Who: Chase [Narrative] What: The Anxious Adventures of Chase Hawthorne! Where: Wandering town, then to the library When: Noonish to Night
Chase couldn't quite remember the last time he'd felt so drained. Physically, mentally, emotionally, he just wanted to curl up into a ball, fall asleep and pray that he'd wake up where he belonged. This would just be a very, very vivid and sadistic dream his subconscious had wrangled up for him. Pigs would fly first, but he could hope.
After a minor breakdown on the top of Zenith Towers, Chase had wandered his way back down to street level, heading toward the beach to try and locate a boat, any kind of boat, to get himself away. He didn't know the first thing about driving one, or sailing, but he'd damn well try. Even a rowboat would have done, but with the lack of cars it was hardly a surprise that his trek had come up with a whole lot of nothing. Still, he'd combed the beach three times, until sand began sneaking its way into his boots and socks, and for an eternity it had felt like he'd stood there, staring out at the water, transfixed by the waves crashing onto shore.
Another plan was brewing when he'd turned and wandered back toward town. His brain had to be doing something to keep itself from falling apart, a project, a distraction. Using the pen and notepad he'd swiped from Zenith Towers he began to draw out the portion of the town that he'd seen, the streets leading to the town hall, and now the two pathways he'd traversed thus far, the road to the tower, and the way to the beach.
The road to the mansion, the sign, the houses, the split in the road, city hall and the park, the school, the gym, the tower. He'd noticed the diner upon leaving the tower, but hadn't been in a mindset to go wandering inside, despite the fact that it also seemed to be in impeccable condition. A hospital rested right beside it, and Chase had put the universal red cross symbol beside it on the map to indicate exactly what it was. Important, to be sure. A building that looked like some sort of art museum completed that side of the block, and Chase had simply continued on his way down he street toward the beach.
He completed the block on his return trip toward the center of town, jotting down the grocery and hardware store to his right, another very important note on the map. Ahead of that seemed to be the ass end of the park, and to his left appeared a community pool. A tiny part of him wondered if it was somehow a part of the school, which sat directly across the street from him. It was a stupid little distraction, a way for his brain to try and make sense of something that was going on in this place. It helped him ignore the fact that every step he took was being followed by those hundreds of dark eyes.
He paused partway down the road then glanced back toward the store. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day, but his only real craving at the moment was for a cigarette. The building looked safe enough from the outside, and if the Tower had been any indication there might have been something useful left inside. Food spoiled, but he might at least be able to find water. He'd entered as tentatively as he had the towers, but the moment he eyed the status of the interior, he couldn't help but let his tension ebb as he wandered. The store looked as if it had only just been restocked, with just about every kind of food he could imagine. He found himself picking up one of the grocery baskets without thinking too hard, though he was mindful about how much he was willing to carry. The thought occurred to him that the food might not have even been safe, but he wouldn't last very long without it.
Four bottles of water, a container of strawberries, two oranges, a package of teriyaki style beef jerky, two pouches of ready-to-eat wild rice, and a couple cans of no-bean chili. Part of him wanted to grab more, but he reminded himself of the load. He didn't feel comfortable grabbing a full sized cart to wheel all around town, if only for the noise it would create. When that was finished, he headed for the hardware department, locating a hammer, a bag of nails, and some twine. Not much else to choose from, and he was disheartened to find that attempting to locate a flashlight and some batteries ended in failure. The utter lack of cigarettes was an even more personal blow.
He reasoned that he could have holed up there for the night, if he really wanted. An overabundance of food and supplies wouldn't hurt, but if anyone else wandered through this would be the first place they'd likely want to check out. It wasn't safe, but that also didn't mean someone else wouldn't decide to do just that. It caused him to grab two more bottles of water, and one more bag of beef jerky, just in case.
Upon leaving, he realized just how cumbersome the basket would likely end up being if he had to travel far. His plan, even in its current infant stages, certainly would require that. The store hadn't had anything appropriate, but where else could he look? He could try the gym to see if any dufflebags might have been left laying around.
