by Sean Patten
Not the most productive thing to concern myself with at the moment, I told myself.
The elevator was, of course, a no-go. But the stairwell led all the way up to the roof, and when I arrived I rushed through the door back into the cool, early evening air.
A big, stupid smile broke out across my face as I laid eyes on the parking garage ahead. Just like I’d seen from the other rooftop, the office building connected to the back of the parking garage, giving me access to Green Fields.
Time to move.
I hurried across the roof and onto the top floor of the parking garage. Dozens of cars sat uselessly, the expensive luxury automobiles nothing more than well-designed scrap. As I made my way down the levels, I found myself wondering how long it would take for nature to turn a sedan back into dirt.
Finally, I reached the bottom level. The coast was clear the whole way, and I found myself becoming practically giddy at the idea of beating the mob into the treatment center, inside which I’d find everything I’d need to get Steve fixed up. Sure, I’d still have the journey back to the substation to worry about, but that was a problem for later.
Here and now.
I emerged from the parking garage onto the green expanse of the treatment center complex. From where I stood I could only see the trees and grass and buildings of Green Fields, the place seeming like a small oasis in the middle of the desert.
A map of the place posted on a sign nearby let me know that the main building was where I needed to be. In there were all the dorms and medical facilities. If I was going to find some supplies, that’d be the first place to look. A service ladder went to the roof, and I hurriedly made my way over to it, then up.
Unlike the office buildings, the roof of the treatment center was slanted and more precarious to walk upon. I stuck out my arms like a tightrope walker as I made my way across. Once I reached the halfway point I could hear the clamoring of the crowd, that familiar soft roar. My curiosity got the better of me and I shuffled slowly across the Spanish tiles and took a quick glance over at the gate.
The crowd was still there, and had only grown since I’d first seen them. Just like at the mall, they were gathered in front of the steel bars of the gate, as if they’d collectively decided to try to force the gates down with nothing more than their sheer mass. I quickly ducked back out of cover before anyone had a chance to see me and put together how I’d gotten up on the roof.
It struck me as odd how no one was on the complex grounds—not a staff member or anyone who might’ve been a patient. But as I made my way over the roof and glanced down into the square windows, my question was answered. Down below, I saw staff scurrying here and there, all dressed in clean white outfits.
I’d need to find another way in—dropping down into one of the main halls would mean being instantly spotted. I could only guess how they’d react to someone breaking into the place.
I checked window after window, eventually finding one over the top of what looked to be a large, luxurious bathroom. After spending a few minutes watching the room and making sure no one was in there, I used my flashlight to crack the Plexiglas enough to break free a chunk large enough for me to carefully slip my hand in and open the latch.
Gingerly, I climbed down onto the top of the nearest stall, perching on it like a cat preparing to pounce. Once I felt good about my position, and confident there was no one else in the bathroom, I dropped down to the ground, my palms shooting out onto the cool tile floor.
The bathroom was spotless, the counters a gorgeous white marble, the hardware a gleaming gold. One look at this room was enough to determine that this treatment center wasn’t for your run-of-the-mill junkies.
Without thinking, I rushed over to the faucets and turned on the tap, washing my hands before bringing scoop after scoop of cold, delicious water to my mouth. Once I’d had my fill, I washed the dirt from my climb off my face and arms and let the water settle.
But I didn’t have too long to relax. Right at the moment I began formulating a plan, the doors to the bathroom flung open.
I was no longer alone.
Chapter 13
I rushed into one of the open stalls right at the moment a pair of orderlies entered the bathroom. As slowly as I could, I closed the door and locked it shut. Then I listened for a moment, making sure that neither of the men who’d entered had heard me.
“Holy shit,” said one of them, a man with a gruff voice that sounded more suited for the marines than as a hospital orderly. “You see those people out there?”
“No,” the second man drawled. “I didn’t notice the hundreds of people out in front of the gate.”
“Shut up, smart-ass,” said the other. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Yeah, I get it. Shit’s crazy—I thought we’d have at least a few days before they started swarming the place.”
“A few days?” said the other. “You think this is going to last that long?”
“Man, I don’t know how many times I got to tell you—this isn’t temporary. The lights are off for good.”
“No way. I bet the government’s got some plan for how to fix the power. Not a chance that they’re just going to let it stay like this.”
The second man laughed. Under the stall I watched as the two men took position at the stalls on the far end of the bathroom.
“Listen, the faster you get it into your head that no one’s coming to help us, the better. No army, no police, no nothing. And the fucked-up thing is that they’d been warning us about this for days. No one wanted to pay attention, I guess.”
“Hey, you’re still here. Why the hell didn’t you leave?”
“And do what? I make the same amount you do—not like I’m going to build a bunker in the woods on my salary.”
The two men both began peeing at the same time. I considered the possibility of opening the stall and making a run for it.
