Beyond the door lay a wondrous treasure, unlike any the pilgrim - if he could indeed still be called that - had ever seen. He cared little for gold, silver or any of the other shining metals so sought after by men of civilization. He was a man of the wild. He was a man of survival.
The walls were lined with metal shelves. They were filled with hundreds - no, thousands - of shining metal cans from floor to ceiling.
'Is that...' He began, almost afraid to put hope into words. As it was, he did not have to.
'Damn straight,' Ripley said. 'Enough food and water to feed a small army for a year. Or the Numa Numa Guy for a week.'
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