Chapter 6: A Safe Haven
The descent from the ledge into the valley took Mike the better part of the morning. His injuries slowed his progress, particularly the gash on his temple which throbbed with every heartbeat. Twice he had to stop and rest, his vision swimming with black spots. But the ruins in the distance drew him forward like a beacon.
"Just keep moving," he told himself repeatedly. "One foot in front of the other."
As he approached the ruins, their nature became clearer. This had been a settlement of some kind—not large enough to call a town, but more than just a few isolated buildings. Stone foundations outlined at least a dozen structures arranged in a rough circle around what might have been a central plaza. Most walls had crumbled to nothing, but a few buildings retained partial facades or corners.
The most intact structure stood at the far end of the plaza—a two-story building with most of its walls still standing, though the roof had partially collapsed. Its architecture was unlike anything Mike had seen on Earth, with sweeping curves where he'd expect straight lines, and what appeared to be symbols carved into the stone around door and window openings.
"Good a place as any to start," Mike decided, making his way toward it.
As he crossed the plaza, Mike noted how the stones beneath his feet were fitted together with remarkable precision—no mortar visible between them, yet they remained tightly joined despite obvious centuries of weathering. Whoever had built this place had been skilled craftsmen.
The entrance to the building was an arched doorway nearly eight feet tall, flanked by columns engraved with unfamiliar symbols. Mike ran his fingers over the markings, wondering what they meant. The same script he kept seeing in his notifications, yet still incomprehensible.
Inside, the building opened into a large room that occupied most of the first floor. Debris littered the stone floor—fallen ceiling beams, shattered pottery, and objects Mike couldn't identify. Light filtered through gaps in the remaining roof and glassless windows, illuminating motes of dust that swirled with his passage.
"Hello?" Mike called automatically, then felt foolish. This place had been abandoned for what looked like centuries.
A staircase along one wall led to the partial second floor. Mike ascended cautiously, testing each step before committing his weight. The upper level consisted of a gallery that overlooked the main room below, with several smaller chambers adjoining it. One of these chambers had its roof mostly intact, offering genuine shelter for the first time since his waterfall fall.
"Home sweet home," Mike murmured, setting down his hammers and checking his phone: 12% battery.
He recorded a brief update: "Found ruins of some settlement. Taking shelter in the most intact building. Going to rest, then explore more thoroughly."
His body demanded rest, but his mind cataloged immediate needs: water, food, better bandages, more secure shelter. Construction instincts kicked in as he surveyed the room. With some work, this could be made not just habitable but defensible.
Mike allowed himself twenty minutes to rest, then forced himself back to his feet. The water situation needed addressing first. He made his way back downstairs and out into the remains of the settlement.
A careful search revealed what he'd hoped to find—a central well in the plaza. The stone circle was overgrown with vines, but when Mike cleared them away and peered down, he could see water reflecting about fifteen feet below. The original mechanism for drawing water was long gone, but the well itself remained intact.
"Need to build a bucket and rope system," Mike noted. He could visualize the design already—a simple windlass with a wooden bucket. For now, though, he had to improvise.
Using his utility knife, Mike cut several lengths of vine, braiding them together for strength. His water skin, still attached to his belt despite everything, would serve as a crude bucket. It took a few attempts, but eventually he managed to lower it into the well and bring up cool, clean water.
The discovery lifted his spirits considerably. With a secure water source, his most immediate survival concern was addressed. Food would be next.
As Mike drank deeply from the recovered water, a flash of movement caught his eye. On the edge of the ruins, small creatures darted among the trees—something like monkeys, but with longer, more sinuous bodies and short, fan-like tails. They moved with quick, jerky motions, occasionally stopping to grasp at objects with their slender hands.
More importantly, they were eating something—plucking small, round fruits from the trees and consuming them eagerly.
Mike approached cautiously, not wanting to frighten the creatures away. The trees they fed from were unlike any he recognized—short, twisted trunks with broad, waxy leaves and clusters of purple-blue fruits about the size of plums.
"If they can eat them, maybe I can too," Mike reasoned, though he knew the logic wasn't foolproof. Many things non-toxic to animals could still harm humans.
