around.”
The two of them continued down the hallway toward the archway. “Let’s check there first,” Dan said.
They passed the doors quietly. Drew sniffed as they passed, pointing out that the smell was coming from the room on the right. Dan nodded and they pressed against the hallway as they approached the arch. The room beyond was empty, except for a bookcase, a writing desk, and a frumpy chair with a crane neck lamp attached to it.
A reading room?
There was one window overlooking the backyard. Dan looked out, seeing nothing but grass and trees, and a tiny section of 37 over the distant berm. Drew went over to the bookshelf, perusing the library.
“Anything good?” Dan whispered.
Drew shook his head, making a shitty face that pretty much answered the question. “Romance novels and Reader’s Digest shit.”
Dan grinned, turning to go back out into the hallway. But another bookcase along the back wall caught his eye. He leaned in to read the spines of the books. There were craft books, magazines, and other useless crap. But one book caught his eye; a physician’s guide to medications.
“Score!” he whispered, grabbing the book. He removed his backpack and placed the book inside, slinging it over his shoulder again. “We might need this in case we get sick or find some unknown shit.”
“Fucking pill popper,” Drew said.
They stepped back out into the hallway, both of them moving toward the smelly room that was now on the left side. Dan stood in front of the door as Drew reached for the handle from the side. He quickly turned the handle and pushed the door open. The gut-wrenching odor burst through, and Dan nearly doubled over. Drew gagged, and Dan stepped forward and peered inside, his nose closed shut with his right hand.
It was a bedroom—a sickroom. There was one dresser, a crucifix above it, and a hospital bed. Dan entered, keeping his eyes on the bed and the shotgun leveled. There was a woman lying there, dead as a doornail.
She was splayed out with her arms at her sides, her legs slightly open, and her head facing up. There was a blast of shit and piss smeared down toward her feet from underneath her gown, and her face was covered in vomit. Her eyes were open, and her mouth, devoid of her dentures, was gaping.
“It’s his wife,” Dan said. “I forget her name. She had cancer or some shit.”
Drew entered, holding his nose shut. “You were right,” he said, looking at the body with disgust. “Someone did shit themselves.”
There was an IV attached to her arm, and the area around the needle was bruised and cracked. She had been in pain for a long time, and the needle had likely not been moved for quite awhile. Dan felt sorry for her. In the few times he had met her, when she was doing well, she seemed like a nice lady. What a way to go.
Dan heard Drew open the dresser drawer behind him as he stared. The clanking of glass told him that Drew had found something. He turned to join him at the dresser, and his eyes widened as he saw the drawer’s contents.
There were five large bottles lined up neatly, with a bag of syringes behind them. “Morphine,” Drew said, reading the labels. “1000ml bottles.”
“We might need those if we get hurt,” Dan said, pulling off his backpack.
Drew grinned. “Yeah,” he said, skeptically, “if we get hurt.”
“Hey, if everything totally collapses, and there are no more doctors…”
“Right, right.”
There was one door remaining across the hall. Dan listened, hearing nothing, and opened it. It was another bedroom, cluttered and messy. There were posters on the wall of tractors, hunting supply stores, and various other manly things. Nothing of importance.
“Dennis probably slept here,” Dan said.
“Check under his bed,” Drew said. “I bet there’s ammo and a shotgun.”
Dan nodded, crouching down to peek underneath the frame. Sure enough, a shotgun was there. He reached out to grab it, examining it carefully. It was clean and
The two of them continued down the hallway toward the archway. “Let’s check there first,” Dan said.
They passed the doors quietly. Drew sniffed as they passed, pointing out that the smell was coming from the room on the right. Dan nodded and they pressed against the hallway as they approached the arch. The room beyond was empty, except for a bookcase, a writing desk, and a frumpy chair with a crane neck lamp attached to it.
A reading room?
There was one window overlooking the backyard. Dan looked out, seeing nothing but grass and trees, and a tiny section of 37 over the distant berm. Drew went over to the bookshelf, perusing the library.
“Anything good?” Dan whispered.
Drew shook his head, making a shitty face that pretty much answered the question. “Romance novels and Reader’s Digest shit.”
Dan grinned, turning to go back out into the hallway. But another bookcase along the back wall caught his eye. He leaned in to read the spines of the books. There were craft books, magazines, and other useless crap. But one book caught his eye; a physician’s guide to medications.
“Score!” he whispered, grabbing the book. He removed his backpack and placed the book inside, slinging it over his shoulder again. “We might need this in case we get sick or find some unknown shit.”
“Fucking pill popper,” Drew said.
They stepped back out into the hallway, both of them moving toward the smelly room that was now on the left side. Dan stood in front of the door as Drew reached for the handle from the side. He quickly turned the handle and pushed the door open. The gut-wrenching odor burst through, and Dan nearly doubled over. Drew gagged, and Dan stepped forward and peered inside, his nose closed shut with his right hand.
It was a bedroom—a sickroom. There was one dresser, a crucifix above it, and a hospital bed. Dan entered, keeping his eyes on the bed and the shotgun leveled. There was a woman lying there, dead as a doornail.
She was splayed out with her arms at her sides, her legs slightly open, and her head facing up. There was a blast of shit and piss smeared down toward her feet from underneath her gown, and her face was covered in vomit. Her eyes were open, and her mouth, devoid of her dentures, was gaping.
“It’s his wife,” Dan said. “I forget her name. She had cancer or some shit.”
Drew entered, holding his nose shut. “You were right,” he said, looking at the body with disgust. “Someone did shit themselves.”
There was an IV attached to her arm, and the area around the needle was bruised and cracked. She had been in pain for a long time, and the needle had likely not been moved for quite awhile. Dan felt sorry for her. In the few times he had met her, when she was doing well, she seemed like a nice lady. What a way to go.
Dan heard Drew open the dresser drawer behind him as he stared. The clanking of glass told him that Drew had found something. He turned to join him at the dresser, and his eyes widened as he saw the drawer’s contents.
There were five large bottles lined up neatly, with a bag of syringes behind them. “Morphine,” Drew said, reading the labels. “1000ml bottles.”
“We might need those if we get hurt,” Dan said, pulling off his backpack.
Drew grinned. “Yeah,” he said, skeptically, “if we get hurt.”
“Hey, if everything totally collapses, and there are no more doctors…”
“Right, right.”
There was one door remaining across the hall. Dan listened, hearing nothing, and opened it. It was another bedroom, cluttered and messy. There were posters on the wall of tractors, hunting supply stores, and various other manly things. Nothing of importance.
“Dennis probably slept here,” Dan said.
“Check under his bed,” Drew said. “I bet there’s ammo and a shotgun.”
Dan nodded, crouching down to peek underneath the frame. Sure enough, a shotgun was there. He reached out to grab it, examining it carefully. It was clean and
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