text: She never went out without a book under her arm. It helped block out the world - and made a half-decent weapon if the need arose. That was what had saved her the day the Poiloogs came, and every day since. \ Madeline blinked her eyes, shielding them from the ray of sunlight that had dragged her from her slumber. She glanced over at the window and was relieved to see the purples and pinks of dawn still hung in the air. As she pushed herself up, the mattress shifted slightly against the hardwood flooring, making her world lurch. Once she’d steadied herself, she climbed to her feet and surveyed the office-cum-bedroom. Everything seemed to be as she’d left it the previous night, with no signs of intrusion or imminent danger, just as it had yesterday morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that... With a heavy sigh, she bent down to pick up a bucket and a set of keys, before heading out into her library. Her fingers traced along the wall as she padded down the windowless corridor. When she reached the fire escape, she felt along the ridges of the keys, selecting the correct one to fit into the bike lock that sealed the entrance. As the door swung open, crisp air hit her face. She stepped outside into the library’s garden, revelling in the feeling of the cold damp ground on her bare feet. While she appreciated the safety of her small, inside world, here, if she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she could regain some semblance of freedom. She crossed the garden in a few strides and stopped at one of the large water butts to fill her bucket. Then, she set about the task of cleaning herself. The water was bracing against her skin, causing her pulse to quicken in a welcome reminder that she was, in fact, still alive. When she was finished, she emptied the bucket and refilled it once more, before heading back inside to the small kitchen. There, she slowly poured the water through a clean coffee filter to clear it of any sediment. As she watched the steady trickle she willed it to speed up. The gnawing pit in her stomach demanded filling, even if not completely - never completely. But she had to follow the routine. The routine was what kept her safe. What kept her sane. Once the water had been filtered and sealed in a hodge-podge collection of bottles, she started on breakfast, heating a tin of baked beans on her camping stove. The sweet, tomatoey scent that floated out made her mouth water. When they were ready, she practically inhaled them, burning her tongue in the process. After rinsing the pan and utensils, she took stock of her supplies: a dozen gas canisters, seven tins containing soups, beans, and vegetables, and around a kilogram of rice. While she knew that could last her a while yet, she also knew how long it could take her to find more. She needed to go out today, no matter how much she wanted to delay. She had the store picked out and the route plotted, all she had to do was pack a bag. But for all her yearning for the freedom of the outside world, the idea of going filled her with dread. \ Madeline hoisted her rucksack up a little, adjusting the position until it nestled comfortably on her hips as she walked among the stacks of her library. Holding her lantern in one hand, she ran the fingertips of the other along the neatly aligned spines. Though the towering shelves cast long, dark shadows, she hardly needed the light from her lantern, only pausing to wind it up when she leant in to examine a particular book. Here, she always knew exactly where she was. After careful consideration, evaluating the various volumes on the grounds of interest and heft, she selected a hard-cover copy of *Emma*. While a new story might have been more captivating, there was something comforting about the old favourites. Book safely tucked under her arm, she stuffed the lantern into her bag and headed into the garden, locking the door behind her. She scaled the garden wall with ease, hardly paying attention as her hands and feet found the familiar holds. As she peeked over the top, her eyes darted around, surveying the outside world for any sign of movement. But everything was still. The same empty buildings with the same broken windows stared down at her as always. Her feet barely made a sound as she jumped down, but it seemed deafening in the silence. After a brief pause, waiting to see if anyone had heard, she started walking. She took care to slink along the edge of the street, clinging to the shadows and softening her footsteps as best she could. As she darted across an alleyway, a cacophony of clanging and crashing assaulted her senses. She whipped around, planting her back firmly against the wall as she sought the source of the sound. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw it - a family of foxes rummaging through some of the junk that lined the streets. Her mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile at the persistence of the urban wildlife. The hum of an approaching ship wiped that smile off her face. She dived into the alleyway and clambered through an empty window frame, slicing her palm on a fragment of left-over glass. Gritting her teeth, she managed to subdue the hiss of pain that threatened to escape her lips as she hauled herself through. Safely hidden inside the building, she inspected the wound. Scarlet flowed from the gash, falling to the floor in a steady *drip drip*, but at least the cut looked clean. She clenched her fist in an attempt to slow the bleeding and turned to peek out of the window. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she caught sight of the Poiloog, straddling the craft with its eight angular legs, its pincers working the strange controls as its bulbous head swept from side to side. Ducking out of sight, she leant back against the wall and took the book out from under her arm, fumbling with her good hand in an attempt to keep the volume free of bloodstains. In her hurry, she opened it to a random page and started reading - focussing on the words and nothing else. When she reached the end of the scene, she sidled up to the window once more. There was no sign of the Poiloog, the hum of its ship a distant memory. Madeline let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself before turning her attention back to the cut on her hand. It was still bleeding, sweat stinging in the wound. She placed her book down and clenched her left fist while she fished around in her bag with her other hand for a bottle of water. Tilting it ever so gently, she allowed a thin trickle to fall onto the gash. With the cut looking clean enough, she just had to bandage it somehow. She couldn’t abide the thought of tearing a strip of fabric off of any of her clothes, or the bags she carried, having no idea if she would be able to replace them. And there wasn’t going to be anything clean enough here. Eventually, her eyes settled on her feet. A minute, and some awkward scrabbling later, she had one foot slightly colder than the other, and a sock wrapped firmly around her hand. It would have to do for now. Makeshift first-aid taken care of, she paused to listen to the outside world. Silence reigned once more. It was time to get moving again. She considered the window frame she had climbed through, the edge littered with shards of glass, glinting with the red of the blood they’d taken. The only other way out was the door, which led onto the main street - a bit too exposed for her liking, but it was better than risking further injury. She climbed to her feet and slowly eased herself across the old floorboards, wincing at the creak each step caused until she reached a window on the adjacent wall. She peered through. Everything looked clear. She tried the door handle. It swung open with a long, subdued *squeak*. But thankfully, there was no one around to hear it. Madeline resumed her careful journey through the streets, head swivelling as she kept her eyes and ears open for signs of danger. She didn’t like being outside for this long, the exposed feeling heightened by every passing minute. But as she exhausted the supplies of more and more stores near her, it was only going to get worse. Unless she moved on from the library of course... but that didn’t bear thinking about. As the tension wound its way into her muscles, she found her pace increasing. She reached her destination a couple of hours later, sweaty and slightly out of breath. After taking a few seconds to survey her surroundings she slipped inside. It seemed she hadn't been the first to visit this particular shop. Most of the shelves were bare, though a few items lay scattered across the floor, and a heavy musk permeated the air. Hoping this wouldn't prove to be a wasted trip, she started scouring the store for anything that might be of use when a voice from the shadows startled her from her task. "Y-you shouldn't be here.