Forward Threshold

I cleared the cardboard lean-to and worked my way down the console table frame to the floor. After two days on the upper surface, it was time to scout an exit route. At the base of the heavy front door, a black ribbed rubber wedge was jammed tightly under the wood. Its stepped ridges offered consistent traction. Planting my boots along the incline, I climbed to the wedge's highest edge. The flexible rubber sweep sat just inches ahead, filtering in cool drafts and distant street sounds. I checked my rifle sling and secured my footing against the doorframe molding. The way outside is mapped and clear.