Them or Us

cell, covering his head.
    “Get out of here,” I shout at him. “Run!”
    He doesn’t move, doesn’t even react. The kid’s catatonic, and I know I can’t waste any more time here. I double back and head straight for the entrance I used to get to Rona Scott’s office previously, figuring that’s as good a place as any to shelter. The main door has been left unlocked, and I slip into the building unseen. I close it behind me, then lean up against it, panting hard and listening for sounds of movement, conscious that my noise is now filling this otherwise empty place.
    The guard’s station in the reception area has been abandoned. The desk is empty, and behind it I find a dirty sleeping bag lying among crushed soda cans, food wrappers, and an empty liquor bottle. The scavenger in me takes over and I quickly check through the mess, but the only things I find of any value are a pathetically weak long-handled flashlight, some scraps of clothing, and half of the packet of candy I used to bribe the guard with the other day. Looks like he was rationing himself and he didn’t get to finish them before either duty called or he fled.
    I shout out just in case I’m not alone.
    “Hello. Is anybody there?”
    I’m relieved when no one answers. The last thing I want is to be trapped here with Rona Scott or any of Hinchcliffe’s other cronies. I do hear something in another part of the building, and I remain still as I try to make it out. It’s a quiet, indistinct scurrying noise, and I lose track of it when Ankin’s helicopter returns and flies overhead again. It was probably just rats. Vermin have learned to hide in places like this where they’re away from the bulk of the population but still close enough to hunt for scraps. Back in the main part of town and the surrounding areas, rodents are often hunted out for food. It’s as if our places on the lower levels of the food chain have become interchangeable.
    This place will have to do. With a little luck I can hide out here until the situation outside either blows over or comes to a head when Ankin’s army inevitably breaches the gates. I can bide my time, then get out of town along the beach as I’d originally planned.
    I retrace my steps up to where I found Rona Scott when I was last here, back toward the room where she confirmed my death sentence a few days ago. Christ, is that all it’s been, a few days? So much has happened that it feels like a lifetime ago now. That thought makes each step I climb feel like it takes ten times the effort. How much closer am I to my inevitable end now than when I was last here? Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Constantly wondering how long is left?
    I check the room where I found Scott before. It’s dark, the blinds half drawn, and to my relief she’s not here. I go inside and look through the clutter on the table for food, pausing when I hear muffled shouting in the far distance, followed by gunfire and a high-pitched scream, sounding like a lynch mob catching up with its target. I turn around and jump with shock and surprise when I see the little girl I saw here previously. She’s still strapped to her seat, sitting bolt upright and staring at me in abject terror.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her, and even though she probably doesn’t believe me, I mean it. She doesn’t react, too scared even to move. I approach her cautiously, not wanting her to panic or start screaming or do anything that might alert people to the fact I’m here. She doesn’t flinch as I kneel down in front of her. “You need to go. There are people outside who’ll hurt you. When you get out there, just run.”
    I touch her wrist to undo the first of the bindings that hold her to the chair, and she doesn’t even move when I brush against her skin. She’s as cold as the room we’re in. I look into her face again. Her eyes are still focused on the same point in the distance. I shake her shoulder and wave my hand in front of her face, but it’s no use. By the looks of things she’s been dead for a while.
    Upstairs, Rona Scott’s “clinic” is also empty. I have a quick, halfhearted search around for vials of drugs that look anything like the steroids Ankin’s doctor gave me, but I know I’m wasting my time. I find a two-thirds-full bottle of aspirin tablets and I shove them into my coat pocket. Maybe I’ll take a couple if the pain gets too bad. Then again, if the pain gets that bad maybe I’ll just