The monkey-things scattered as he drew nearer, chittering in alarm. Mike plucked one of the fruits, examining it carefully. The skin was smooth, yielding slightly to pressure. When he broke it open, the flesh inside was pale yellow with small black seeds, and it released an odd smell—oddly reminiscent of fish, but with sweet undertones.
"That's... not what I expected," Mike said, wrinkling his nose.
Hunger overrode his hesitation. He'd watched the monkey-creatures eat these without ill effect, and he needed sustenance. Taking a small bite, Mike was prepared for the worst.
The taste was as strange as the smell—predominantly sweet with a distinct undertone of tuna. The texture was firm but juicy, like a perfectly ripe pear. It wasn't pleasant, exactly, but it wasn't revolting either.
"Sweet tuna fruit," Mike dubbed it, forcing himself to finish the first one, then plucking several more to take back to his shelter.
No immediate ill effects manifested, so Mike gathered a small supply of the fruits before returning to the building he'd claimed. By now, late afternoon shadows stretched across the ruins, reminding him that darkness would come soon. He needed to secure his shelter before nightfall.
The room he'd selected had a single doorway and one window opening. The door itself was long gone, and the window had never contained glass. Mike assessed what he had to work with: fallen beams, stone debris, vines from outside, and the few tools on his belt.
"Not ideal, but workable," he decided.
Using his hammer and utility knife, Mike fashioned a crude door from a section of fallen beam reinforced with smaller pieces. He secured it to the door frame with a pivot system made from a straight branch and notches cut into the wood. For the window, he wove a lattice of branches tied with vine, creating a barrier that would keep out medium-sized intruders while still allowing air flow.
As he worked, notifications occasionally appeared—progress bars filling, symbols flashing. Mike still couldn't read most of them, but they seemed positive, often accompanied by that subtle warm sensation of advancement.
By sunset, he had created a reasonably secure shelter. Not comfortable by any means, but defensible. Mike barricaded himself inside with both hammers close at hand, then finally allowed himself to properly tend his wounds.
The head gash had clotted but needed cleaning. Using a strip torn from the bottom of his pants, dampened with water from his skin, Mike carefully washed away the dried blood and dirt. The cut on his side looked better than expected—painful but not showing signs of serious infection.
"Could be worse," he told himself, binding both wounds with the cleanest fabric he could manage.
As darkness fell, Mike consumed several more of the sweet tuna fruits, washing them down with water. The strange flavor was growing on him out of necessity if nothing else. Hunger made almost anything palatable.
He used his phone's light sparingly, preserving the remaining 10% battery. Before settling for the night, he recorded one final update:
"Secured shelter in the ruins. Found water and edible fruit. Still injured but stable. Going to rest and recover strength, then explore more thoroughly tomorrow. Not sure if these structures were built by humans or some other species. The writing matches the symbols in my notifications, so maybe I can learn to read them somehow."
Sleep came quickly, his body desperate for recovery time. The stone floor was hard, but Mike had fashioned a crude pillow from bundled vines covered with large leaves. In his last conscious moments, he reflected on how quickly the extraordinary had become ordinary. A week ago, he'd been securing joists on a normal construction site. Now he was bandaging wounds inflicted by stone monsters and eating fish-flavored fruit in an alien ruin.
---
A distant howling woke him sometime in the middle of the night.
Mike sat up, instantly alert, his hand finding the ancient hammer. The sound came again—a mournful call answered by several others from different directions. It resembled a wolf's howl, but with a harmonic quality that raised the hair on Mike's neck.
"Wolf analogs," he muttered. "Because of course there are."
The howls continued for several minutes, seemingly moving closer to the ruins, then gradually faded into the distance. Mike remained awake for some time afterward, listening intently, but the night eventually returned to its baseline of unfamiliar insect sounds and rustling vegetation.
Despite the interruption, Mike slept better than he had since arriving in this world. The security of solid walls made a profound difference. He woke at dawn feeling stronger, his wounds less painful, his mind clearer.
After a breakfast of more tuna fruits, Mike set out to explore the ruins more systematically. In daylight, he could see that the settlement had been built with purpose—the buildings arranged to create open spaces between them, with what might have been gardens or small fields. Stone channels ran between structures, suggesting a sophisticated irrigation system.
