Discovery I, Cont.
It was a tall fence, perhaps by nine or ten feet, and had an outward-facing, barbwire lip to prevent any would-be climbers. The gate, too, was heavily chained and secured with a combination lock. Sam took a few steps backward on the road and looked at his surroundings. In the distance, he could see that a section of the barbwire had fallen from the top of the fence, meaning that section could possibly be climbed over. Not seeing any other way, Sam walked to the broken section—being sure to avoid the barbwire on the ground—and tried to climb. His efforts ended exactly how he expected them to, however, as he failed to get even a foot off the ground before losing his grip.
“Damn,” he said, standing up and brushing himself off after having fallen down from his pitiful attempt, “God, what am I? Some kind of failed delinquent teenager? This is ridiculous.”
As he spoke, he heard a sharp, metallic screech in the distance, causing him to jump. Looking towards where the sound originated, he noticed the gate he had originally been at had extended forward, revealing that the chains around them were extremely loose. Sam made his way over to the gate but made sure to look around and see what had cause the fence to move. After failing to notice anything out of the ordinary, Sam moved closer to the chains and inspected them. Pulling the fence towards himself, he watched as the chains—which had been bundled up closely at first—fell down and gave enough slack for the gates to open. It was just enough for him to pass through, too—but barely.
Once Sam managed to shimmy his way through the slight gap in the gate, he walked a few paces until he was forced to take out his phone and use its light. The fence had had enough light from the streetlamps that he hadn’t needed his phone, but the scrapyard itself? Without the sun, it was still an ink-black mass of unidentifiable components and pieces. It was difficult to gauge his location precisely, but once he looked up towards the train tracks, he gained a better idea of where he was. The years of staring down at the scrapyard had at least allowed him to create various visual markers he could identify—something which his daydreaming had prepared him to take advantage of. From above, it was easy to see the various pathways between the piles of junk carved by previous workers, past adventurers, and more modern occupants. Through constant observations, Sam knew most of them—yet where to start looking to find where they started had completely dumbfounded him.
He stood, staring into the darkness of the scrapyard and confused about where to go next. Looking at the tracks again, he realized the train was still in the outskirts station and wouldn’t leave for the city for another hour. When it did move, he might get a brief moment of light from it passing, but by that point the sun would have already risen. Thinking back to his train ride the night prior, he remembered being able to make out some of the trails through the junkyard. He turned and—seeing that the warehouse was taller than most of the scrap heaps—had a dawning idea.
Unlike the fence gate, the large, barn-styled doors to the warehouse were completely unlocked. As Sam pulled one of the doors open, its hinges made a horrible creaking sound. Dust whipped into the air and forced Sam to cover his mouth. While coughing heavily, Sam entered the building with his phone light ready. It was a large, decaying building littered with various shipping containers—most likely either filled with scrap or meant to be scrapped themselves. Sam couldn’t tell how many there were, however, as what little light he had from the outskirts and his phone combined couldn’t penetrate the darkness within. What was certain was the building was much larger than Sam had expected, being so long that his light couldn’t see the furthest wall and so tall that he could barely make out the ceiling with it.
“Damn,” Sam said to himself, feeling less assured of his plan than he had, “Is there even a way up?”
Briefly stepping back outside the warehouse, Sam looked for any signs of an upper-area he could reach. He could tell it was built to look similar to a barn, but he noticed several windows along the scrapyard-facing side of the building. However, they were fairly high up—about at the height of where a second floor could be. So, hoping to find wherever a way up to the windows were, he delved back into the warehouse towards the wall. As Sam walked through the building, he stepped over old tools and trash left behind by workers, animal dung, and the odd rusted barrel or container. Once he could see the wall where the windows should be, he pointed his light up and made a slight discovery: There was a floor above him.
“It must be an office or something,” he said, moving his phone’s light around the room, “But where’s the way up?”
While searching the area, Sam eventually came across a scaffold stairwell leading up towards what looked like a blown-open door.
“There you are.”
Sam quickly ascended the stair but before he reached the door, he felt foot fall further beneath him than he had expected. He quickly attempted to catch himself on the railing as the step on which he had tried to put his foot on crashed to the ground with a loud clank. He paused, looking at his predicament as well as he could before moving. Currently, he was only a few steps from the door, albeit with his leg hanging down where the step was, his arms wrapped around the questionably secured railing, and his phone hanging loosely in his grip, at risk of being dropped. Slowly, he attempted to stand—being sure to avoid dropping his phone. It was a grueling process as he tried to give himself leverage with his other foot, which was still on the step prior, but he gradually managed to right himself.
“Right. Old, falling-apart building,” he said to himself through short, panicked breaths, “Never forget: Old buildings fall apart. That was stupid. Never again.”
He worked his way up the rest of the stairs, this time testing each step before putting his full weight on them Sam felt his heart still beating heavily in his chest as he reached the door, still not quite recovered from the adrenaline rush of nearly falling. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he noticed that what he saw from the ground floor was right: The door was already ajar. Opening it the rest of the way and entering, Sam was struck by his eerie surroundings. The first room he had walked into looked like a mix between a breakroom and someone’s work desk. The walls were all a bright white that had yellowed and chipped off with age. In the center of the room was a table littered with old newspapers and coffee mugs. Lining the left wall, there was a counter with several open cabinets, an old mini-fridge, a rusted sink, and a stained coffee that looked like it had been left half-full. Compared to the rest of the room, however, the desk tucked away in the corner to the right of the door seemed out of place. It had a company poster above it on the wall and a dust-covered computer along with papers, pens, and a photo on it. Sam picked up the photo and saw it to be a wedding photo of whoever owned the desk prior. It was a couple’s wedding day photo. The groom had a strong, chiseled jaw which grew a full brown beard. In the main photo, he held the waist of his bride. She had tan skin, long, black hair, and a smile that radiated a sense of pure joy through the picture. There were three side photos to the right of the main one, too. The first showed a close up of the two kissing, the second bellow it focused on the two’s interlocked hands, and the top of the third was all that could be seen. The reason for this is that it had been covered by a different photo altogether. The separate photo showed a newborn baby lying in a crib, its eyes closed in a serene peace. Sam placed the photo back on the desk, but not without feeling slightly shaken by it.
Weird, he thought to himself as he walked to the window, Why would something like that get left here? As he made his way to the window, he noticed as he passed an opening into another room. He paused outside the room, and—stunned by its interior—walked inside it. It was clearly the main office, yet the only clear reason for being able to tell this was the desk and chair sitting in the middle of the room. Other than these two pieces of furniture, the entire room was empty. There was no computer, no papers, no filing cabinets, nothing. The room, aside from the desk and chair, was completely empty.
“What the hell?”
Sam tried to piece together why such a personal picture would be left in one room, yet all signs of life would be stripped in another. After a few minutes in stunned silence, however, he realized he would have to move on. Shaking his head in disgust and confusion, he turned his attention to the window. Looking out, he saw that the sun had slightly begun to be visible on the horizon, causing the thin line of light in the morning sky. Turning his attention to his main purpose, he saw that he could make out a sufficiently distinct silhouette of the paths through the scrapyard. Once he was certain he could recognize where the path was on the ground, he went to leave the warehouse—glancing back towards the strange photo before leaving completely.
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