TWD: graham + clem
They'd checked all the damn doors on the main street of the town they were holed up in, and none opened out into the hotel. That day'd been real hard, after getting away from the prison and nearly dying more times than Clem could count, there'd been a whole lot of nothing but more rotting things.
The pharmacy'd looked empty enough, though, considering. A few walkers wandering inside, and Shane should have been able to take them easy, but turned out there was more than some. Running upstairs, that had been about surviving. Staying up there, it had been about the same. The door to the first level had been wide open, but the storage level above had been locked solid, and they'd found a couple in bed, pills emptied out on the nightstand and a knife on the mattress, one they'd used once they were numb. Dead folk that weren't walking around, and she wondered if it wasn't better that way, ending it your ownself instead of waiting to become like the things downstairs.
And them things downstairs, they were everywhere. Moving around day and night, and it wasn't like the prison, where the walls were thick. Every noise carried up into that townhouse above the pharmacy, even though they holed themselves up on the highest level.
The closets up there were empty, and the place was used for storing, not living. But it was clean enough, and that high-up the smell didn't carry so bad when Clem opened the windows. There was one bed, now those dead folks had been shoved out the window to splat below. Bedsheets tossed out too, and there were cleaning supplies. It was silly some, but Clem cleaned the Southern Baptist Hell out of that room, and it was worth the soreness in her be'slinged arm. Least the room felt clean, even if she didn't.
Truth was, they'd been running low on every damn thing. Wasn't much water left, and getting out to go on a run wasn't real wise, but they didn't have have much of a choice. If Graham didn't show real soon, they weren't ever seeing the back of this place anyway, and so Shane had gone and climbed out the window and onto the roof.
That was a whole two days earlier.
Worried as could b, she'd stopped feeling guilty over anything at all, and she'd started just being angry at every damn thing. Plaid shirt and shimmery micro-mini, and she didn't say a whole lot, too fussed for even hollering at the walls.
She just opened the window and sat on the ledge, like jumping was looking better and better each day, because it was.