Several smaller buildings contained what appeared to be workspaces—one with a large stone table that might have been a butcher's block, another with the remnants of what looked like a forge, complete with a chimney structure. Mike examined this space with particular interest, his construction knowledge helping him identify its purpose.
"A smithy," he confirmed, examining the arrangement of stones that would have formed the hearth. "Could be useful if I can get it working again."
In what had once been a small outbuilding, Mike found a collection of rusted metal tools—recognizable as hammers, tongs, and chisels despite their deteriorated condition. Most were too degraded to be useful, but he selected a chisel that retained most of its edge, adding it to his belt.
By midday, Mike had mapped the entire settlement in his mind and collected a small array of potentially useful items: the chisel, several intact clay pots, a stone grinding bowl, and lengths of what appeared to be metal wire, though of an unfamiliar alloy that had resisted corrosion.
As he explored the furthest edges of the ruins, Mike discovered something that made him stop short. A row of oddly shaped trees lined what must have once been the village's boundary. Unlike the fruit trees, these were taller, with smooth bark showing strange protrusions—small metal spouts embedded in the trunks, now clogged with years of debris and hardened sap.
"Tapping trees?" Mike wondered, approaching one for closer inspection.
He scraped away some of the crust around a spout with his utility knife. A viscous, amber-colored sap began to slowly ooze out. The scent was peculiar—sweet but with a chemical undertone that reminded him vaguely of acetone or lighter fluid.
On a hunch, Mike collected a small amount on the knife's tip. Moving a safe distance away, he pulled out his Zippo—now dried out and working again—and touched the flame to the sap.
The result was immediate and dramatic. The sap ignited with a bright flash and a sharp *pop*, burning intensely for several seconds before consuming itself.
"Whoa!" Mike jumped back, though he'd been prepared for some reaction. "Flammable is an understatement."
The properties of this sap—somewhere between flammable and mildly explosive—triggered his builder's imagination. With proper collection and processing, it could serve multiple purposes: fuel, adhesive, or even, in sufficient quantity, a defensive measure.
Mike examined the spout system more carefully. Whoever had designed it knew what they were doing—each tree had been fitted with a brass-like spout leading to what would have been a collection vessel, with a simple valve mechanism to control flow. Most were damaged or clogged, but with some work, they could be restored.
"Another project for the list," Mike decided, making a mental note of the trees' location as he returned to his shelter.
Returning to his shelter, Mike began implementing improvements. Using the chisel and his hammer, he created notches in the stone walls where wooden beams could be securely placed. With these supports, he constructed a simple platform above the floor—a rudimentary bed that would provide insulation from the cold stone and some protection from any creatures that might slither in during the night.
As he worked, Mike's thoughts returned to the wolf howls from the previous night. If predators were active in the area, his current defenses might not be sufficient. He needed to establish a perimeter, create traps or alarms that would warn of approach.
After completing the bed platform, Mike ventured out to gather materials for traps. His earlier experiences with snares and deadfalls had taught him valuable lessons. Now, with better tools and materials available, he could create more sophisticated designs.
Near the edge of the ruins, Mike discovered a thicket of bamboo-like plants—straight, hollow reeds that grew up to ten feet tall with remarkable strength. These would be perfect for construction projects. He harvested several, using his utility knife to cut them into manageable sections.
With these reeds, supplemented by vines and stones, Mike constructed a series of trip-wire alarms around the approaches to his building. Not lethal traps, but arrangements that would create noise if disturbed—bundles of smaller reeds designed to clatter against stone, or suspended clay pot fragments that would shatter if disturbed.
For hunting, he created two deadfall traps and three snares, placing them in locations where he'd observed small animal activity. The deadfalls used heavy stone slabs balanced on trigger mechanisms, while the snares employed the familiar noose design, but with metal wire rather than vine for greater strength and durability.
By midday, the security improvements were well underway. Mike paused to cook his rabbit over a small fire in what remained of the central plaza, using his Zippo to light the kindling. As he ate the first real meat he'd had in days, he contemplated his next steps.
The ruins clearly contained knowledge—the symbols carved everywhere matched those in his notifications. Finding a way to decipher them could be crucial to understanding this world and his place in it. But without any kind of translation guide, where would he even begin?
