The Walking Dead_ The Road to Woodbury - By Robert Kirkman Page 0,58
and soap, and he convinces Lilly to move her things into the apartment over the dry cleaner, where they can take sponge baths and find temporary refuge from the cramped quarters of the camper. Lilly stays indoors most of the day, fervently writing diary entries on a roll of wrapping paper and planning her escape. Josh keeps a close eye on her. Something feels wrong—more wrong than he can articulate.
Scott and Megan are nowhere to be found. Lilly suspects that Megan, already growing bored with Scott, is prostituting herself for dope.
That afternoon Bob Stookey finds a couple of kindred spirits in the bowels of the racetrack, where a labyrinth of cinder-block storage facilities and service areas has been turned into a makeshift infirmary. While the cold-steel rain pummels the metal beams and stanchions of the arena above them—sending a dull, hissing, incessant drone down through the bones of the building—a middle-aged man and a young woman give Bob the grand tour.
“Alice here has been a quick study as a neophyte nurse, I have to say,” the man in the wire-frame reading glasses and stained lab coat comments, as he leads Bob and the young lady through an open doorway and into a cluttered examination room. The man’s name is Stevens, and he’s a trim, intelligent, wry sort who seems out of place to Bob in this feral town. The ersatz nurse, also in a hand-me-down lab coat, looks younger than her years. Her dishwater-blond hair is braided and pulled back from her girlish face.
“I’m still working at it,” the girl says, following the men into the dimly lit room, the floor humming with the vibrations of a central generator. “I’m stuck somewhere in the middle of second-year nursing school.”
“Both y’all know a lot more than I do,” Bob admits. “I’m just an old battle tech.”
“She had her baptism of fire last month, God knows,” the doctor says, pausing next to a battered X-ray machine. “Business was brisk down here for a while.”
Bob looks around the room, sees the bloodstains and the signs of chaotic triage, and he asks what happened.
The doctor and the nurse share an uneasy glance. “Changeover in power.”
“Excuse me?”
The doctor sighs. “Place like this, you see a kind of natural selection going on. Only the pure sociopaths survive. It’s not pretty.” He takes a breath, and then smiles at Bob. “Still, it’s good to have a medic around.”
Bob wipes his mouth. “Not sure how much help I’d be, but I gotta admit, it sure would be nice to lean on the skills of a real doctor for once.” Bob motions at one of the old, battered machines. “I see y’all got an old Siemens machine there, used to truck one of those around Afghanistan.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not exactly Bellevue but we’ve got the basics, scavenged them from area clinics … got infusion pumps, IV drips, a couple monitors, ECG, EEG … we’re light on the pharmacy, though.”
Bob tells them about the medicine he scavenged from Walmart. “You’re welcome to any or all of it,” he says. “I got a couple of spare doctor’s bags full of the usual. Got extra dressings, you name it. It’s yours, you need it.”
“That’s great, Bob. Where you from?”
“Vicksburg originally, was living in Smyrna when the Turn came. How about you folks?”
“Atlanta,” Stevens replies. “Had a small practice in Brookhaven before everything went to hell.”
“Also from Atlanta,” the girl chimes in. “Was going to school at Georgia State.”
Stevens has a pleasant look on his face. “You been drinking, Bob?”
“Huh?”
Stevens gestures toward the silver flask partially visible in Bob’s hip pocket. “You been drinking today?”
Bob lowers his head, crestfallen, ashamed. “Yessir, I have.”
“You drink every day, Bob?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hard liquor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bob, I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” The doctor pats Bob’s shoulder. “It’s none of my business. I’m not judging you. But can I ask how much you’re putting away every day?”
Bob’s chest tightens with humiliation. Alice gazes elsewhere for a moment, out of respect. Bob swallows his shame. “I have no earthly idea. Sometimes a couple of pints, sometimes a whole fifth when I can get it.” Bob looks up at the slender, bespectacled doctor. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me getting near your—”
“Bob, relax. You don’t understand. I think it’s fantastic.”
“Huh?”
“Keep drinking. Drink as much as possible.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You mind sharing a sip?”
Bob slowly pulls the flask, not taking his eyes off the doctor.
“Appreciate it.” Stevens takes the flask, nods a thank-you, and takes a pull. He wipes his