On the bottom shelf, there’s another can. It’s bigger, heavier. Glue. Is it also food? I’m not sure. But on the lid, there’s a note, written in the same handwriting as the food-preserving brick.

Keep the lid shut! If it dries out, your ass will be warming it up, Brandon.

I’ll take the lid off. Unlike the other cans, this one can be opened easily. I don’t have to use the metal stick. I’m not sure how the lid is kept on. There’s nothing holding it in place. But it’s firmly rooted there. Taking it off is simple though. Hooking my fingernails on one side, tugging. With a pop, the can opened. Inside of it, there was a yellowish liquid. Or a solid. I dipped my finger into it. The glue sank down for a brief moment. Then my finger punctured the surface, the glue welling up to my knuckle. It was sticky. I took my finger out. A strand of glue rose up, connecting my finger to the substance. Interesting.

The strand stretched further, getting thinner as my finger rose. Then it broke off, leaving a coating on my skin. I licked it. And gagged. Disgusting. This wasn’t food. I grabbed the lid, pressing it back onto the large can. When I removed my hand, there was some resistance from my finger, a tiny strand of glue connecting and breaking. Perhaps this can keep two objects together? If I glue them, let the glue dry, maybe. The series of spikes on the fence, they were most likely glued on. There aren’t ropes tying them down. And the effort it would take to carve that many spikes out of a single piece of wood, impossible. Trees aren’t as large as that fence. This glue, it might be useful. Instead of tying things to the others, I could attach them with glue. Or I could glue the others into place, prevent them from leaving. But that seems like a waste. The can of glue isn’t that large. I’ll leave it alone for now, use it when a need arises.

On the shelf above the can of glue, there’s a red box. It’s rounded at the top, a bit rusty. There’s another note here too:

Don’t touch my tools, Brandon.

This case, filled with tools. A tool case. Inside of it, there’s a bunch of metal tools. As expected. They’re different shapes. Some are the same shape with different sizes. Each serving their own individual purpose that I’m not sure of. This tool, it’s a metal stick with a curve at the end. Like a fat, two-pronged fork. Is it meant for stabbing? It seems a bit blunt. There’s many others like it, their sizes differing. So many tools, so many different uses. I’ll bring this tool case into the back room, examine them as I wait. But I’ll search the rest of the room first.

There’s a few cans next to the tool case. Larger. But not wider. Longer. At the tip, there’s a button. What is this? There’s a hole at the top of the can, pointing out of the side. Looking down the hole, I couldn’t see anything. Do I press the button? I’ll try it. Something sprayed out of the hole, straight into my eye, obscuring my vision. It smelled like flowers. I wiped away the liquid substance. The vision in my right eye was a bit skewed, redder than usual. The label on the long can says air freshener. It’s a weapon. It induces temporary blindness. How far does the spray shoot? Not very. Stabbing the eyes with a knife or spear would be much simpler. Useless. It seems like it can be used to mask smells. But stuffing rotting brains up the others’ noses can do that too.

At the wall opposite the shelf, there’s a pile of wood. It’s stacked in a neat pyramid. On top of it, there’s a tool. A woodcutting tool. There’s a handle with a flat metal head attached, shaped like a wedge. It’s similar to the one back in the tents that I ignored. It’s not heavy, easy to lift, easy to swing. I like it. I’ll test it on this piece of wood. Maybe I didn’t even need to test, the blocks of wood are a testament themselves. They used to be part of a tree. Now they’re not. But I want to test. I grabbed a block, set it down. Then swung. The woodcutting tool sank into the wood. Excellent. With a few more swings in the same place, the piece of wood split in half. The other that was trying to climb out the window turned around. Did the noise attract it? It didn’t matter. It stared at the wood. Its hands dropped to its sides, almost as if it were disappointed. I ignored it.

There didn’t seem to be anything else of use inside the room. A woodcutting tool. A tool case. Glue. Cans of food. A broken can opener. Stink sauce. Tissues. Paper towels. There was something else, on the ground near the pile of wood. I almost missed it despite it being bright red. Luckily, there’s a label on it too: fire extinguisher. If it’s labeled as I think it’s labeled, it should put out fires. Why didn’t the prey use this on the burning pile of others? Then again, the burning pile of others burned out. But the walls didn’t catch fire. The prey must’ve thought the fire wasn’t dangerous enough to extinguish. Or they’re dumb. That doesn’t seem likely. How do I use this extinguisher? On the label, there’s instructions. But at the end of the instructions, it says to refill after use. I’m not sure how I would do that. If I use it now to test, I won’t be able to refill it. I’ll save it for emergencies. Maybe there’ll be a fire that needs to be put out. Perhaps in a camp at night, when the prey rely on a fire to see, I’ll extinguish it. Who knows.