as Al pulled his hand from beneath the water. Carl and Riley took turns washing their hands, the sink was filthy and dark when they were done, but their hands were still stained. Riley's nose wrinkled but she didn't say anything as she dried her hands on the worn, once white towels.
Riley held his arm as Carl carefully applied the ointment and loosely bandaged it. The thing hurt like hell but even still he refused the pain medication Riley offered him. "It will make me hazy and lethargic, two things none of us can afford to be right now."
"You can't stay in pain, and we'll keep you covered," she protested.
"I can't take the chance of something happening and not being prepared." He used his good hand to enfold hers over the pills she held. "I'll be fine."
She looked about to protest further but John suddenly stepped away from the door, held his finger to his lips, and gradually closed it. Al and Riley exchanged a look as Carl dropped his brutalized hat on the old bureau, grabbed his gun from the top of it and hurried to the door. "What is it?" Carl demanded in a low voice.
"People," John whispered.
Al forgot all about his throbbing hand as he exchanged a look with Riley and walked over to the window. Carl grabbed hold of Rochelle's hand and pulled it away from the curtains as John pressed his eye against the peep hole. "I think they're going by," he muttered.
"How is anyone driving in that rain?" Carl asked.
"They're not driving."
Carl did a double take. "They're walking ?"
"Well they're not flying," John retorted.
Carl glowered at him before walking to the edge of the picture window and pulling the curtain back a hairsbreadth. Al grabbed hold of the curtain and kneeling down peered out a small sliver at the bottom. Riley bent beside him and pressed her head to his. Thanks to the overhang most of the water had been kept from the glass, but even so some had splashed onto it, and if the smudges and dirt were any indication it hadn't been cleaned in months, possibly years. It was hard to see anything through it, but eventually he focused on what had caught John's attention.
Riley's hand curled around his shoulder as through the dirt and rain she spotted the group of twenty or so people plodding down the road. Though the people in the group had their heads bent, they gave no indication that they were even aware of the rain as they trudged stalwartly on through the black puddles and streams that flowed down the asphalt.
They didn't look at the hotel, didn't even glance at the vehicles, but simply continued down the road. "What are they doing?" Rochelle inquired.
"Shh," John admonished.
A cold chill began to work its way down Al's spine as the people moved out of sight. "That can't be all the people from the town," Carl said.
"No, definitely not," Riley confirmed as she released his shoulder and sat on the bed.
"Why didn't they even look over here?" John demanded.
"We didn't plan to come here before the rain started. I can almost feel the bedbugs in this place," Carl reminded him as he released the curtain and Riley rose off the bed. "Just so it's on record, and I am making myself clear, I hate this town. Hate it."
"I second that," Lee said as he walked over and sat on the other full bed.
"Creepy ass people." Rochelle sat next to Al and squeezed his good hand.
Carl placed his gun down on the worn looking, rickety nightstand and nodded toward the door. "Open that back up, we'll have a better angle with it open."
Al rubbed absently at his bandaged hand as John cracked the door open. The scent of rain filled the room, but it was laced with more than the odor he was familiar with. He didn't believe it was nuclear fallout, or at least he didn't want to believe it, but there was something almost dirty about it.
John slid back into the room and closed the door again. "There's more coming." Al looked up as Carl grabbed his gun from the nightstand. "A lot more."
CHAPTER 7
John
Franklin, Mass.
His hold on the gun
Riley held his arm as Carl carefully applied the ointment and loosely bandaged it. The thing hurt like hell but even still he refused the pain medication Riley offered him. "It will make me hazy and lethargic, two things none of us can afford to be right now."
"You can't stay in pain, and we'll keep you covered," she protested.
"I can't take the chance of something happening and not being prepared." He used his good hand to enfold hers over the pills she held. "I'll be fine."
She looked about to protest further but John suddenly stepped away from the door, held his finger to his lips, and gradually closed it. Al and Riley exchanged a look as Carl dropped his brutalized hat on the old bureau, grabbed his gun from the top of it and hurried to the door. "What is it?" Carl demanded in a low voice.
"People," John whispered.
Al forgot all about his throbbing hand as he exchanged a look with Riley and walked over to the window. Carl grabbed hold of Rochelle's hand and pulled it away from the curtains as John pressed his eye against the peep hole. "I think they're going by," he muttered.
"How is anyone driving in that rain?" Carl asked.
"They're not driving."
Carl did a double take. "They're walking ?"
"Well they're not flying," John retorted.
Carl glowered at him before walking to the edge of the picture window and pulling the curtain back a hairsbreadth. Al grabbed hold of the curtain and kneeling down peered out a small sliver at the bottom. Riley bent beside him and pressed her head to his. Thanks to the overhang most of the water had been kept from the glass, but even so some had splashed onto it, and if the smudges and dirt were any indication it hadn't been cleaned in months, possibly years. It was hard to see anything through it, but eventually he focused on what had caught John's attention.
Riley's hand curled around his shoulder as through the dirt and rain she spotted the group of twenty or so people plodding down the road. Though the people in the group had their heads bent, they gave no indication that they were even aware of the rain as they trudged stalwartly on through the black puddles and streams that flowed down the asphalt.
They didn't look at the hotel, didn't even glance at the vehicles, but simply continued down the road. "What are they doing?" Rochelle inquired.
"Shh," John admonished.
A cold chill began to work its way down Al's spine as the people moved out of sight. "That can't be all the people from the town," Carl said.
"No, definitely not," Riley confirmed as she released his shoulder and sat on the bed.
"Why didn't they even look over here?" John demanded.
"We didn't plan to come here before the rain started. I can almost feel the bedbugs in this place," Carl reminded him as he released the curtain and Riley rose off the bed. "Just so it's on record, and I am making myself clear, I hate this town. Hate it."
"I second that," Lee said as he walked over and sat on the other full bed.
"Creepy ass people." Rochelle sat next to Al and squeezed his good hand.
Carl placed his gun down on the worn looking, rickety nightstand and nodded toward the door. "Open that back up, we'll have a better angle with it open."
Al rubbed absently at his bandaged hand as John cracked the door open. The scent of rain filled the room, but it was laced with more than the odor he was familiar with. He didn't believe it was nuclear fallout, or at least he didn't want to believe it, but there was something almost dirty about it.
John slid back into the room and closed the door again. "There's more coming." Al looked up as Carl grabbed his gun from the nightstand. "A lot more."
CHAPTER 7
John
Franklin, Mass.
His hold on the gun
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