 Why don't Eric and Nada build a shelter first?
Experimenter Publications Inc. It is especially important because it stylistically forecast a later trend to accept the background for granted, regardless of the quantity of wonders, and proceed with the story. "My days were filled," he remembers, "with monotonous rounds of what seemed an endless, heart-breaking war with drought and frost and dust-storms, poison-weeds and hail, for the sake of survival on the Llano Estacado." His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, who could handle a club on equal terms with a cave-man, or call science to aid them in defending a beautiful mate from the terrors of a desolate wilderness. Nada Stokes-Harding was also an author. Even though the whole world had grown up into a city, the birds were extinct, there were no wild flowers, and no one had time to bother about sunsets. If we could only have lived a thousand years ago, when life was simple and natural, when men hunted and killed their meat, instead of drinking synthetic stuff, when men still had the joys of conflict, instead of living under glass, like hot-house flowers." But they were all filled up two hundred years ago. Pleasure resorts, sanatoriums, cities, factories." It has a thick, cloudy atmosphere, and low, rainy forests. It would be so thrilling to begin life like the characters in your stories, to get away from this hateful civilization, and live natural lives. Such a thing would be impossible with radio apparatus because even with the best beam transmission, all but a tiny fraction of the power is lost, and power is required to rebuild the atoms. When they had finished, she carried the tray to the shaft, slid it in a slot, and touched a button—thus disposing of the culinary cares of the morning. Five minutes later Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding and his pretty wife were in street clothes, light silk tunics of loose, flowing lines—little clothing being required in the artificially warmed city. They entered an elevator and dropped thirty stories to the ground floor of the great building. In five more minutes their car had whipped up to the base of another building, in the business section, where there was no room for parks between the mighty structures that held the unbroken glass roofs two hundred stories above the concrete pavement. Eric led Nada down a long, carpeted corridor to a wide glass door, which bore the words: COSMIC EXPRESS stenciled in gold capitals across it.
 They are looking for flint to make a fire.
 They are looking for dry sticks to rub together.  They are certain they will find tools.  They are looking for flint to make a fire.  They are looking for a cave.