Oriole's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Oriole presses herself against the radio tower's outer wall, waiting for the mutant to pass. The thing circles again, slow and heavy, its shadow sweeping across the sand. She counts her breaths and watches the door ten feet away. If she can get inside, she can carve something into the walls while she waits. Leave proof she was here. That's what matters — not the thing hunting outside, but what she leaves behind. The mutant comes into view around the latticed rust of the tower. Its cracked grey hide looks like dried earth, but it moves like water, each step rolling through its massive body. Dust streams from its mouth in a steady plume. The thing doesn't seem to see her yet, but it's close enough that she can hear the scrape of its claws on buried metal. She needs to move now or not at all. Oriole sprints for the door. The metal screeches when she yanks it open, and behind her the mutant's head snaps toward the sound. She throws herself inside and slams the door shut. The lock is rusted through, useless. Through a crack in the door frame, she watches the creature's bulk shift direction, moving toward the small building at the tower's base. It stops ten yards out and lowers its head, nostrils flaring. Inside, the broadcasting room is smaller than the bunker's kitchen, which means it's perfect. Oriole backs away from the door and pulls her knife from her belt. The walls are concrete, better than plaster. While the mutant circles outside, huffing at the threshold, she finds a clear patch of wall and starts to carve. First her name. Then the date, if she can remember it. Then the number three hundred, because they all deserve to be counted. The blade bites deep and the dust falls white, and when the creature finally loses interest an hour later, she's already covered half the wall with names she refuses to forget.