A hole. A shape. And a person.

Despite looking for help, it's the shape that draws your attention first. Blinking through the dust, you see the hard, greyish crust, pockmarked here and there, gleam through the dust cloud.

Gleam?

You shake your head, and when you look again, the glow you seemed to see is gone. Just a trick of the light, you tell yourself, and it's easy to tell yourself the same thing when you see that same glow - just for a moment - around the silhouetted figure standing at the edge of the crash site. You open your mouth to speak, to ask for help, but as you draw in a breath you suck in more dust and you're reduced to another coughing fit. By the time you recover they're already moving off, further away into the cloud, and, rasping, you shuffle after the dim figure ahead of you.

It's hard to tell how far you walk, made harder by you stopping to cough every so often and having to hurry again to catch up, but by the time you find find yourself at the edge of the cloud you've completely lost sight of the person you were following. Squinting around you, eyes still watery, you take in your surroundings.

The shops, road, and cars all around you are covered with dust; what once were bright colours right now are dulled by grey. The hoardings probably couldn't even be read even if you could see properly right now. Still, you can make out where the doors are - you could probably make for one, get inside, and try to find someone in there. And you'd be out of this dust. There doesn't seem to be anyone out in the street, anyway; the whole place is deserted, so where could - ah. You spot some movement up ahead. There's a coach parked at the side of the road, and brief hints of blurred movement can be seen through the back windows. You could try and find out if whoever's inside can help you out.