The third Number, wisdom, is much harder to quantify than the other mental attribute of intelligence. Those mental qualities which are harder to measure typically are acknowledged to fall under the umbrella of wisdom, including the sub-attributes of perception, willpower, logic, and mental resilience.

- Excerpt from “The Five Numbers, 5th Edition”

It only takes me around five steps to cross from one side of the shed to the other, but that still makes for a lot of space to look through. I've spent the last thirty minutes digging through boxes and shelves, and so far all I've found are tools and cleaning supplies. I've searched almost the entire shed, and have found nothing useful for my situation with only one unopened box remaining. It is a massive box, more of a chest really, and with some hesitation I crack the lid.

"AGGGGGHHHHH" I scream in frustration. Christmas decorations. The most useless box of all!

In my anger, I kick out at the ground, slightly stubbing my toe, but also hearing a hollow thump.

What was that? The shed has a basement too?! There is still hope.

With renewed vigor, I push open the shed doors wider to allow in more light to aid in my search for how to get downstairs. Aha! There's a pull-up trapdoor in the floor, easy to miss if you're not looking for it, but obvious if you know it is there. I pull on the giant metal ring and struggle for a few seconds before the door finally comes loose, revealing a ladder staircase descending into darkness.

I have a moment's hesitation staring into the storage area, a vision of a terrible beast that tears people apart, its gaping maw wide open, the stairs descending down into the deep dark depths of its throat.

I shake my head, and the vision passes. No one has been down here for a while, the slightly-stuck door reveals that much. There is nothing to fear, and I take the first step down into the black.

The stairs are only a few steps long, and I reach the new floor surprisingly quickly. Reaching out in front of me into the darkness, I find a pull-string hanging from the ceiling. With only a tiny amount of trepidation, I pull down on it and the room is suddenly illuminated.

Success! The room is tiny, much smaller than the shed above, and the cement walls coupled with the shadowy illumination provided by the single hanging light-bulb gives it a foreboding appearance. Despite this, my heart is overjoyed with the materials immediately seen stacked from wall to wall.

The first thing I notice is the pile of blankets in a corner. Next, I see several gallon jugs of both water and gasoline. On shelves against the walls I notice cans upon cans of food -- corn, beans, and so much more.

This is better than anything I could have hoped for. It seems as if someone decided to make a "just in case" supply room below the shed -- why, I have no idea, but I’m not one to question a good thing. I immediately pry open the top of one of the gallon jugs of water. Spilling more down the front of my shirt than what makes it into my mouth, I upend it over my upturned face. I don't care. There is plenty of water here, and the cleansing purity of the water washing the accumulated grime off my face seems to wipe away the pent up stress of the last day. I will be OK. Sure, things still aren't great, but I will survive. There's nothing to worry about.

Three hours later, I'm sitting on the floor of the basement eating cold beans from a can. I wasn't able to find any utensils, so I'm drinking the unsatisfying, but filling, meal more than I am eating it. I've finished searching and organizing through everything I can find in the basement of the shed, and I'm surrounded by haphazard piles of anything I may potentially need. To my left are several bags of medicine, most of which I only know what they do due to the instructions. I've already cleaned my scratches off with water and some antibacterial goop I found, and then wrapped them with some sticky bandages. To my right is all of the food I found, all in cans (fortunately with pop-tops), in order of what I dislike the least to what I dislike the most. In front of me are the blankets, gallon jugs of water, and the other miscellaneous useful items I was able to find, including a pocket-knife, some duct tape, and a box of matches.

At first, I figure I will be spending the night here until someone comes for me -- although the cement floor isn't comfortable, I have plenty of blankets, and staying here means I will not have to move anything, as well as better protection from the wilderness.

After a while though, I have to recognize that I can't stay here. The smell that I was barely able to ignore as I approached the shed grew stronger and stronger within even the basement as I was sorting supplies, and I can't ever imagine falling asleep in the current stench, especially with the memories associated with it.

So, with reluctance, I take the supplies I need and organize them into two big bags that previously housed the blankets. I'm leaving most of the supplies behind, as I'm only taking enough so that I'll have what I need for a day to avoid constantly making trips back to the shed, but I'm still left with two surprisingly heavy loads.

Oh yeah... I remember. My strength is -- I glance down -- twenty-six. That's why they're so heavy. I decide to take the bags one at a time. Even if I might be able to struggle up the stairs with two, I'm not in any rush, and I'm not sure yet where I will be making into my new temporary campsite. I seem to remember the clearing on the far side of the cabin had a lot of open space, which -- I guess -- is good for sleeping outside.

With a grunt, I haul the first bag, filled with the cans of food and blankets, over my shoulder like a certain jolly distributer of presents, and climb up the stairs.

I carry the bag with me around the cabin into the small meadow on the far side as I search for a comfortable patch of soil. There is still a slight smoky smell in the air, and every once in a while I have to cough, but I figure that the smell of smoke is a much better smell than...others. The fifteen minutes of walking around has me huffing for breath and ready for a nap. I feel like I've slept much more in the last few days than needed, yet I still feel the need for a nap, I'm guessing because of my low strength Number.

"There's a reason babies sleep all the time," I mumble to myself as I finally set the bag down in the grass. This spot will have to do. I'll just go and get the other bag from the shed, return here, and I can get a few hours of shut eye. Glancing up at the sky, I think it's probably just after noon. I'll be able to sleep for a bit, then wake up and make some dinner for myself.

With an internal nod of satisfaction for having a plan, I turn back to the shed.

And I see the monster.

S: 26

D: 21

W: 23

I: 22

C: 1

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