Taking Stock

Woke up flat on my back, arms tossed up and legs splayed out. Not a good posture to get caught in. I tested my hands first—fingers closed into fists, plastic joints flexing with a quiet click. I pulled my arms down, pressed my palms into the coarse, textured weave beneath me, and tested the ground. Solid enough. Rolled my shoulders, sat up just an inch to check the perimeter, then stayed low, listening. Everything was quiet.