Survivors by Z. A. Recht Read Free Book Online Page B

entered, shut the swinging doors behind them, and secured them well.
    This building had become their home, their fortress, and most important, their last, best hope at defeating the Morningstar strain. Over the past several weeks the survivors had settled in. The main entryway, once open and inviting with wide windows and double doors, had been completely reworked. Two-by-fours had been bolted neatly across the window frames, sealing them completely shut. The doors themselves had been reinforced with chain mesh and a folding steel bar to lock them firmly in place.
    The result was a much dimmer but safer entryway. Candles weren’t hard to come by. No one had used them much before the pandemic, and yet almost every house or place of business had a bundle hidden away somewhere. They were now being put to good use. Here and there a pillar of wax sat burning away, giving the entryway a flickering, shadowy ambience.
    Originally meant as a reception area, it still bore the marks of its previous incarnation. A few inspirational posters hung on the walls, and a long-dead office plant sat neglected in a corner next to a smaller and green plastic one. Chairs and couches meant for clients had been dragged into a rough circle off to the side, leaving a clear aisle between the exit and the hall that led deeper into the facility.
    A stack of old magazines and tabloids was scattered across the only coffee table in the room. Lounging near the unruly pile with her feet propped up on the table was a slight Japanese girl, thumbing her way through a copy of The Week . She wore her hair short, and had bright, intelligent eyes. She spared Trev and Brewster a glance. “How’d you make out?” she asked.
    “I see you’re making good use of your time, Juni,” said Trev, nodding at the magazines. “As for the run—mostly medicines,” Trevor said, shrugging his pack higher on his shoulders. “I’m not sure about some of them, though.”
    “They’re expired,” Brewster added.
    “Hmm,” shrugged Juni, flipping a page. “Becky’ll be happy about that.”
    “What’s Becky’s personal weather forecast looking like today, Juni?” Brewster asked. “Sunny? Stormy?”
    Juni peered at him from behind the pages of her magazine. “Partly cloudy.”
    “Great,” said Brewster, sighing. Rebecca, a young woman who was pretty as a picture, but one that had become rather volatile, was something of a mystery to the group. One moment she was enthusiastic and helpful, and the next, taciturn and short-tempered.
    “I’d get those supplies to her, though,” Juni said, dropping the magazine on her lap. “She’s probably on her way down to meet the Doc right now.”
    “We’re on it,” Trevor said, slapping Brewster on the shoulder. “Let’s go, bud.”
    “See you around, beautiful,” said Brewster, grinning at Juni. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the stack of magazines in front of her. Then, just as quickly, she called out: “When do you think Sherman’ll let me go out with you two? I hate just sitting here.”
    Trev and Brewster exchanged glances and kept on moving deeper into the facility. Juni was becoming a broken record about going on scavenging runs.
    A long hallway ran away from reception and led to a four-way intersection. Three of the halls were flanked by offices, most of which had been taken over as personal living spaces and personalized in one way or another. It would help with the group’s morale, Sherman had said, if they were allowed a little leeway. Brewster had noted that the survivors had taken a kind of pride in adding their own touches to their rooms.
    A door with a welded Celtic knot design emblazoned on it marked Jack the Welder’s room. He’d found quite a treasure trove in the industrial park next door. He was forever sculpting this or that out of spare bits of metal, owing to his profession and, he said, his aspirations as an artist.
    The next room was Mitsui’s, the Japanese contractor, and