Why had she barricaded the stairs so thoroughly? There probably wasn’t even anything up there!

She hauled the last chair out of the way, trying to ignore the feeling of her stomach collapsing in on herself and the trembling of her arms. Why had she done this to herself?

There had better be something good up there to make this worth it.

Initially, she hadn’t even planned to go scavenging here today. She’d wanted to go out further, explore the territory, look somewhere more likely to have something good. The skyscraper wasn’t in good condition, and probably a lot of more sensitive stuff had been wrecked by exposure.

But Lyre had asked her not to go too far. So she was looking around here.

She wasn’t even really sure why she listened. But when she’d read that text, she felt some sort of urgency, maybe even fear behind it, that stuck with her.

And really, what did it cost her to just look around here for today?

A lot of effort dismantling this barricade, but she wasn’t letting that effort go to waste now.

The stairs were in pretty good condition. She went up a few steps, then stomped hard. No worrying noises or movement under her. It would be okay to go to the first floor.

The first thing she did was check for any unlocked doors on the first floor.

One was ajar. Nice.

The windows were broken and the rain had gotten in. There was mould visible on the furniture, and presumably on any textiles here too so that was out of the question.

She checked the kitchen drawers first. Pots, pans, spatulas and wooden spoons. Pretty much everything she was hoping for. In another drawer, cutlery, and another, cooking knives. There were also dishes in the cupboard.

Okay. She couldn’t take all of this, obviously, so she’d get the most useful stuff. But first, check everywhere else.

She opened the fridge, and oh god closeitcloseitcloseit. She gagged a little as she slammed it shut.

After about half a second, her brain registered what she saw in there.

“Damn it, why?”

She sighed, pulled her shirt up over her nose and mouth, and opened it again.

Trying not to breathe, she yanked out the bottled water as fast as she could and slammed it shut again, taking a breath.

She could taste the smell.

She debated for a moment, as she tried not to vomit, whether it had actually been worth it.

Then she drank a bit of the water from the reusable bottle to wash her mouth out and kept looking.

Rummaging around the rest of the kitchen area yielded a can of crushed tomatoes. When she went into the bedroom, she pulled open a drawer, and score! A half-full bag of chips, clipped shut.

She devoured those in like fifteen seconds. They were stale but she was hungry enough to not really notice.

Returning to the kitchen, she loaded up her stuff.

To start, two pots stacked inside each other, two of the spoons and a spatula. The can of tomatoes and a can opener, plus the three bottles of water. That was about all she could carry, so she carried that downstairs and went back up with the pot to carry the rest.

Three big bowls and three mugs. A medium-sized cooking knife. A few spoons, forks, and knives. A chopping board.

That was probably enough for now. She could always come back here later.

She brought all the stuff down, and returned with wire twisted into flimsy lockpicks.

Now, she was not very good at this at all. It took her ages. But going up and down multiple floors would be exhausting, and the apartment locks were probably pretty simple to deal with.

She inserted the wires into the keyhole, and started feeling around. No, no- there was a click as one of the wires pushed the mechanism into place, and she secured it before moving on.

Click, click- one of the wires slipped, undoing all her progress. She took them out, shook out her hands, and tried again.

After about ten minutes more, she pushed the door open.

This one was also pretty empty. More cookware in the kitchen, but no more food. Oh well.

In the bathroom, however… Soap! Someone had left two bars of soap, still in their packaging, in one of the drawers. And in the cupboard under the sink, behind a frankly ridiculous amount of empty boxes and clutter, a box of basic pads.

Not bad.

She brought her loot downstairs, and went up again.

Breaking into the third apartment went a little quicker, now that she knew what the locks felt like. Things were honestly going pretty well. She had worried the apartments would be stripped bare after whatever apocalypse that had descended on this city, but no, this turned out to be a great idea.

These people had been moving out, and they’d left a ton of boxes.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Awesome.

She stuffed two backpacks and a duffel into another duffel bag, and stacked several of the boxes inside each other. She also grabbed another knife and chopping board, and a few more dishes, stacking things up until no more would fit and her arms started to feel the strain.

She’d bring a duffel, a backpack, and the biggest box back upstairs, so she could make less trips with the other apartments.

Fourth apartment.

Empty at first glance.

But she suspected there was more than what was obvious.

She dug through cupboards and drawers. Looked under furniture and carpets. Wondered if she was wasting her time, but no. This place was too empty. Emptiness like this meant the residents had taken everything they could, and hidden the rest somewhere in the apartment.

There were a few condoms scattered behind the toilet. Lovely.

She pried up a loose floorboard, and found a lot of money. Which… wasn’t actually very useful. She stuffed some in her pockets anyways. Maybe when she got back home she’d make her family rich.

She lifted the mattress, and there was nothing underneath, but she thought she heard a faint sound.

She put her ear to it and shook. Again, something, too quiet for her to tell what.

She hauled it onto the floor, stripped off the fitted sheet and looked over the whole thing, until she saw the slit cut into the side that was flush with the wall before.

Reaching in, her fingers made contact with… a towel? She pulled it out. Unlike the rest of the textiles in here, it had been protected by the mattress and was still in decent condition.

That wasn’t what had made the noise. She reached in again, and touched smooth glass.

She pulled out the bottle.

“Heh.”

Whisky. Of course they’d stashed booze in the mattress. The towel was probably to insulate it so it couldn’t be felt while on the bed.

Well, with a… 47% alcohol content, she could actually use it to sterilise wounds. So, a good find.

Once she’d thoroughly ransacked the place, she brought her prize downstairs.

The wind was howling outside. Really, really loud.

She wasn’t sure her improvised door would hold.

She quickly set her latest find into a box and closed it up, facing away from the door.

There was a snapping sound, and pain ripped along her cheekbone.

“Gah!”

