"No. Not really." It's echoey down here, and Melanie lowers her voice out of an ingrained desire to not be too loud. But her quietness also fits the downward shift her mood has taken. She doesn't think the attempted trek to Beacon counts as traveling, especially since they were just talking about visiting other countries - exciting places. She can't even say she's seen London as Daniel would imagine it, even though she's technically been there.
But it doesn't matter, Melanie decides, giving herself a little mental shake. She's going to go outside and do some exploring now. That will be nice.
The lot slopes up to a garage door that is firmly shut, but there's a smaller, regular sort of door next to it that opens under Melanie's hand. She pushes it open with an anticipatory grin and steps out into the milky daylight.
It's not what she was expecting.
Melanie freezes a pace or two away from the door, the grin dropping right off of her face, and slowly turns her head to take it in. It might have been a bustling urban area twenty years ago, but now it's in shambles. The pavement is cracked and weed-choked. Virtually every window has long since shattered, leaving the sidewalks littered with broken glass. There are a few abanoned vehicles rusting away on what remains of the street. It is eerily quiet.
In one direction, the road vanishes into a looming wall of soft, indistinct grey that looks almost like a fog bank. It isn't. In the other direction, several blocks away, there is a clustered group of gaunt-looking people that could almost be statues, they're standing so still. But they aren't statues.
They aren't people, either. Not anymore.
Melanie slowly turns to look back at Daniel, lifting a hand in warning as she does so. Every gesture is smooth, almost lazy, but she doesn't dare move quickly. That might get their attention.
"Move slow," she says in a faint murmur that he should have no problem hearing over the ringing silence of the city, "and talk quietly. We don't want them," she carefully gestures down the road, toward the distant group, "to notice us."
no subject
But it doesn't matter, Melanie decides, giving herself a little mental shake. She's going to go outside and do some exploring now. That will be nice.
The lot slopes up to a garage door that is firmly shut, but there's a smaller, regular sort of door next to it that opens under Melanie's hand. She pushes it open with an anticipatory grin and steps out into the milky daylight.
It's not what she was expecting.
Melanie freezes a pace or two away from the door, the grin dropping right off of her face, and slowly turns her head to take it in. It might have been a bustling urban area twenty years ago, but now it's in shambles. The pavement is cracked and weed-choked. Virtually every window has long since shattered, leaving the sidewalks littered with broken glass. There are a few abanoned vehicles rusting away on what remains of the street. It is eerily quiet.
In one direction, the road vanishes into a looming wall of soft, indistinct grey that looks almost like a fog bank. It isn't. In the other direction, several blocks away, there is a clustered group of gaunt-looking people that could almost be statues, they're standing so still. But they aren't statues.
They aren't people, either. Not anymore.
Melanie slowly turns to look back at Daniel, lifting a hand in warning as she does so. Every gesture is smooth, almost lazy, but she doesn't dare move quickly. That might get their attention.
"Move slow," she says in a faint murmur that he should have no problem hearing over the ringing silence of the city, "and talk quietly. We don't want them," she carefully gestures down the road, toward the distant group, "to notice us."