Nah, too risky. I hoped that neither of them would glance up and see the giant smash through the ceiling window. Last thing I needed was the staff knowing someone had broken in. God knows what they’d do to me if they found me.
“Whatever,” the first man said, both of them finishing up their peeing at about the same time. “Not like it’s going to do any good worrying about that now.”
“Right,” the other said as they stepped over to the sinks. “Top priority now is deciding on what the hell to do when those people break down that gate. ’Cos I figure that once they ransack the place and take what little we have they’re going to get real testy, real fast.”
“I saw we start shooting,” said the first man. “Drop a couple with those guns in the security station and let ’em know who’s in charge.”
“That’d just piss ’em off,” the other said as they washed up. “There’s what, fifty of us? And a few hundred of them?”
“Fuck. You’re right. We’re screwed, huh?”
“Nah. We’re good for now—this place is about as locked-up tight as a damned castle. We hold the doors and we should be able to hold out long enough to scram if it comes to that. When it comes to that.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right. But if I catch any of those shitheads sneaking in here I’m gonna drop the prick before he even knows what hit him.”
“Right there with you.”
Then the doors opened and the men left. Relief poured through me as I hopped off the toilet rim where I’d been standing.
I let the conversation play in my mind, picking out the important bits of information. From what they’d said, I gleaned that the place did have supplies, that there were weapons in the security station, and that the staff was likely not going to greet me with a warm welcome if they happened to spot me lurking around the halls.
I had to move quietly, and fast. Medical supplies were what I needed, but the thought of getting to the security station, of getting my hands on a weapon, was extremely tempting.
Then again, the idea of getting brained by some overgrown orderly was enough to k
eep me on task.
After a couple deep, steadying breaths, I slowly opened the bathroom door and poked my head into the hall. Just like the bathroom, the hallway was immaculate, all gold and white marble, looking more like a classical arts museum than a hospital. And most importantly, it was clear.
I stepped out and ran across to one of the open doors, which led to a break room. Dead TVs hung on the walls near vending machines that dispensed wholesome, high-end snack foods instead of the chips and candy bars that one would normally expect. My stomach growled at the sight of them, and for a few seconds I considered going to work with my flashlight and having a little buffet. But the thought of the noise attracting the staff made me think better of it.
The room was safe, but I couldn’t stay there forever.
I searched around the place, looking for anything that might help me find what I was looking for.
After searching through a few nearby drawers, I hit jackpot—a brochure for the clinic that contained a map of all three stories. I gave it a quick read, finding that I was on the third floor, which was comprised mostly of staff rooms, offices and conference areas. The second floor was the patients’ quarters, and the first was all administrative, along with visitors’ rooms.
The basement was what I was looking for—room after room labeled with what, at that moment, was about the sweetest word I could think of: supplies.
The security station was on the first floor, and I made a mental note of it as I stuffed the brochure into my pocket and made my way back to the hallway.
Once I made sure the coast was still clear, I rushed down the opposite end, past the well-appointed conference rooms with windows that looked out over the grounds.
Fancy place. I had a wry chuckle at the idea of addicts hanging out in a home that was nicer than any I’d ever lived in.
No time to think about all that. I made my way down the halls to the stairs that led down. After checking that the coast was clear once again, I started down.
Once I reached the second floor, I realized to my dismay that the stairs only went down one level. I checked my map, which confirmed the information. Sure enough, the stairs that I needed, the ones that accessed all three floors and the basement, were on the other side of the building.
Shit. I’d have to cut across the patient’s quarters. My goal was to stay out of sight, and I was about to go through the one part of the building where I’d be most likely to be seen.
No sense in crying about it. I opened the door to the second level and stepped through, my jaw nearly dropping at what I saw.
However nice the top floor was, the second made it look like a dump. It was a vast, open space adorned with white marble sculptures of human figures, leafy green plants all along the walls. Large, gold-framed paintings of landscape scenes were hung here and there, and grand fountain in the center of the space no longer flowed, but still shimmered with fresh, clean water.
It was like a little slice of heaven—and likely not a bad place to hide out from the end of civilization.
No time to ogle, though.
I started into the main room, my footsteps echoing through the space. No one was around—no patients, no orderlies, no nothing. Two hallways led down to the other side of the floor, and after checking the map and seeing that they were identical, I choose the one on the right.
The moment I stepped down the hallway I stopped in my tracks, totally shocked. On both sides of me, behind large, rectangular windows, were the patients of Green Fields. And it was a who’s-who of the Hollywood elite.
I spotted actors and actresses, singers and models. All of them were dressed in clean white outfits, most milling around the well-appointed common spaces like listless zoo animals. A few looked to be in the throes of withdrawal, restlessly pacing or seated in cushioned chairs, their arms wrapped around their legs as they rocked back and forth.
