Rain pattered on the floor through a dozen holes in the place’s roof. She didn’t see how this could be a weather shelter.
Dozens of doorways lined the main corridor. Strange rusted metal racks lay on their sides, scattered in and out of the doorways, lying in puddles of rainwater. Glass glittered all over the floor. In some places, the ceiling had caved in, and a huge chunk of a southern-facing wall opened to a view of the ruined city beyond.
She walked cautiously down the hallway, peering into the doorways. Some glass still hung in walls framed by rusted metal. She realized these walls had once been all glass. As she moved forward, she jumped. Lying on the floor in the next room was a human on his back, one hand reaching toward the ceiling.
She crept closer. Rowan had said she probably wouldn’t run into another person. But if weather shelters were as valuable as he’d made out, then people probably came from all over to find one, just as she had done.
She pressed close to one of the few sections of solid wall that was still standing and peered around the corner. The man wasn’t moving. It was so dark in the room that she saw only his silhouette.
He was the first person she’d seen since Rowan, and she had no idea when she’d see someone again. Her fight-or-flight urge crept through every limb. She stepped closer, now almost in the same room as the man. Still he didn’t move. She allowed her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. She eased herself closer, ready to bolt, but the man did not move. Finally she switched on her headlamp.
Shadows skittered up the walls. The beam fell on the man. He was fake, she realized. He was completely white, wearing the tattered remnants of some kind of cloth. Shining the beam around the rest of the room, she saw similar shapes, men and women, scattered on the floor.
What was this place? Why all these life-size models?
She left the dark, sodden room and returned to the hallway. Aiming her light above the doors, she read different signs. She recognized the letters as before, but didn’t know what many of the words meant.
Mark Twain’s Tweens, read one. She scanned down the hallway and read: Dumas Electronics, Victor Hugo’s Fashion Revolution, Sherlock’s Better Holmes and Gardens, and Oliver Pretzel Twists.
Then her beam fell on a different kind of sign, a blue one at the end of the hall. It revealed a strange funnel next to the image of a running man. An arrow pointed to the right. She followed it, her boots splashing in the standing puddles in the corridor. At the end of the hallway, some stairs led down, and another sign with the same design pointed down the stairs. She rounded the landing, continued down another set of stairs, and came to a thick steel door. A keypad stood to the right of it. The technology was somewhat recent and looked out of place in this strange, ancient place.
She entered the code Rowan had given her, and the door slid open, issuing forth fresh, sweet air. Inside, shelves upon shelves of MREs, jars, cans, and other objects lined the walls.
She stuck her head in, wondering if she was the only person there. Her ears caught the sound of dripping water on the floor above. But no movement came from inside the shelter. She stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind her. Lights flickered on overhead. She turned, seeing an identical keypad on the inside of the door. To be sure she wasn’t trapped, she entered the code, and it opened again. Then she turned toward the shelves, hearing the door whoosh shut behind her.
On the back of the door, a sign described how to reboot something called the solar relay if no power was feeding to the shelter. But she had power, and she was relieved.
She eased forward, taking in the space. More shelves lined the walls, and an open doorway stood at the opposite end. She moved through it, finding another room beyond, once more full of shelves. Unfamiliar rectangles lined them. She wondered if these were the books Rowan had described to her.
She pulled one off the shelf. A mildewy smell blossomed up, and it fell open. It wasn’t a box like she’d pictured, but was comprised of a number of thin, flat pieces, each filled edge to edge with words. She scanned over them, recognizing a few here and there. Again the words used every letter, fully spelled out like in the descriptions she’d found regarding the asteroid. She put the book back and pulled a different one off the shelf. When she opened it, the colors surprised her. Images filled this one, depicting a variety of structures and scenes. She didn’t know what to make of some of the pictures. The buildings were stone like the ones she’d been holing up in at night, but they weren’t wrecked. Some were quite elaborate, with intricate designs and beautiful stonework. Other images showed vast green landscapes dotted with color; others relayed scenes covered with the same huge plant she had seen on her first day outside the city. One showed a woman standing next to a single colossal plant that dwarfed her completely. The description below read: The Roosevelt Tree, King’s Canyon National Park. She didn’t recognize any of the words, but the object was definitely similar to the giant plants she’d seen.
Forgetting how wet she was, she flipped through page after page, wondering if someone had created these images for a purpose.
Finally she replaced the book. She’d been standing there a long time.
Then she spotted a dented metal box on the bottom shelf. She pulled it out. When she flipped up its small latch, she found a PRD, at least ten years old from
