Carla sat behind the window, quieting her breathing. Looking.
A group of armed men came running up the alley. They paused near the building, talking to each other and to their communicators. Had she left some clue? But, no, the men ran on. Carla slumped to the floor, checking out her surroundings.
She was in a small, derelict basement. The pipework was covered in dust and cobwebs, and the room smelled of urine. Something small and fast scuttled across the floor behind her. Across the room was a short stairway and a closed, rusting iron door. She went over to investigate.
The door gave a little resistance, but soon creaked open, and she moved through to a shabby, run-down apartment block. She did not recognise the writing on the posters on the walls. It was not written in the standard language of the main hub worlds. She shrugged, a chill draft making her near naked body shiver. She pushed at door after door; all locked. Then, finally, one opened. She cautiously moved through, closing the door behind her.
It was a small, dirty apartment. The walls still covered in family photographs and certificates. A door to one side creaked gently in a soft, cool breeze, and Carla went to see. It was the bedroom. A cupboard to one side still contained clothes, albeit dirtied with age and neglect. She searched through, finding a tee shirt and jeans that fit her, she stripped off the wrecked stockings and clothed herself once more.
She shook out the bed, wrapped herself in the decaying duvet, and fell into a deep sleep.
Carla awoke to scraping noises in the room outside. Through the slats across the windows she could see that night had fallen, and all was very dark outside; no moons. The noise came again, closer this time, to the bedroom door. The frightened woman slid from the bed, quietly pushing herself into the corner of the room. The door opened, and a hunched figure walked slowly in, a small headlight on a band around its head lighting the way. The figure slowly lowered itself to the bed, sighing, pushing a hand onto the mattress. The figure stopped. The head darted from side to side, lighting up different parts of the room as it went. "Who's there?" croaked an ancient voice, "The bed is still warm, I know someone's here!" the voice snapped.
Whirling around, shining the light first here then there, the figure eventually stopped on Carla. She raised her hand to block the glare of the light. "I'm sorry." She said, "They were chasing me, I needed a place to hide." She tried to push herself even further into the wall. "I thought this place was abandoned."
The figure straightened a little, and made a huffing noise. "I suppose it does look a little run down." The speaker took off the headlight and rested it on a cabinet next to the bed. In the dim light Carla could see that it was a very old man. His face grey and wrinkled, his hair white and thin.
"I just need to get home." Carla said, sobbing. "Point me to the nearest tele-tube and I'll be off."