To my surprise, not one of them seemed to give a damn that I was there. They were all wrapped up in their own little worlds, and the few that even paid me the slightest bit of attention regarded me as more of a curiosity than anything else.
It was eerie as hell. One would think that these people would be banging at the glass, demanding to be let out. I wondered if they even knew what was going on, or if maybe they were so used to their lives of privilege and comfort that going out into the world as it had become, where their celebrity would mean less than nothing, was simply too much for them to bear.
Not my problem. Once I’d gotten over the shock of seeing the famous penned up, I continued on. The stairs were at the end of the hall, and once I passed the common rooms I began to move past the individual suites.
Inside the rooms, which looked more like modern apartments than hospital rooms, were more patients, most of them lounging, reading, or simply staring out of the windows. A few were panicked like spooked animals, but none of them seemed to be overly concerned with the world outside their windows.
Right as I reached the end, however, a hard bang jolted me out of my focus. I turned in the direction of the noise to see a bearded face at one of the door’s viewing windows.
At first, I wasn’t sure who I was looking at. Then it hit me—the man was Whorley Grit, a famous country singer known for his wholesome songs about life in Appalachia. I’d only heard a few of his tunes, but the man’s image was squeaky-clean. He was about the last person I’d expect to be in a drug treatment facility. Sure enough, a closer look at his beard revealed the trademark streak of silver hair.
“Hey!” he shouted, his big brown eyes wide. “You there!”
I dumbly pointed to my chest.
“No, the guy behind you! Yeah, you!”
Part of me knew I should’ve kept moving, but another, curious part of me didn’t want to do that before finding out what he wanted.
I stepped over to the door.
“What?” I asked.
“You!” he said, his eyes still wild. “You’re not one of the staff, right?”
“Do I look like I am?”
“No, you don’t—that’s why I called your ass over. What the hell are you doing here?”
“What difference does it make to you?” I hissed, bristling at his demanding tone.
“What difference does it make?” he asked. “I’m paying ten thousand a week to be in this joint—makes a damn big bit of difference who’s wandering around the halls!”
I realized I didn’t feel like getting the third degree, and started to head off.
“Wait!” he said. “Come back!”
“No time,” I said. “Got shit to do.”
“I can help! Just get back over here, please!”
Far be it from me to walk away from someone in need. Despite my better instincts, I turned back towards the door.
“You can help me?” I asked. “You don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“Listen,” he said. “This place is ridiculous. The power’s been out for almost a day because of that pulse or whatever the fuck, and they’re keeping us looked up in here like prisoners.”
“They’re not letting you leave?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “Telling us it’s for our own good. Now, that might be just fine and dandy for the addicts here who only give a good goddamn about their next hit of methadone, but a man like me doesn’t take too kindly to being cooped up in here.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?” I asked. “You might be better off in here.”
“Not a chance,” he said. “I’m in good with some of the staff, and they’re letting me know about all the bullshit going on out there.”
“And you still want out?”
“I told you!” he said. “Being free out there is better than being stuck and safe in here. I’m a country boy, for Christ’s sake—I need my open spaces!”
“Get to the part where you help me out,” I said.
He nodded, pleased that I was still paying attention.
“What’s your story?” he asked. “You
break in to get at some of the junk?”
“No,” I said quickly, maybe a touch offended that he’d thought I was some junkie. “Just need some medical supplies. My brother’s hurt—I need some antibiotics, a first aid kit, all that.”
His eyes lit up.
“Then brother, you came to the right place. Problem is the staff on the first floor’s got the place locked up tight. And that means you’re gonna need two things—keys, and a way to get past the staff downstairs without getting spotted.”
“And you can help me with that?”
“You bet your ass I can,” he said. “And all I want in exchange is for you to get this God-dang door open. Deal?”
I stepped back and thought it over.
“I’m telling you,” he said. “You’re not going to get far without my help. I’d bet you anything they’ve got the bottom level padlocked from the main stairs—you’ll need to go in through the maintenance door, and that’s on the other side of the first floor. And I can tell you where to get it.”
It sounded too good to be true.
“How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick?”
“Aw, hell,” he said, swiping his hand through the air. “What kind of trick would I be pulling? I just want to get the hell out of here and back to West Virginia.”
I considered the matter. If the first floor was as secure as he said, there wasn’t a chance I’d be able to sneak through. And even if I did, I wouldn’t get far without the keys.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
A million-dollar smile spread across his face.
“Brother, you just made about the smartest decision of your life.”
I hoped he was right.
Chapter 14
Back on the third floor, I kicked down the door to the administrator’s office. The room was a mess, papers strewn here and there and furniture overturned. A large painting opened like a door over the desk, revealing a hidden safe that was totally empty. It looked like the head of this place had gotten out of here in a hurry, taking whatever he thought was important along with him.