Karen stood on the concrete floor in dead silence, staring at the crumbled wall in front of her. The cotton candy clouds were obscured by a brownish red fog, and the lush poplar trees on the horizon that she had walked under only hours before had been reduced to mere skeletons. Well, hours before according to her memory. In the objective terms of cold, hard physics, it had been five years, no matter what her brain was telling her. She felt a migraine coming on.
She looked back at the portal she had stepped out of and saw that it was no longer connected to any power source, with dusty wires hanging freely off the side. Its variegated mother-of-pearl glow was gone and had been replaced by empty space. She stepped back through it, and nothing happened.
Kerið, Iceland / April 2018
Karen took stock of the situation, looking down at the sensors that lined her body. The red light on the battery pack taped to her side indicated that they were still gathering data. She estimated that she had about 72 hours until they would start to lose power. If anyone on the other end of that portal was listening, she had to keep the cameras rolling for the time being, cumbersome as they were. Maybe someone would come for her.
She worked her way through a mental list of survival tactics she had learned in the army. Start with the basics: food, water, shelter. She had freeze dried rations in her pocket that could last a few days if necessary. Water might be tricky; if the atmosphere was any indication, unsealed liquids may be heavily contaminated. The building she was in would suffice as shelter if she could find an enclosed room with a single entrance point. Next: ammunition and weaponry. She was unarmed, save for a Swiss Army knife. Not a great starting point. She sighed. Better get a move on.
She turned around and headed for the metal door behind her. The keycard reader was shut off, but the door handle swung freely and the inner mechanism of the lock had been gutted. She cautiously inched into the hallway.