As he surveyed the plaza, Mike noticed something he hadn't paid much attention to before—the arrangement of the buildings wasn't random. They formed a pattern around the central area, with different structures clearly designed for specific purposes. Now that he looked more carefully, he could see that each building bore distinct decorative elements: one had tools carved into its remaining lintel, another showed what might be garments or fabrics, a third depicted what looked like pottery or vessels.
"Some kind of specialized settlement," Mike theorized, his gaze sweeping across the ruins.
What caught his attention next was even more interesting—large stone pillars positioned at regular intervals around the plaza's perimeter. Most were broken, reduced to stumps jutting from the ground, but a few remained intact enough to show elaborate carvings. The symbols etched into these pillars were more complex than those he'd seen elsewhere, arranged in spiraling patterns that seemed to flow upward.
Drawn by curiosity, Mike approached the nearest intact pillar. The carvings depicted figures engaged in various activities—some wielding tools, others working with materials he couldn't identify. Between these scenes ran lines of the now-familiar script, perhaps explaining or naming the activities shown.
"A record of some kind?" Mike wondered aloud, running his fingers over the weathered stone. "Or instructions?"
Moving to the next pillar, Mike found a different set of carvings—these showing what appeared to be astronomical bodies, with symbols he didn't recognize except for what might have been a sun or star at the center. The third pillar he examined was the most damaged, with only fragments of its original designs visible, though what remained suggested figures in combat or conflict.
As Mike continued around the plaza, examining each pillar in turn, he began to notice a pattern. The pillars seemed to be telling a story, or perhaps describing different aspects of the settlement's purpose. If only he could read the script that accompanied the images.
At the exact center of the plaza, partially obscured by years of accumulated soil and vegetation, Mike discovered a circular stone inlay in the paving. Kneeling, he began to clear away the debris, revealing an intricate design of different colored stones fitted together with the same precision as the paving blocks.
The design was complex—a central symbol surrounded by concentric rings of other symbols, with lines radiating outward to connect with what appeared to be representations of the pillars he'd been examining. It reminded Mike of a circuit diagram or a map, though of what he couldn't say.
"Everything's connected," he murmured, brushing away the last of the dirt from the central symbol. It looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place why.
As Mike studied the inlaid pattern, trying to make sense of its purpose, he failed to notice how the ambient sounds of the ruins had gradually diminished. The chattering of the monkey-creatures, the rustling of vegetation, the distant calls of bird-like creatures—all had fallen silent.
The silence finally registered, sending a prickle of alarm up Mike's spine. He looked up from the inlaid pattern, scanning his surroundings.
A notification appeared before him, larger than most and pulsing with an urgent red border. The shifting symbols were impossible to read, but the pulsing red color and rapid movement conveyed clear warning.
Mike rose slowly to his feet, both hammers now in hand, turning in a complete circle as he searched for the threat. At first, he saw nothing unusual—just the silent ruins bathed in late afternoon sunlight.
Then a shadow moved at the edge of the plaza, resolving into a shape that made Mike's blood run cold.
The creature that stepped into view was wolf-like in its general form, but the similarities ended there. It stood nearly four feet tall at the shoulder, its body lean but powerful, covered in a coat of mottled gray-blue fur. Six legs moved with predatory grace, ending in paws tipped with claws that clicked against the stone paving. Its head was larger than a wolf's should be, with a broader muzzle showing hints of teeth like polished metal.
Most disturbing were its eyes—three of them, arranged in a triangle on its face, all focused directly on Mike with an intelligence that seemed far more than animal.
The wolf-creature took a deliberate step forward, a low growl rumbling from its throat. The sound contained harmonics no Earth predator could produce—the source of the eerie howls Mike had heard the previous night.
"Not good," Mike breathed, tightening his grip on the hammers. "Not good at all."
The creature's muscles bunched visibly as it prepared to spring, its three eyes never leaving Mike's face. Time seemed to slow as predator and prey measured each other across the ancient plaza—the builder with his tools, the hunter with its natural weapons, each assessing the other's strengths and weaknesses.
The wolf-creature's growl deepened, its front-most pair of legs shifting position. In the perfect silence of the ruins, Mike could hear his own heartbeat, could feel the weight of the hammers in his hands, could sense the moment of attack approaching with inexorable certainty.
The standoff couldn't last. Something would have to give.
And then it did.