When Esau came to, he was in agony. His head spun, his stomach roiled. He winced and he could feel something crack and flake off his face. He looked down to see small flecks of what looked like rust sitting on his lap and thought, “A concussion then. Someone hit me in the head. Hard.”
He put braced himself against the wall and tried to stand, succeeding on his third attempt. He forced his eyes to focus and looked around the room, taking stock of where he was. The room looked like it could have been part of most any home in the city, drab stucco walls, lit more by a single large window than by lights. There was a large carpet in the center of the room stretching almost to fill the concrete floor with arabesques and filigrees. He imagined it would be thin beneath his feet; the heavy boots he was wearing did not sink into it as they had in some of the nicer homes he had been in at various times throughout his life. There was a bed on the far wall, and to its right a door opening into a hallway.
Esau sniffed. How strange to drag him into a bedroom and then leave him in a heap on the floor instead of a heap on the bed.
He looked down to find his gear next to him and his pulse quickened. The goggles were smashed, the barrel of the rifle bent. All that was left to him was the shotgun, and next to it a message was scratched into the floor: FIND ME.