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to it read, of
"Sanitized for your protection". Beneath it the water was long gone.
Drinking glasses on the basin were also sealed tight.
J.B.
reached over and turned one of the chromed taps, not surprised see that
nothing happened. No leaking to drops of rusty water. No hissing and gurgling
in the pipes. No skittering insects.
"J.B., come look in here!"
Quick and light as a cat, the Armorer darted across the corridor. Finn was in
the doorway of an identical room, with Lori and Doc at his elbow.
"What?"
"Couple of chills. In the bed."
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J.B. stepped past him, his eyes surveying the place. The thick shades were
down almost to the bottom, letting in little light. But there was enough to
see the two leering skeletons in the bed on the right. There were a couple of
open valises on the floor and several empty bottles on the table, two glasses
next to them.
Doc pushed past the Armorer, straight to the smaller table at the head of the
bed.
He picked up a white plastic container and shook it to show it was empty.
Peering at the label, he replaced it where it was.
"What is it?" asked Lori.
"Morphine derivative. Very strong sleeping tablets. There were some fifty or
so, I
would hazard guess. Now there are none."
a
"They chilled themselves?"
"Yes."
Finnegan whistled. "I can't ever figure someone doing that."
The old man patted him gently on the shoulder. "That is a sad comment on the
times in which we live and the life that you must lead, my dear young friend.
You must be aware that when civilization ended, it was not utterly unexpected.
There was a time of warning for some. Only for some."
"Some ran," said J.B.
"One day, Mr. Dix, I shall entertain you with the tale of the man who had an
appointment in Samarra. You can run faster than the wind, but Death will
always o'ertake you. These two had warning, and they chose to die together, in
each other's arms, perhaps with some good corn liquor to warm their passing.
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It was a more dignified departure from life than many enjoyed."
"That is sad," Lori said quietly.
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"Yeah. Let's leave 'em," agreed Finnegan, leading them out of the suite of
death.
RYAN AND KRYSTY found bodies in half a dozen rooms in the Holiday Inn of
West Lowellton. Most were in the beds.
Not all.
One skeleton was in the bathtub. The pale pearlized sides were streaked with
clotted black marks, thick around the top. In the bottom, almost hidden by the
slumped pelvis, was a slim razor blade, its edges dulled with the long-dried
blood.
The skull hung forward, drooping in a final disconsolate slump. Shreds of long
gray hair were still pasted to the ridges of the head.
The right hand, which had been dangling outside the tub, had become detached
and lay in an untidy heap of carpals and phalanges on top of an open book.
"What is it?" asked Ryan.
Krysty stooped to pick it up, keeping her finger between the open pages. "The
Bible. Whoever it was got in a warm tub and opened up his or her veins. Uncle
Tyas McNann told me it was how the old Greeks and Romans used to take their
lives."
"What chapter was he or she reading?" Krysty examined the heading that the
dead fingers had marked, stumbling over some of the unfamiliar language. "It's
from the New Testament the First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the
Corinthians."
"Who were they?"
"Some old Romans or Greeks, I guess, lover. It's open at chapter thirteen."
"Read a little, Krysty."
The girl began, her voice rising with the mouth-filling phrases of the King
James text. "But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in
part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood
as a child, I
thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish things. For
now
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we see through a glass, darkly.'"
She stopped there, turning her face to his, and he saw the tears streaking her
cheeks. "One day, Krysty& " he said.
THEY MET UP AGAIN in the lobby about half an hour later. All were subdued by
the macabre experience of touring the luxurious mausoleum.
Lori had been crying, and Doc Tanner was showing worrisome signs of retreating
once more into a catatonic madness. His eyes had become hooded, as if they'd
been painted with a thin veil of beeswax. Occasionally he would mutter.
"Madness," or "Oh, the horror of it all& . The bastards! Insane, criminal
bastards!"
Ryan took them to the kitchen, gave everyone a torch and showed them how to
prime them with the pushbutton. He and Finn and J.B. took a spare light to
hang on their belts. He and Krysty also showed everyone the supplies of food.
It seemed like there'd be no way of heating anything up, but Finn went
fossicking around the storage closets, emerging with a red cylinder of camping
gas. Lori teetered off and brought in pans of discolored water from the
streams around the motel, heating them and tipping in the unappetizing
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powders, stirring them to form a bland thick soup. Krysty added some salt and
pepper from the metal condiment containers on the tables in the
Atchafalaya Dining Room.
Finnegan disappeared through the heavy doors of the Cajuns' Bar, which were
covered with shreds of rotted maroon velvet, He returned with a dozen bottles
in his arms.
They sat and drank, mostly in silence. Some of the wine 'was still drinkable,
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