memento mori [DNF]

Chapter 6

"What the hell?" He used his hands to push him upwards until he got solid footing. The sand underneath his feet was loose and, with his current state, he found it difficult to remain stable. There were buildings around him but they all looked far from inhabited. There was sand spilling out of all the windows and doorways, a few of the buildings had the entire bottom floor filled with sand. Some of them were half collapsed, or leaning over onto the building next to them. Although the sun was setting, the beaming heat was reflecting off of the smooth sand, causing him to sweat profusely. His hand was glued to his forehead in an attempt to block the sun from his still recovering eyes.

There's no way anybody lives here. This is ridiculous. There's nothing.

The panic was starting to set in. There really was nothing. He had no idea where the closest town was or even if there was one. No wonder the twelve previous assassins failed. He needed a shop to get a weapon from, and he needed to find water. It was true that he couldn't die from dehydration or hunger in his false body, but he could still feel thirsty. After a day or two, he knew that he'd get splitting headaches from the dehydration or from lack of food. He'd also start to over heat if his body had no way of cooling itself down. It wasn't life threatening, but he couldn't afford to be at any less than his best.

He had never been to any area like this before. He grew up in the city. There was grass and bushes and a lake, but mostly just cracked pavement and dry dirt. He had no idea how to survive out here or which way to go. He was also unsure if George was hiding out somewhere in this uninhabited area or if there really was a town nearby that he was in.

The sun was setting fast, and he didn't have much time before he would be plunged into darkness. His best option would be to check the surrounding buildings for signs of life or for any materials that could be salvaged, and then probably stay for a few hours and make a plan. He'd never been thrown into such an exotic environment before. Most of the prior mission that he had, had taken place in his own city albeit normally a few hours away from where he lived. A few times he'd woken up in the rural outskirts of the city, but still in a town. There was nothing for him to work with here. No people to interrogate about George's whereabouts. Nothing.

He'd also never seen this many big buildings still standing in one area before. Apparently, prior to the war, the city he lived in consisted solely of buildings that touched the sky, but almost everything came down in the bombings. There were very few survivors that came out of the big cities. Everyone that lives there now are relatives of refugees that came when they heard they were rebuilding the city. He wondered if these buildings somehow survived the bombings, or if the were somehow built after the collapse. He'd never known anyone that lived in a desert, but hed read about them in books from the old world.

He walked towards the building nearest him and squeezed himself through the small gap between the sand and the door frame. He grunted and realized that his muscles were still sore from the false awakening. Even if there were valuables on the bottom floor, he'd never know. The sand was probably as high as nine feet in certain areas, meaning there wasn't even enough room for him to crawl through some parts. He slid on his stomach, using his forearms to propel him, looking for the stairwell. He could barely see anything with the sun almost completely set, and the sand covering a lot of the windows. His mind was just repeating four lettered profanities over and over again wondering why, out of all places, he had to end up here. Why did they give him this assignment after he'd been gone for so long.

He finally managed to crawl to a place where a small bit of sunlight was leaking in. There was a hole in the ceiling above him. He stood up and stretched his limbs, before climbing onto the second floor. There was still a decent amount of sand on the second floor that must've blown in through the windows, but it was much easier to traverse. Glancing around, there was actually more left than he initially thought there would be. There were desks all pushed up in one corner, and chairs strewn about. He scoffed. All of this was just left here. He wished more than anything that he could take some things back to his own home, or sell them at the market. This was the most furniture he'd seen abandoned in one place before. Even if it was covered in sand, it was still useable.

He started rifling through the desk drawers, most of them being empty. He found a few pieces of paper and stuffed them in his pocket thinking it might be a good fire starter. In another drawer he found some paper that had printed words on it. He was literate, unlike a lot of the population, but he still couldn't understand a lot of the words on the paper. His parents taught him and his sister to read at a young age, but they died before they could teach them everything. It angered him that he didn't know what it said. He crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. Despite being a fighter and short tempered, he had a hunger for knowledge. Specifically about the past. It was almost taboo to talk about the collapse of the old world, but he wanted to know what happened. Information had been passed down through generations, but actual evidence was hard to come by as most of it was destroyed in the war.

In another drawer he found a pencil. The tip was broken and dull but he sheathed it in his holster anyways since it was the only thing he had found so far. He spent the next hour searching the second and third floors, only coming back with more paper, another pencil, and some metal rods that he had pulled out of a metal cabinet. He then sat and used the metal to bind the two pencils together, and sharpen the wood. Pencils weren't rare per say, but they were uncommon since wood was heavily in demand and people needed it for things other than writing, which was considered outdated and rarely used. He figured the people that wrote the most were probably the doctors since they made files and kept records. His makeshift weapon would probably break after the first stab, but as long as he made it good, one stab was all he really needed.

He walked over to one of the windows on the third floor and peered out. The night sky was beautiful, and it was the first time he'd seen the horizon free of obstructions, as on one side of him, the line of buildings just stopped. He turned the other way and looked down the line of buildings.

"Holy shit." There was light that was coming from a window in one of the buildings further down. It wasn't too far away, but it was a much taller building and the light was coming from one of the higher floors. Although he couldn't be sure, he wanted to assume that it was George, since no one else seemed to be within 25 miles. But would someone who escaped death twelve times really be stupid enough to have a fire or a lamp burning at night? Or was he just that cocky. It could be a trap, but either way Clay had to investigate as this might be his only clue for a while. He knew George would be expecting another assassin, but unless he saw him when he first woke up, theoretically, he should have no idea where he was. It was dark enough outside for him to feel comfortable walking in the open between the buildings, although he'd hug the sides of the buildings so he could take cover if he was spotted. He knew that if George had a gun, he'd be killed before he even got to test out his weapon, but he was betting against that. He wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, or the sheer will to return home, but he wanted to get it over with. He had realized earlier than in his drug ridden delirium, he had neglected to mention to Levy that there was a possibility that he could be gone for longer than a day. That could potentially put them in danger if they did something stupid like went and confronted the doctors about it. To avoid that, he just wanted to get back to them as soon as he could.

He was steadily closing in on the building. Even though he normally only had 24 hours, he was methodical and planned everything out, to avoid worst case scenarios, but the location and stress he was feeling had thrown him off. His short thought plan was just to essentially sneak up on him, and restrain him so he could confirm if it truly was George or not. He didn't have a counter plan if it wasn't George or if they noticed him before he could restrain them. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn't let this adrenaline go to waste. He needed to move now.

He reached the base of the building and, in contrast of the one he was in earlier, the sand was only about two feet high. He scanned the first floor through a window before deciding that no one was lying in wait. He placed one hand on the side of the window and began stepping up, but something stopped him. Someone. Someone had grabbed his other hand, making him freeze in place.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you." The voice was quiet and soothing no doubt, but that didn't change the fact that Clay couldn't bring his body to move.