Post by Daya Ortiz on Jan 24, 2018 11:53:36 GMT -5
Daya dropped a bundle of firewood on the floor. It clattered against the metallic floor of the high loft, and as a plume of dust rushed into the air, she covered her mouth and coughed. With the bitter winter as cold as it was, she didn't need to aggravate her allergies on top of everything. After six months of being alone, Daya finally had herself set up pretty well, and she wasn't interested in getting sick. She had found protection in the form of an old, abandoned warehouse. There hadn't been much in it when she found it, but she had broken down the boxes and used the wood to bar up the windows. The warehouse was large and open, but it had a very high ceiling, and Daya found herself mostly sticking to the high, lofty walkways that stretched above near the ceiling. Although her friends from the cartel that had come over from Puerto Rico with her had all perished earlier in the year, their weapons had started the small fund that Daya had turned into a larger one.
With everything organized and put into its place, Daya had enough weapons to last her for a little while, stored away with her in the walkway. She had scavenged for food and water, which wasn't easy to come by either, but as the seasons changed and she stayed around, she had been able to pick through the town and find what she needed. A little bit of hunting and a lucky break for some fresh fruit in a park had yielded enough to sate her for the time being, and she was now on to keeping herself warm. She often burned fires inside of old barrels, allowing her to conceal the light but keep the warmth, and now that she had unloaded the firewood from the car, all that she needed was to unload the blankets that she had looted from a nearby store.
Daya sighed as she came to the railing of the elevated walkway, and as she set her hands on it, she peered down into the depths of her warehouse. Surviving this long on her own hadn't been easy, and it hadn't been without sacrifice. But she was finally in a position to take care of herself and do it well. There was such a loneliness that came over her without Marco, and as she drummed her fingers on the metal railing, her wedding band echoed against it. She still wore the band and the big, beautiful diamond ring even after all of these years. She supposed that she should have just taken them off, but after all, Daya hadn't asked for the world to end on her wedding day. In a new world of danger, Daya had embraced her cartel instinct and fell back into ruthlessness. She supposed that she could allow herself to keep wearing her rings. She could allow herself that semblance of humanity.
Daya pushed off of the railing and started to walk along the loft, her footsteps echoing in the warehouse. Once she had her blankets, she could get a fire going and settle in for the night. But as she moved towards the stairs, she heard something that was foreign to her: the chains on the door banging against it. She hadn't latched it just yet, what with needing to make one more trip outside. But as light began to spill into the warehouse from the opening door, Daya held her breath and ducked down low. She scrambled back into the shadows, her eyes trained on the door. Slowly, she adjusted the rifle hanging across her front and stared down the barrel, watching to see what came through that door.
With everything organized and put into its place, Daya had enough weapons to last her for a little while, stored away with her in the walkway. She had scavenged for food and water, which wasn't easy to come by either, but as the seasons changed and she stayed around, she had been able to pick through the town and find what she needed. A little bit of hunting and a lucky break for some fresh fruit in a park had yielded enough to sate her for the time being, and she was now on to keeping herself warm. She often burned fires inside of old barrels, allowing her to conceal the light but keep the warmth, and now that she had unloaded the firewood from the car, all that she needed was to unload the blankets that she had looted from a nearby store.
Daya sighed as she came to the railing of the elevated walkway, and as she set her hands on it, she peered down into the depths of her warehouse. Surviving this long on her own hadn't been easy, and it hadn't been without sacrifice. But she was finally in a position to take care of herself and do it well. There was such a loneliness that came over her without Marco, and as she drummed her fingers on the metal railing, her wedding band echoed against it. She still wore the band and the big, beautiful diamond ring even after all of these years. She supposed that she should have just taken them off, but after all, Daya hadn't asked for the world to end on her wedding day. In a new world of danger, Daya had embraced her cartel instinct and fell back into ruthlessness. She supposed that she could allow herself to keep wearing her rings. She could allow herself that semblance of humanity.
Daya pushed off of the railing and started to walk along the loft, her footsteps echoing in the warehouse. Once she had her blankets, she could get a fire going and settle in for the night. But as she moved towards the stairs, she heard something that was foreign to her: the chains on the door banging against it. She hadn't latched it just yet, what with needing to make one more trip outside. But as light began to spill into the warehouse from the opening door, Daya held her breath and ducked down low. She scrambled back into the shadows, her eyes trained on the door. Slowly, she adjusted the rifle hanging across her front and stared down the barrel, watching to see what came through that door.