Helga glanced around at her surroundings from the building’s room, looking through a windowsill that, at one time, had been filled with a pane. The city was in shambles, well, everywhere was. She squinted, placing a flattened hand on her forehead, shielding the day’s light from her eyes, and glazes over the ruins in closer detail. The overgrowth of ivy that thrived vivaciously from the towers of abandoned cement and brick simply amazed her; how could anything, even ivy and weeds, manage to live through such places as this? Upon observing more, she looked at the broken windows, the vacant offices in them, the spray-painted graffiti containing all different colors and political banter, and the broken signs of businesses that once thrived during a time she just barely experienced. The silence was also something to make note of: nothing made a sound except for the wind and the movements they made. The lack of noise could be unsettling to any newcomer, but by now, Helga had adapted to the unreal quiet.
It was a mood-dampening sight, really, but she couldn’t allow the ruins around her to affect her overall disposition. She was alive, which, thinking of how lucky she was to be a survivor, was enough to lift her mood from the depressing view. Besides, she was supposed to be the one to keep the emotions positive in their group. What good would a negative person do in a situation like this?
She let out a little laugh as she realized how lost in thought she had become, which was something she does particularly often. Helga watched as Marc walked farther into the bio-zone until he became out of her eyesight, wondering how this scavenge would go.
This lifestyle, traveling in a group, was certainly one that she never experienced before, but in a strange way she felt more safe being with Marc and Grimm than when she living as a nurse in Canada. Oh well , she thought. It is what it is.
Time passed on with Marc still inside of the zone, and Grimm mentioned he caught sight of someone other than Marc through his scope, almost making her jump. She watched, widened green eyes unable to see what was happening, but had her focus on it. It was almost as if the mention of a confrontation made her whole body stand on edge. She remained in silence after her question, and calmed down when the heat apparently died between the stranger and Marc.
“I’ll start a fire.”
She watched as Grimm had walked off, and observed around the room in search of a decent place the fire. This corner would do well, gathering around the supplies she needed and forms a temporary fire pit. Helga already had firewood suitable for the fire itself, having foraged for them earlier that day. She sets up the dried firewood in a suitable arrangement, having learned the ability to do so when she was younger, from observing her father. There isn’t anything that I can use to start it, though. Not quickly, at least, she thought to herself, trying to think if there was something around her that she could use.
Oh! She realized where there may be something useful. Marc did leave some of his supplies as he went into the zone. I wonder if he has one? I hope that he doesn’t mind I go through his belongings . She went to where his bag was located, carefully rummaging through what he left in search of something to help aid the start of it the fire, making sure to place everything back in order. She didn’t want to make it look like she was nosily poking around in his things, and had no idea how Marc would react if he found out what she was doing.
“This would work!” Helga exclaimed softly and to herself, having found what she needed: a firestarter. She starts the fire without too much trouble and steps back, watching as the small spark spread with speed among the wooden pieces. She sits down on the floor that surrounded the pit, memories flooding back suddenly of when she first attempted to start a fire. Helga and her father had gone camping for the day, their mother to be waiting at home upon their return when the night fell. She was rather young, but couldn’t remember exactly how young; fourteen at the most. Her father showed her how and she attempted herself, guided by his help. Helga let out a laugh as she gazed into the fire, remembering how then she would struggle then throw a tantrum about how she couldn’t get the flame going, and then just giving up entirely. How different I was then. Helga found herself to be amused at her childhood silliness.
Helga placed the firestarter exactly where she had found it, and got up quickly, hearing footsteps, only to see Grimm walk into the room. Before he had walked in, she had frozen in place, looking like a doe caught in the headlights. Regaining her composure, she let out a sheepish laugh.
“You startled me.” Saying to him, her accent thicker than usual due to her own embarrassment. Helga went over to where her own belongings were, and gave a sideways glance at Grimm while he tended to the flames. Do they trust me any? And if they do, how much? I hope that he didn’t see me going through Marc’s bag in search for the firestarter. He may think I was doing something suspicious. She didn’t have a strong sense of boundaries established among the terms of how much she’s trusted by the two of them. It’s only been a short time since she joined them back in, what city was it? Oh, yes, it was called Toledo a city in just as poor a condition as this one if not worse.
She removed the contents of her backpack with care, placing them on a cleaner part of the building’s floor, and took inventory. The shovel was strapped along the side of her bag already, so she didn’t need to remove that. The shovel was a bit rusty with sanded wooden handle, but had been barely touched otherwise otherwise. Helga looked at her small record player next, smiling a bit as it seemed to be such a random thing to own in a time like this. She only owned one record, which had been a one-sided 45 rpm of Kitty Kallen’s “Star Eyes.” Maybe someday I’ll be able to come across more, she hoped, having listened to the little vinyl too many times. Helga neatly placed the record player back into her backpack, opening up her doctor’s bag next. Everything was still in place, first-aid kit and all. She layered the medical bag on top of her record player, and looked into her drawstring canvas herb bag. It was khaki, and hadn’t contained anything yet, having not been able to find anything useful just yet. She didn’t own much, but saw no need to.
Helga was happy to finally see Marc return, but that bit of relief to be had from his arrival was short- lived; the news he had come back with wasn’t good. Once she had caught up with what had happened, she spoke what they thought they should do.
“We should go find Jameson.” She said, unable to pronounce his name correctly with her accent, “If what is in the other briefcase is of that much importance, do we have any other options?” She paused, and looked over the two, her expression serious, but soon lightened up a little. “We can do this. I definitely feel that we can.”
Perhaps what she said hadn’t been the truth, but it was what they needed in such tense of a situation. She managed a smile.