Post by Erik Mercer on Nov 10, 2015 22:20:34 GMT
Outside, the wind howled. The dust covered the late afternoon sun, turning the light into a dusky red-brown. In the flat expanse of desert, dust storms were common and a nuisance. Airborne sands got in your shelter, in your shoes, and inside your lungs, if you weren’t careful. Even with a cloth about the mouth and nose it was risky to be wandering about in the middle of it and Erik had long since discovered that it was better to tucker down and wait it out, wherever you were. Even if that somewhere was a vast, empty structure that could house any number of threats.
It seemed vacant, but it was hard for him to listen beyond the storm. He had a knife and little else besides his own reflexes, and the former was not much use against a horde. At first he was content to stay in the corner, half-hidden by a stack of books (that he had no ability and no desire to read), and an overhanging bookshelf that had fallen against another. Then he began to feel the urge to scrounge. Scrounging, after all, was his favorite hobby.
The storm showed no signs of quieting, anyway. And after an extended period of watching for movement, he began to feel as though the place were safe after all.
Bolder, but still cautious (scanning over his shoulder once in a while), he began to explore, pulling up sheaths of paper, pulling chairs, digging through discarded stacks and shelves.