As the surrounding air grew colder, the lights from the settlement behind her began to dim out. Chiyo trudged into the wasteland – out of the town in the fields and into the jungle of ruined concrete. She never felt comfortable settling within civilization. Other ‘civilized’ survivors always proved far more dangerous and unpredictable than the scourers of the wasteland.

She’d made it a fair distance into the city before deigning to climb into a structure nearby. The window was long broken and Chiyo easily clambered in, her feet landing in a pile of old books and torn pages.

Her torchlight illuminated a narrow cone before her as she drew her rifle. If the place was occupied they’d have heard her by now.

The room was moderately sized. Her light was filtered into thin slats by the bookshelves that divided its interior into narrow aisles. Paper crunched beneath her feet as she checked the perimeter of the space for other rooms or occupants.

In the far corner was a counter and a bottle of Nuka-Cola next to a cash register. Beyond it, the only door apart from the entrance.

Chiyo nudged the door with her barrel.

It wouldn’t budge.

She slowly reached for the handle and twisted it clean off, showering her hand in a thin dusting of old, dried out wood. The door remained firmly shut. A quick peer through the hole left by the handle revealed why – rubble.

Her rifle slung, she laid her pack down and began building two small piles with the books lain around her. One because paper was easily flammable, and another because paper was very soft. With her hands, she dug into the soft peat that had replaced the tiled floor of the shop and made herself a small fire pit. A few metal legs from broken chairs served as a simple cage to keep her fuel (and fire) inside the pit rather than floating around inside a shop full of dry paper.

As the dwelling was gently bathed in a warm orange glow, Chiyo wandered around, sipping Nuka-Cola. She lightly combed the shop for supplies, but without much gusto – there was typically not much to be gotten from a bookshop.

Seated cross-legged on the ground, Chiyo began to sort through her newly purchased ammunition. The task was menial and she pulled out the lady’s note as she did so. She wondered quietly why wastelanders always felt the compulsion to be so needlessly enigmatic.

She unfolded the crisp, bone-dry slip of paper, careful not to crumble the fragile thing. It had held together surprisingly well in her pocket. Unsurprising was the fact that on it was writ nothing but an address in a barely-legible scrawl.

Fens Way Station

Chiyo turned the scrap around, hoping for some other clue to whatever it was the enigmatic lady was searching for. The note seemed to have been carefully detached from a larger sheet, but the handwriting suggested the author had neither the patience nor dexterity to be the one to do so.

The address was easily committed to memory and Chiyo closed her fist around the note. She rubbed her fingers against her palm and the brittle remains fluttered gently to join its brethren smoldering beneath the makeshift grill. Reaching for the loose rounds beside her, Chiyo considered her options.

Fens Way Station was not far from where she was now. She’d passed it before but never thought to venture into it. Large, underground spaces tended to already be occupied by large, underground factions. There was never really any need to explore such places without any decent motivation; and this lady’s request was questionable at best.

Then again, it was barely a ten minute walk from where she was now. If there was really something of value there, perhaps it was worth a quiet look. Knowing what it was would definitely ease her decision making. Even if whatever she was sent to retrieve was worthless to herself, sentiments were expensive, and an easy swipe might net her a useful reward.

She returned the now-filled magazines into their respective pouches and loaded her rifle. Clutching it close to her, she eased her aching body onto her makeshift paper mattress. She could decide what to do when she awoke; though a part of her had already decided to go.

Besides, she thought, did you really have anything better to do?

Outside, a critter wandered into a small alcove formed by rubble. A decomposing ghoul had become the night’s feast.

The bookstore that glowed orange slowly faded into the night.