She wasn’t able to look to see what it was or how bad. Immediately, sand blasted into the lobby, scraping at her skin. Something, maybe a pebble, bounced painfully off the back of her head.

She shut her eyes and ran to the stairwell, yanking the door open and slamming it behind her.

The door wasn’t very strong, or airtight. Sand sifted in at the corners.

She wasn’t safe here.

There was blood dripping down her cheek. She reached up to touch it. The cut was long, but shallow. It could be dealt with later.

Damn it! What sort of insane weather was this?

Maybe she could go to the basement.

She turned to the stairs leading down, and hurried a few steps before she saw it.

Sand, swirling in a light breeze.

“Fuck!”

She couldn’t go down and she couldn’t stay here, but wouldn’t the storm be worse higher up?

Then again…

There had been larger bits of debris in the storm. She’d felt a couple hit her. There might be less of those higher up. The building might be in worse condition up there, but she was also pretty sure that door was about thirty seconds from blowing open.

And frankly, she didn’t want to be trapped in this tiny stairwell with only one way out.

She started climbing.

Sand was blasting down from above. She’d left the door open, and she really regretted that now. She tucked her face into her shirt, holding it in place with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the railing.

Even with her shirt, fine dust still sifted in and made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t really see, either, so she was blindly hoping there was no debris to trip her up.

She stepped onto the landing, and a gale-force wind slammed her into the far wall, sand scouring at any exposed skin.

A lump of something wet hit her leg. Oh god, was that flesh? Had someone been caught in the storm and ripped apart by the sand?

Her mind went to Gaunt, and no, Gaunt was far away. It wasn’t her. It… it was probably from an animal. Please let it be from an animal.

She leaned into the force, and walked past it, the pressure suddenly dissipating, though strong winds still whipped around her.

She kept going to the second floor. Door was shut. She kept going.

Her legs were starting to feel the strain.

Third floor.

Fourth floor.

Was the wind outside getting louder? Quieter? She couldn’t tell.

Fifth floor.

She ignored the burn in her legs and kept climbing.

Sixth floor, and sand was starting to come down.

There was a crash, and the entire building shook. She fell, clinging to the railing.

Dim light poured in, and an instant later, the sand.

She choked as there was an impact on her side, knocking the breath out of her. She could feel the sand scraping at her hands and the wind ripping at her hair. What had happened? Was the building falling apart?

Get out get out get out. Escape.

She fell to her hands and knees and started crawling, blind and choking on sand, as fast as she could. More things were hitting her, smaller and not as hard but still painful. One stabbed and lodged in her upper arm.

The wind and the sand abruptly decreased in intensity, but she was still trapped. Keep going. Keep going up and out and away.

There were holes and gaps and weak points she had to go around, but she had no other choice but the staircase. The wind was too strong.

One point, she had to stretch out her arms and body to bridge the gap and jump over and scramble up.

And then the staircase wasn’t together in a way she could climb it and she had to climb up the broken stripped wall.

Up. Up, hands gripping metal supports and the edges of windowsills. Up, away from the storm, away from anything hunting and chasing her. Up to safety.

The wind stopped.

Sunlight warmed her back.

She sat on a girder, legs swinging, and cracked open sand-crusted eyes.

She was about ten or eleven stories up, if she had to guess. The sky was clear but the dust storm raged below. Open blue stretched around her, nothing but a thin skeleton of metal and empty space.

She was free.

She was safe, here.

She’d made it.

Her clothes were coated in sand and some sharper debris was snagged in it. She looked first at her side, lifting up her shirt.

A nasty red mark that would probably become a bruise. She inhaled, deeply, and there was soreness but no sharp pain. No broken ribs, then.

She looked at her arm.

Oh god.

That was bone.

It was small, so she pulled it out right away, flinging it down into the storm in revulsion. A bit of blood trickled out, but not enough to be concerning.

She really, really hoped that wasn’t fresh. She couldn’t tell.

Well, that was basically guaranteed to get infected if she didn’t treat it. Thank god she got the whisky.

Then again, did it even survive the storm?

She’d just have to wait until it dissipated to check.

She pulled the plastic water bottle out of her bag, cracking it open, and ran a bit of water over her arm wound to try and flush it out a bit. After that, she took a handful and splashed her face. It came down pink and gritty.

She sat there for a few hours.

Cried a bit. Screamed a bit.

Sent a long, rambling text about what happened.

Talked to Gaunt. She’d been hit by it too.

Stared in astonishment at the enormous wall to the south, wondering how she had missed it before.

Looked out at the horizon and wondered which way was home.

Wondered if Lyre’s text had saved her life.

Closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, fresh air.

When the storm dissipated, she made her way back downstairs.

As she expected, the lobby was a mess.

The dishes were all shattered into tiny pieces that would take ages to clean up. The box of pads had blown away to who knows where. The cutlery was also gone.

This wasn’t terrible. Those were more ‘nice to have’ than ‘absolute necessity’.

The cookware was also gone, which was… more disappointing. How, exactly, did metal pots blow away?

She should have tucked them into a corner instead of leaving them in the middle of the lobby.

There were bits of plastic water bottle and damp sand here and there.

Thank goodness she’d taken one with her.

One of the duffels was wadded up by the concierge desk. Beneath it was a single bar of soap.

Behind it, she found the tomatoes. The can was dented. She was pretty sure that wasn’t good, so she’d eat it soon.

And, much to her relief, the whisky was still there. The box had been savaged (all the boxes had) and the towel was full of sand, but the glass bottle was miraculously intact.

She’d kept some of the more valuable stuff, but most of what she found was gone.

All that searching for nothing.

She had to clean this place up, treat her wounds, take inventory, but right now she couldn’t deal with it. Later. Not now.

She opened her phone and went to the groupchat.