This Rotten World | Book 2 | Let It Burn

Before the whole world had died,she had been anti-gun. Working in an E.R. room will do that to you. She stillremembered the time when a three-year-old boy had come into the E.R. with halfof his face blown off, his tongue lolling freely where his jaw should havebeen, all because his dumbass, redneck father had left a loaded handgun lyingaround. That night was one of the ones that would always haunt her... alongwith every night that she had tried to sleep through for the last two weeks.She was glad America was a land of guns. She couldn't imagine how somecountries that banned gun ownership had fared. If it weren't for guns, shelikely never would have made it out of the hospital. They would have diedfleeing the Coliseum. Downstairs, they would have been sandwiched and eaten inthe lobby as soon as they opened the door to the stairwell. Guns were life.That's just the way it was.

Clara threw the door open, jarring Joan from herthoughts. Her thoughts had been overtaking her lately. Maybe that was a sign ofher breaking down. Chloe's tell was blasting bullet holes into whatever pissedher off; Joan's insanity was getting lost in the past, revisiting the worstmoments humanity had to offer, in an effort to make everything seem normal...just another day with murder, violence, and traumatic injuries.

She shook her head again, and they stepped into the emptyoffice. It was nice, but nothing special. A desk, a calendar on the wall, acouple of comfy looking office chairs. It was just an office. Joan moved aroundto the desk to rummage through the drawers. She avoided making eye contact withthe picture on the desk, and went straight for the first drawer. It slid openwith ease, and she ran her hands through some loose papers and some binderclips, nothing of real interest. She pushed the drawer shut, making sure thateverything was just as it was when she had opened the drawer, just in case theperson who worked here ever came back. It was a nice thought, completelyridiculous, but nice.

Next, she pulled open the bottom drawer. It was mostlyempty, but for a bottle of alcohol and a tiny jeweler's box. She pulled thealcohol out. It was a cheap bottle of whiskey, nothing special, but maybesomeone would like a sip from it. She felt like she could use one right now,but she decided to put it off until later, when they knew that they were safe.

She reached into the drawer and pulled out the jeweler'sbox. She already knew what was inside; she didn't even have to open it. She didanyway. It was beautiful. It was the type of ring that she had dreamed of herwhole life. It was then that she looked at the picture. A man and a woman, theman standing behind the woman, his arms wrapped around her. It was a cheesy photo,with one of those blurred-out, photography studio backgrounds. Out of all thethings she had seen that day, this one bothered her the most. She held the ringup to the light coming in from the window and tilted the box so that thesunshine would catch the diamonds.

"What do you have there," Clara asked as shesearched fruitlessly through the file cabinets.

"Nothing," Joan said. "Just an engagementring."

Clara looked over at it. "Hey, that's a nice one.You gonna try it on or what?"

Joan tried to smile at her, but she couldn't make ithappen. "No, I don't think so. It's not mine." The box closed with aclap, and then she shoved it inside the desk, leaving it just as it was. Sheclosed the drawer and stood, pointedly ignoring the picture on the desk. Sheturned to look out the window of the office, and then she quickly turned away.She couldn't escape the visions of destruction and death. The sky was hazy fromall of the fires burning in the city, and the streets were dotted with the deadshuffling.

They had to get out of the city. They had to get outbefore she turned into a complete wreck.

****

Lou walked the others through the third floor of theTeller & Associates building. He walked them the same way that Zeke hadwalked him through the apartment building they had escaped from, the one wherehe had executed his own father. They moved slowly, guns held in front of them,checking each corner. Blake was a natural. He had never said anything about hispast, but Lou was sure that Blake had done this before.

Katie and Mort were not naturals, but they were quiet atleast, Katie eerily so. He wondered what was going on in that gray matter ofhers. Most of all, he wondered if he could actually trust her. He would hate toget bit by one of those things only to have Katie end his life moments later,just as she had done with Brian and his little girl. There was no warning, no"sorry," just the blink of an eye and a life snuffed out. Lou wantedevery moment he could get. Maybe he'd have a talk with Katie once they made surethe building was clear.

They moved quickly through the cubicles, checking everywherefor signs of movement, sniffing the air for the telltale scent of the rottingdead. There was nothing. They reached the other side of the third floor,passing a break room, which Lou kept in the back of his head. Hopefully, theyhad a vending machine... and even more hopefully, that vending machine wasn'tfull of candy bars. He thought he could kill someone for a chance at a nicesteak. Maybe there would be some jerky. That would be close enough.

They spotted the stairwell sign and its picture of azig-zag line that was supposed to represent a stairwell. Lou opened the doorwhile Blake covered him. As soon as the door was thrown open, Lou popped intothe open doorway, his machine gun locked and loaded.

There was only air to shoot. He was thankful for that.Lou leaned his head over the stairwell rail and peered between the crack in themiddle. He could see nothing at the bottom of the stairs, and there was nonoise in the stairwell. More good news.

"There's nothing in