Arden dozed most of the day, as she always did on Sundays. She had a routine. Scavenging on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Work on her hiding spot on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Rest on Sunday. The apocalypse was good for one thing at least, and that was routine. She got a day off on Sundays for mental health, because there was no point to surviving if she went mad. She had just finished reading one of her many books and had decided to take a nap when she heard someone clattering around down in the library. Wasn't much of a problem for her, since she was up in the ceiling. The panels could slide back and there were plenty of open spaces to make a bed in. She had poked a convincing-looking hole in the panel near her bed so she could look at anyone wandering through. They never stayed long, since they never had the smarts to stay in a place with so much information. They grabbed a few survival books, sometimes other stuff to pass the time, and then they left. She rolled over quietly and started to put her eye to the peephole when her hand knocked over an open bottle of water. And, of course, it spilled out of the hole and right onto the head of whoever was down there.