Technically, there was a slightly closer target.
He found himself slowing as he neared the familiar school he'd been so keen on distancing himself from not long before. He made a full stop at one of the entrances, sighing to himself. The basket was left by the door, half-hidden by a group of unkempt bushes as Chase carefully entered the building. It was a musty, dark carcass where children had once roamed. The real thing was far worse than any video game, despite the fact that no ghouls had made their presence known. It was the unknown that was the problem, the fact that he knew how abnormal everything was, even as he tried to tell himself it was only a building. It was built in the same vintage style as the Tower, as everything else in town so far, but it was obvious that absolutely no one was taking care of it. He sidestepped past a group of lockers that had teetered and fallen over, covered in a layer of debris from the ceiling, a gaping hole that Chase was very happy to avoid. Things always tried to grab out from those types of places, after all.
"The fuck are you doing here?" He muttered to himself as he continued to take one shaky step after another. The next obstacle was similar to the last, but this time it nearly entirely blocked of the hallway. Squinting in the dark, he could see a group of relatively intact looking lockers at the end of the hall, and he swore to himself that it would be his last stop, his only destination before he turned around and got the hell out. Of course, that meant climbing over the precarious pile. He used the stick to keep himself steady in those first few steps, trying to get a feel for the way the decaying metal and wood moved under him. It was only ten feet until the pile ended, he could make that. No problem.
One step. Two step. Three.
He heard the sliding sound before he felt himself move, but then suddenly the mound was moving to the side, toward a door labeled "Guidance Office" that showed evidence of a thorough cave in on the other side. His shoulder slammed hard into the wall beside it, his right leg sinking into the pile as a wooden plank under him cracked and splintered. He hissed in pain as he sank, something sharp and unseen slicing through the material of his jeans and across his upper thigh. He swore twice as he worked to regain control of his position, and after a few seconds the movement of the mound ceased. Grunting and hissing, he managed to free himself, though in the dull light it was hard to see what the damage was. At least he was closer now, only three steps until he could drop from the pile and continue on. Thankfully, his dismount was uneventful.
While the lockers were in better condition than those strewn all over the floor, they still were far from pristine. Three of the five of them were half crushed in on themselves, the contents within likely destroyed beyond use, but the last two seemed to be relatively preserved. A cursory test proved that both were still locked, so he used the claw on the hammer to pry the first open the best he could. Success! Sort of. The door swung open with a loud creak, but the only contents were a half-destroyed box of crayons and a book that looked decayed beyond reading. He sighed, shutting the locker door once more, then moved to the last. This one took quite a bit more effort to worm open, leaving his arms aching from the strain, but the spoils were worth it. The bag was far from new, moldy is some places and torn in others. One of the shoulder straps seemed to be barely holding together, and the smell was particularly unpleasant. It appeared to be an old, vintage boyscout pack, with leather straps and ties holding it together. Empty, but good enough.
In a stroke of luck, he found another exit down the hall from the lockers, shouldering the door open and inhaling the fresh air eagerly. He'd survived. No demons. No monsters. No phantom babies. His gaze moved down to his leg to assess the damage. Blood had coated the bottom edge of the tear in his jeans, but aside from some prominent stinging the damage didn't appear to be all that bad. He could wash it once he found a place to rest. After backtracking for his basket of food, he continued on, turning past city hall and continuing on to the other edge of the town.
He carefully eyed the police station as he passed, once again looking for movement, any sign of actual law enforcement. Nothing. Hardly surprising at this point. He was half-tempted to trek inside to see if there was a safe place to bunker down, maybe some weapons to take, or information to weed out, but something in him staved off that idea. It might have had something to do with the next building in line. He could almost feel himself light up a bit as he headed toward the main entrance of the structure labeled S. J. Hevelius Memorial Library. He wasn't expecting it to be much different than the rest of the town, and honestly it really wasn't. The main lobby was still littered with cameras, still decked out in that same style as the others, but there was something...calmer here. Libraries were quiet, safe, full of knowledge and art, stories and adventures. Everything was older, that much he could tell from a glance at the shelves around him as he moved from one floor to the other, but the smell was the same. It was the one, real familiar thing he'd had since he'd arrived, and that was enough for him.
