“We’ll leave the light on for ya’,” Ember shook her dreads as she scanned the old motel. There was one light still glowing, although the way it flickered, she figured it was only a matter of time until it, too, went dark. The raindrops that had threatened to soak into her hair flew away when she shook them, but the downpour only renewed its vigor. Shivering in the chill, Ember dashed toward the building.
Entry was easy; all the glass in the lobby doors was long gone, first broken by vandals, then stolen by looters who sold it on the black market. Still, Ember was careful to avoid touching any remaining shards as she leaned into the building, out of the storm. The lobby was devoid of anything not structurally connected to it. Ember had expected that. What she didn’t expect to see was a remaining room key hanging behind the desk.
Too tired, too wet, and too cold to think, Ember picked up the key and looked at the number: 132. Ground floor, easy access, why not?
All the doors were on the outside, facing the parking lot. How long had it been since hotels hadn’t protected their guests by turning the rooms to face an indoor courtyard with security and cameras? She really didn’t care. She just hoped for shelter and maybe an elevated platform for sleeping.
The door to 132 was locked, a peculiar thing considering most of the other doors hung off hinges or were missing altogether. The key fit, though, and Ember pushed the door open, revealing a room seemingly untouched by the ravages of time, weather, and war. She knew she should be suspicious—but she was so tired.
The room smelled of fall leaves; the shag carpet looked like grass. The bed, in all its 1970s glory, welcomed her as she stretched out without removing her shoes. She let out a long breath just as the final light flickered and burned out.
