Walking the Ruins

A world thawing, and at the end of all things

Rays of bright sunshine gnaw into the snow under my feet, turning it into slush. I follow the tracks of a fox at the outskirts of the city.

The footprints pass a large, building, a stylish three-story mansion. Curious, I study its façade of stone, which looks surprisingly intact. In my earlier life I would have said that the house smells of money. I decide to have a closer look, it might hold something useful.

Cautiously, I approach the entrance. The door has collapsed a long time ago, probably now forming the indoor soil where the retreating snow has revealed a growth of brownish grass. I enter, carefully checking the integrity of the ground. Further in, the floor is of solid stone and seems to have lasted through the centuries unscathed.

The hall in front of me holds a wide staircase leading upstairs into a clutter of beams that have apparently collapsed from the roof. I ignore the stairs and pass a corridor beside them, reaching a room at the back of the building. It is empty apart from some metal and plastic parts that may have been furniture.

I turn back into the corridor, planning to return to the hall when I discover a door below the staircase. It is intact, which is unusual.

The door seems to be made of metal, brown-black and oxidized. I press its handle. At first, nothing happens, but as I increase pressure, it yields, releasing the lock. I push against it, and it opens with a complaintive shriek.

A flight of steps leads down into the darkness of the basement.

Since I love exploring the ruins, I always carry a torch in my backpack. It's a staff of wood, one end coated with a sticky, tar-like material that Kevin has concocted from the remains of tires and oil.

My lighter has been out of fuel for months, but the firestone still works, so turning its wheel still generates a flurry of sparks that I direct towards the tar. After a few tries, it catches fire.

With the torch burning, I descend the stairs. They end in a short corridor that leads to a second door, which has a frame of metal and a body of concrete with brownish stains on its surface. I pull a large lever that seems to act as a handle, and I am astonished to find that it moves easily. When it releases the lock, a sound between a hiss and a sigh tells of trapped air escaping.

I feel my heart beating. I love these moments. Moments that carry the promise that I am about to find something significant in these ruins. Something that has been lost for centuries, waiting to be rediscovered by me.

I pull the door open.

In the flickering light of the torch, I see a room with furniture—astoundingly well-preserved furniture. I enter and look around.

The room is vast, probably extending below at least half of the building. On one side, a series of metal racks is arranged in a neat row, with shelves carrying boxes and other objects.

A faint chemical smell hovers in the air, reminiscent of mothballs.

On the opposite side, there are a number of tables and beds, the first real beds I have seen in this world. They are covered with brownish blankets. Fascinated, I approach and touch one of the covers. The old fabric is brittle between my fingers.

Some equipment clutters one of the tables. It reminds me of computer hardware, and there is something that looks like a monitor, tilted over. The plastic casings of the machines are cracked.

My eyes scan the wall behind the table. I need a moment to realize what I see there.

A bookcase. With books.

I take a few steps towards it, slowly, afraid that the whole stuff might suddenly disappear, like a mirage in the desert. I touch one of the books with a finger. Its spine crackles as I push it. Carefully, I pull the volume from its shelf. Its back is broken at its edges, and the paper cover is hard to read and brittle. I try to decipher its title: Encyclopedia of Mechanics.

Reverently, I place the book on the nearest table and open it, which evokes an unpleasant snapping sound from its cover. The pages are faded and I am afraid that they might tear under my fingers, but I am able to turn them, and the text is readable.

I close the book and go back to the shelf. Next to the gap left by the Encyclopedia of Mechanics, there's an Encyclopedia of Chemistry, an Encyclopedia of Engineering and an Encyclopedia of Physics. Seeing the latter, I have a flashback to a day months ago, of that hike in the rain, where we were supposed to visit that CERN place and images of physicists invaded my thoughts. I shake my head, dismissing the memory, and continue browsing the books. Most of them are nonfiction, but the lower shelves hold a number of novels.

My breath stops when I see an edition of the Lord of the Rings. I trace my finger along it and think of Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, and Aragon.

I'm glad to be with you ... here at the end of all things.

I don't know why this sentence crosses my mind. I think it was something that Frodo said to Samwise, somewhere in the desolation of Mordor.

The light from my torch is starting to die. Carefully, I place the book into my backpack, and then I leave the room. I make sure to close both doors behind me.

On my way back, shortly before I arrive at our house, I meet Jenny and Steve. Steve is waving a dead duck at me, probably an attempt of original greeting.

"Cool," I acknowledge, "oh mighty hunter."

"And you?" Jenny asks. "Have you caught something?"

"Yes," I reply with a grin, "something real big."

They look at my obviously nearly empty backpack, questioningly. "Come on, what's it? What have you got?" Steve urges.

"It's a surprise. I'll show you at home."

When we enter the main room, I start rummaging through my backpack, taking my time. Everyone is watching me. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ...," I turn, with a flourish, raising the book, "a hobbit!"

Kevin is the first one to reach me and to grab the prize.

Later, I tell my friends about the room in the basement of that house, and about the treasures I saw there. We decide to explore the place, starting tomorrow. It might hold many things useful, and maybe some explanations about what has happened to this world around us.