The Remnants of Yesterday by Anthony M. Strong Page A

didn’t see anything, but then my eyes settled on a motel a few hundred yards off the exit. On the roof of the office, a bed sheet was spread out, with one word written across it in big bold lettering.
    HELP.
     

 
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    THE PINELAND COURT MOTEL looked like it hadn’t received a fresh coat of paint in thirty years. The rooms, arranged in three blocks around a central parking lot, looked drab and old, with ugly under window air conditioners and walkways enclosed with rusted railings. Several of the bedroom doors stood open to various degrees, revealing black, murky interiors. A neon sign, now dark, sat atop a long metal pole next to the road. I wondered if it would work even if there were any power, which there clearly was not. It seemed like the whole state was out.
    Next to the motel, attached by a short connecting corridor, was a restaurant as dilapidated as the rest of the place. A painted sign mounted on the roof identified the place as Donny G’s Steakhouse and Diner – open 24 hours seven days a week. Faded posters in the window advertised such fare as $6.99 steaks, Meatloaf Tuesdays and a $3.99 cheeseburger. Ordinarily I avoided places like this, but right now, a cheap steak from a greasy spoon sounded like heaven on earth.
    The buildings appeared to be deserted. Apart from a couple of cars in the parking lot, and another with its front end crumpled into a lamppost in front of the restaurant, there was no sign of life. As we walked closer however, it became clear that something bad must have gone down at some point over the last two days.
    “Is that what I think it is?” Emily was the first to see the dark red smears on the glass doors of the registration area. Beneath them, on the concrete, a long wide streak led into the road and abruptly ended. A lone tennis shoe, once white but now stained crimson, lay on its side in silent testimony to the violent place the world had become in just forty-eight short hours.
    “I think so.” I hoped that whoever owned the shoe didn’t suffer much, but I had a feeling that they probably did. An image of Rob flashed into my mind, and his agonizing screams as he was torn limb from limb by the Crazies in the college quad.
    “It might not be safe here.” Clara looked around, nervous.
    “The blood’s not fresh, this happened a while ago,” I said. “And anyway whoever wrote that message on the roof might still be around.”
    “Or they could be the owner of that blood.”
    “A distinct possibility.” She had a point. Still, it seemed that we should at least try and find out. Besides, there was a restaurant next door, and that meant we could stock up on food and water, which we desperately needed. I stepped past the abandoned shoe and pulled on the office door. It rattled but didn’t open. “Locked.”
    “We should just take what we need and move on,” Clara said. “There’s no one here.”
    “Maybe.” I cupped my hands to the glass and peered through, careful to avoid the smeared blood, but the interior was so dark I could make out very little. I turned away from the door, disappointed. “Let’s check out the restaurant.”
    “Finally,” Emily said. “I’m starving.”
    The three of us made our way past the lobby parking area and across a rectangle of patchy grass to the restaurant.
    Clara immediately pulled on the double doors, shaking them. “These are locked too.”
    “We’ll have to find another way in,” I said. Maybe there was a service entrance, or even an open window.
    “No need.” Clara hoisted the tire iron and slipped it into the gap between the doors, just above the lock, and pushed sideways. The doors parted just a little but remained steadfast.
    She pushed again, grunting with the effort.
    For a moment I thought the doors would hold, but then they emitted a mighty creak, followed by a sharp crack, and swung inward.
    Clara grinned. “Voila.”
    “Wow.” I looked at her with newfound admiration. “Where did you learn to do