Spoiler: A crumbling complex, a broadsword, and a watchtower - 1864 words
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She hadn't been in here in months. Years. The last she remembered of the sprawling complex was the shadows seeping over into the main hall as she had watched, wide-eyed in fear and fascination, from over her mother's shoulder as they and everyone else fled. And then it had happened over and over again, that same tireless cycle, until there was little left.
But it didn't matter. All she needed to keep in mind was her mission. The derelict center--had it once had "security" attached to its name? it had provided anything but--supposedly held some of the last relics of the bygone age. She had always found it strange that what they now called "relics" were more powerful than anything nowadays. Perhaps she could even replace the handgun she had at her side, so worn-out that she had only brought it along as a back-up. Well, she'd find out. Nervously tugging on the strap around her torso that held her trusty broadsword in place, she approached the boundaries.
A single crumbling watchtower gazed wearily over the long-rusted metal. The wind sifted through the tall grass that had taken over the first courtyard, and vines of some sort had enmeshed themselves with the multitudes of cables and wires that now connecting nothing to nothing.
It was quiet. Some would call it peaceful. Perhaps that was well. But perhaps it was just..well, the calm before the storm. She'd be as wary as ever.
The gates posed no problem, the hinges and bars and wires having weakened or long ago disappeared, leaving the also-disintegrating posts parading mournfully across, unable to keep anything secure. She briefly pondered climbing up the watchtower to scope out the area. The more prepared she was, the better. The ladder didn't look quite so good, though. Lifting a booted foot, she gingerly tests the first rung.
Well. That was good. The rungs might look horrible, but underneath they were still solid. Gripping the roughened reddish-brown bars, she pulled herself up. The room at the top was small, as it only needed to support one--or maybe two, she supposed--at a time, plus any controls they once might have needed. Almost at the top, she listens again, just to be safe...
Silence again. She didn't know if that was good or bad. Perhaps the complex really was empty, like they had said. As she enters the small room through the side door, she notices something on the floor...
Strange. Perhaps they had kept a small fire-starter kit in here for emergencies. It was a way out from any civilization. Or at least now it was. She wasn't sure about Then. The flint and steel might come in handy. Reaching down a gloved hand, she secured them in one of her belt-pouches.
The room, as she had expected, was decrepit. The consoles were patched with holes and the occasional web, and a small plant was even sprouting from one of the old consoles. Even with these signs of life, though, the tell-tale inky-black patches were still there, a reminder of those dreaded days. And a reminder to her to careful still. The windows were long gone, the smooth shards in piles on the floor. The landscape outside was almost surreal, like she had had pictures, or projections, or something, on the walls of the chamber. Pictures was an almost haunting beauty. But she had to be careful. Leaning out slightly, she scanned the area, or what she could see of it...
Suddenly, a flicker. A blur. An empty hole in the light. The complex wasn't empty. Even though she had been trained all her life against these...things, and had even witnesses them first hand, they were still disconcerting. The winds seemed ever so much more chill now, and she shivered. But that was just the cold. She had packed warmer gear. In case. It was just the cold. The cold, and nothing more.
Judging from the sun, she had a few more hours before dark. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to spend a night and that complex. Actually, she didn't want to spend a night anywhere near here at all. But if ever, the tower was her best bet. If she started now, she'd be able to get it relatively hospitable before sunset.
After an hour of sewing, tying, hooking, and crimping, and another of foraging in the grounds below--outside the complex, of course--she'd manage to cover the windows somewhat securely. After some scraping and coaxing, the mechanism to lift the ladder had groaned to life, and she had been able to crank the rungs up. She was prepared. Or she hoped she was.
Spreading out her survival blanket on the floor, she sat and leaned against the wall, unfolding her second one to cover her. She had left one of the windows uncovered, the small west one. Her instructors and guides and partners had always told her she was too dreamy. The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the things she might find out in the abandoned places even more so. But there was always a beauty in it too that she saw.
The blue faded to pink, then orange, then to a vividly deep blue again, as the white-hot hole of the sun sank below. Had people sat and watched the sun set, free of fears, so many years ago? Had they stayed until the blue deepened to black, and counted the spray of stars above them? Nostalgia. That was it, that was also what they had called her. Nostalgic. She preferred to think of it as ghosts, old memories that didn't leave, but just lingered on, touching all those around.
