid, paranoid he was being watched.<br/>He spun around, quickly, looking every which way, but seeing nothing. He decided it was just your all-round everyday paranoia...you know, the regular, store-bought kind.<br/>Terrence scoffed at how mere humour like this seemed so macabre.<br/>A dead baby joke wasn't funny (unless you had come down with post-fall dementia, in which case, euthanasia was the best fate), it seemed to get the post-fall crazies licking their lips in anticipation of the grand platter to come.<br/><br/>Terrence turned back to his work, but made sure he'd go for a gun if needs be, two if he could.<br/>He began slicing the meat up into even chunks, the precision of practiced movements.<br/>A small pile of which he would set aside for when he built a fire. The rest, he wrapped in separate pieces of cloth.<br/><br/>A few minutes crawled by as he scraped up a fire. Surprisingly enough, wood wasn't hard to find.<br/>Soon it was good enough to cook with, decent enough for warmth.<br/>Terrence sat, chewing away at the meat, one hand resting on the butt of a gun. If anyone was watching him, they'd come after him, it was law of the jungle.<br/>That jungle was earth, and it was as volatile as ever.