He went as high as he could, the third floor, entering into a long hallway with a doorway on either side that led to what appeared to be two study rooms, and a window at the end. Each of the two rooms lined with encyclopedias and atlases, older than any he'd seen before. Within the larger of the two rooms was one more door way, leading to a smaller area for what looked to be more private study. It was seven by seven feet at most, with one window aiming out into the main reading area, a single long table filling the entire back wall, with two chairs and two small table lamps. A glance up showed the presence of a single camera, staring back down at him, but near enough that he could easily put it out of commission. This would do.
He slipped the pack off his shoulder and gently set it on the center of the table, before he crawled onto its surface, pulling the hammer from his belt and knocking it against the machine's base rather than attempting to shatter it as he'd done the first two. He didn't need glass or mechanical bits in here. With a bit of work he was able to pry it down, then stepped out to toss it into a small trash can just outside. Somehow that made him feel infinitely better, as if this was an actual victory. He let that fuel him as he wandered back into the main library, grabbing cushions off several of the reading couches. Within twenty minutes he'd nearly completely covered the long table in the small study room with it, then ventured out once more.
Navigating the library for it's actual purpose was harder than he'd remembered. When he was younger he recalled using a paper card catalog to locate whatever he'd needed, but that was twenty years ago. Nowadays most libraries did everything with computer, a simple search to find whatever you needed. It took a few minutes to recalibrate himself, finding the non-fiction section and an area labeled "Guides/Do It Yourself!". He found a boyscout survival guide that seemed to be even more outdated than the rest of the library, but it was better than nothing.
He'd taken care of the three cameras he'd noticed in the main study room just outside of the smaller he was claiming for himself, and the two in the hall, though he wasn't entirely confident that he'd gotten all. He'd certainly looked, but after about half an hour he realized that he wasn't actually certain how much time he had to prep. He stretched the twine across the doorway, fastening it with a few nails to the wooden bookcases on either side. It wasn't exactly subtle, now that he looked at it. The bright white was a fully visible line across the entryway, easy to bypass by anyone who wanted to enter. With that in mind, he attached the now-empty cans of no bean chili along the length of it, close enough to knock together if the line was disturbed, then went about removing or destroying the light sources within both rooms. They couldn't avoid what they couldn't see.
The rest of the evening was spent collecting a few more books, then creating his nest within the smaller room. He'd gutted one of the cushions to use as a curtain over the one window, nailing it in place and feeling assured that this was now his space. No eyes watching, no danger present. Food. Water. Comfort. The rest of the cushions were piled underneath the table in what grew to look like an actual nest as he closed the door, settled, and began to read. He devoured strawberries and took notes on what to look for within the town tomorrow while he read, though the more that he listed, the more he realized how woefully unprepared he was for what might happen. He had to try though, didn't he? Could he afford to wait one more day? To spend an additional twenty-four hours wandering around, hoping to locate something of use?
Morning. Figure it out in the morning.
He looked at his watch, realizing that it was already past ten by now, and he'd nearly finished the boyscout guide. He'd learned plenty, but in the end the act had felt more frustrating than beneficial. He was exhausted, but his mind was reeling. He wanted to be alert, awake, prepared in case something happened, but he needed rest. He closed the book with an exasperated sigh, shifting and staring up at the underside of the table before glancing over to the pile of hardcovers he'd lugged up with him hours before. His hand drifted to the third down the pile, not even certain why he'd grabbed it in the first place. Right now, it felt like the best option for drifting off elsewhere. He loved the story, knew it by heart, and hoped that the familiarity might bring enough comfort to allow him to drift off while ignoring the irony.
Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices, who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy.....