But she needed to focuse now. Cover the window. Secure the ladder in place. Close the door and cover that. Lantern, two of them to be sure. After she had checked that everything was secured thrice over, she finally lay down on her makeshift bed. After a short time, she pulled her rough blanket over her head. She didn't want to be staring at the scars the place bore.
She wasn't sure how much later it was, but everything outside was dark. She jerked upright. There...had been a sound. Something moving. Below? Her heart raced. She was safe. In this trap. No, she was safe. Everything was sealed. She had light. Maybe it was just an animal, a deer, or maybe a coyote. Hand on her gun, she listened carefully, fearfully. Nothing. The wind now, but nothing else. Just...a deer. Or maybe some crumbling metal, held only by a thin pivot of frost-thin rust, had finally fallen. Yes. That was it. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing to fear. Nothing, nothing at all.
If she hadn't been so tired, she would never have gone back to sleep. As it was, it took her some time before she could drift off again, listening to the wind and the reluctant silence of the night. Her dreams were dark and deep and spotted with ink.
She slept through the rest of the night without wakening again. It was the sun filtering though that woke her. The fears of the night were past, and as she packed her supplies and re-opened the western window, she felt strangely confident. Optimistic. Cheerful, almost. She'd be in and out by late noon, and be quite a distance away before nightfall. At worst, she could spend the night here in the watchtower again, and if anything bothered her, she'd have the Relics. She didn't dare to hum--it felt wrong to shatter the silence--but a melody was running through her head. The song was a sad one, about ghosts and maybe the sea, that a wanderer had taught her five or six years ago when both of them were waiting out a storm. She couldn't remember all of it, exactly, but it was like the world before in that way. And somehow it comforted her.
Securing her pack, she climbed down. As her feet touched the ground, she noticed something strange. A shotgun, lying not a few feet away. What in the world...? Her mind lept back to the sound in the night. Well...another weapon was always useful. Though she wasn't quite sure whether this is more helpful than just unsettling.
The courtyard was long overgrown, with golden stalks rippling in the breeze and vines twining themselves over their previous generations and the walls. She approached the massive doors at the front of the building. They had once operated on some electric system, but any source was probably long since gone. Any sources near the outside, at any rate. The security system was designed slightly strangely that way, she supposed. These were only the outer defenses, though.
She gingerly tested the doors. Still firmly sealed. The building didn't have any windows--or any accessible ones, at any rate--and the doors slid open and close, so there weren't any hinges to bash. Maybe she could try the center were they joined, though. That would have the unfortunate side effect of alerting any...thing in the complex to her presence, though she had the feeling that they would already know anyway. Well, she couldn't go back without at least trying.
Drawing her broadsword, she calms at the familar heft. Gripping it with both hands, she steps back, planting her feet in a firm stance. Then she lunges, swinging the heavy blade.
A resounding crash. But the doors still held firm. She was about to step back and try again when she heard...something. Almost like a slight shifting, a rustling of leaves. Slightly unnerved, she gripped her broadsword tighter. She'd have to face whatever was in there. Once she got the door open, that is.
She retreated and brought the blade down again. Another crash, metal against metal.
With a torturous splintering sound, something between the two doors gave way, to her disappointment. The doors themselves are forced slightly apart, the crooked gap between them letting a slice of light into the dusty interior. After listening a few moments and ascertaining that nothing with immediately inside, she pushed her broadsword into the ground and set her gloved hands against the doors. The doors, with much groaning and protests, slowly grind open, until the gap between them is wide enough to enter.
Taking her broadsword in hand, she secures its weapon cord to her forearm-guard, and slips inside into the unknown. No time for doubt now.
The room she entered had once been a lobby of sorts. Decrepit frames of metal with strands of foam and fabric hanging off of them, probably once couches or chairs, lined the walls or lay strewn about on the floor. A desk is immediately opposite her, with a door behind it. Another set of doors is at the far end of the lobby. What had once been some kind of houseplant was now a twisted wooden stub in a ceramic pot, miraculously still untouched.
In the middle of the lobby, a scraggly plant is struggling to survive in a thin thread of light. The tiny leaves somehow made everything less...desolate. Less sad. A spot of green. A spot of hope.