[center][img]http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BMTUxNjM2MTQzNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTU3NzQ2OQ@@._V1_UY317_CR131,0,214,317_AL_.jpg[/img][/center]

[color=Teal][center][h1]Oliver Finch[/h1][/center][/color]

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Oliver yelled and ran from behind the building corner he was using as cover. His yelling, combined with the manic waving of his crowbar, was enough to scare the looters around the car off. When he was satisfied they weren't coming back, he smiled. The old sedan was more than a little beat up. The engine had been lifted long ago, and the windows were shattered, but the trunk was still locked tight. The looters had been attempting to bash it open with hammers. 

He walked towards it, crowbar in hand.

[color=Teal]"Unlooted trunk. My lucky day, innit?"[/color] He said, shoving the prybar bit of the crowbar between the trunk and the bumper. He put all his weight on it. For one terrifying moment, he though the crowbar was going to break. It didn't. The trunk popped open, the rusted lock shattered, to reveal...

A spare tire, a blanket, and a tire iron.

He sighed in disappointment. He was hoping for food, he was on his last package of barely expired jerky. He folded the blanket and shoved it into his near-bursting duffel bag.