He had been wearing an Armani suit when it happened. Of course, that hadn't lasted long. Roy Patterson vividly remembered one of those things plucking at his suit jacket as he had fought his way through the lobby of his upscale apartment building, leaving the shirt and tie behind once he had abandoned the Benz on the side of the road- he had to walk and the summer heat was stifling. Now it was just a sweat-stained undershirt, scuffed loafers, torn trousers. He had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now.
Then again, so had just about everyone else. As they crowded into the conference room in Halliwell Administration Hall- it had seemed like the logical place for a planning meeting- the stale air smelled of sweat, dirt, even the occasional whiff of dried blood from yesterday's battle against the walking dead. It had been a short but intense affair, shotguns and axes against teeth and grasping hands, but they had come out on top. Nathanson College belonged to the living now.
Now it was only a matter of what to do with it.
Not many people had seemed to come to this meeting, just a handful of the fifty-four people currently on campus. Everyone had been invited to attend, of course, but others had found work to do, burning corpses or digging latrines. Some wanted to look after their children. Others were just enjoying the first rest they had been able to snatch in the two weeks since the Cataclysm. Roy really couldn't blame them. Two weeks ago he had never realized exactly how much peace of mind a locked door could bring.
Roy reflexively touched at the lightswitch as he came in. Nothing happened, of course, the meeting would have to be lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The man had to remind himself that the power was off all over campus. So was the water, which was why they were out there digging latrines. And the telephones, the gas, the wifi, cell service. Nothing was being maintained.
In fact, the situation was downright medieval. Most people had only managed to flee with the clothes on their back, maybe a weapon and a few scraps of food if they were lucky. A few had brought more valuable equipment with them, tools and vehicles and such. The Japanese troops especially, although it was clear the foreigners didn't have enough to go around. Not by a long shot. Medicine, fuel, and ammunition were in short supply among the refugees, and it was unlikely they had enough food or potable water to last another day.
Roy had thought growing up in the East Side had been tough, but this was a whole new level of bad.
He went to sit down at the table, cursed softly at the metal digging into the small of his back. Roy reached back, carefully pulled out the Smith and Wesson 4506. Making sure the safety was on, he set it on the table in front of him. Roy hadn't carried a gun in that manner for years, not since he was a street-level clocker working a corner on Troost. Now he was pretty much back where he started. How the mighty have fallen.
Now able to sit comfortably, he was able to look around the room. He knew everyone there at least by name. They were a mixed bag, from every walk of life, some having come here from as far away as Washington or even Japan. It was beginning to look like this was everyone who was willing or able to attend this meeting.
"Well, someone's gotta say it," Royale Patterson said, his baritone voice breaking through the silence. "What the hell do we do now?"
Then again, so had just about everyone else. As they crowded into the conference room in Halliwell Administration Hall- it had seemed like the logical place for a planning meeting- the stale air smelled of sweat, dirt, even the occasional whiff of dried blood from yesterday's battle against the walking dead. It had been a short but intense affair, shotguns and axes against teeth and grasping hands, but they had come out on top. Nathanson College belonged to the living now.
Now it was only a matter of what to do with it.
Not many people had seemed to come to this meeting, just a handful of the fifty-four people currently on campus. Everyone had been invited to attend, of course, but others had found work to do, burning corpses or digging latrines. Some wanted to look after their children. Others were just enjoying the first rest they had been able to snatch in the two weeks since the Cataclysm. Roy really couldn't blame them. Two weeks ago he had never realized exactly how much peace of mind a locked door could bring.
Roy reflexively touched at the lightswitch as he came in. Nothing happened, of course, the meeting would have to be lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The man had to remind himself that the power was off all over campus. So was the water, which was why they were out there digging latrines. And the telephones, the gas, the wifi, cell service. Nothing was being maintained.
In fact, the situation was downright medieval. Most people had only managed to flee with the clothes on their back, maybe a weapon and a few scraps of food if they were lucky. A few had brought more valuable equipment with them, tools and vehicles and such. The Japanese troops especially, although it was clear the foreigners didn't have enough to go around. Not by a long shot. Medicine, fuel, and ammunition were in short supply among the refugees, and it was unlikely they had enough food or potable water to last another day.
Roy had thought growing up in the East Side had been tough, but this was a whole new level of bad.
He went to sit down at the table, cursed softly at the metal digging into the small of his back. Roy reached back, carefully pulled out the Smith and Wesson 4506. Making sure the safety was on, he set it on the table in front of him. Roy hadn't carried a gun in that manner for years, not since he was a street-level clocker working a corner on Troost. Now he was pretty much back where he started. How the mighty have fallen.
Now able to sit comfortably, he was able to look around the room. He knew everyone there at least by name. They were a mixed bag, from every walk of life, some having come here from as far away as Washington or even Japan. It was beginning to look like this was everyone who was willing or able to attend this meeting.
"Well, someone's gotta say it," Royale Patterson said, his baritone voice breaking through the silence. "What the hell do we do now?"