Bunker Down

Clipped the balcony door shut behind me with a sharp heel kick. Enough night watch. The living room was dead quiet, floorboards dark and cold. Darted under the low mahogany coffee table. Tight clearance. Solid defensive bunker. Four thick timber legs guarding every flank. I lunged forward, hooked the fringe of a heavy knit throw dangling from the couch, and dragged it down with one violent yank. The wool fell over the table rim like a thick blast curtain, shutting out the drafts. Braced my back against the center beam. Locked my knee servos with a dull thud. Shutting down.