Arrival Who: Michelle Webster and OPEN What: Arrival When: Day Three, morning Where: On the Beach Warnings: None yet Status: Incomplete
Michelle gave the diner one last look. The kitchen was spotless, everything in its place. The workspace behind the counter was likewise shipshape, as was the seating area. Henry, the owner of this hole-in-the-wall diner, was a demanding employer but he paid well. He'd run it himself for over forty years, but he was getting too old to do it alone, so Michelle opened or closed for him now, so he could work fewer hours.
Today was a closing day. The place was only open for breakfast and lunch in downtown Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. So it was still daylight outside. Michelle checked that the rear door was locked one more time, then exited through the front. She locked the door behind her and turned--to find herself waking on a cold, windy beach.
She sat up abruptly, looking for the diner door--and possible safety. But it was gone, along with all of Coeur D'Alene. How had she gotten here? She didn't remember being attacked, and she hadn't gotten blackout drunk since she was a teeanger. She wasn't even sure she could now.
She was sitting on a rocky beach on a cold, uninviting shoreline. The ground was cold, and the air colder still--colder even than Coeur D'Alene today, so she was grateful for the navy pea coat she was wearing, and the gloves and watch cap in one pocket. Michelle got to her feet and looked around.
It was earlier in the day than it had been in Idaho. Or later. The sun was lower in the sky, but she wasn't sure which direction was east at the moment. She was on an island, though, she could see that much. A mostly flat island, with some structures visible in the distance, and a distinct lack of trees. There was also a note beside her feet, held in place by a...cell phone? She picked up both and read the note.
"Charming," Michelle said to herself. She was going to miss her next shift--and all the others, apparently. "Henry is going to fire me for sure." Not that it mattered now. She had bigger things to worry about.
She examined the phone briefly, then put it in her pocket. There were message threads on it that she would want to read. But standing here in the wind was doing her no favors. She pulled on her gloves and knit hat, hitched her purse higher on her shoulder--thank god she still had that, and her weapons--and started walking toward the closest building.
She'd get out of the wind, read all the text messages to glean what she could of the other people here, and then reach out.