"Attention, Please: All Residents on the Quarantine List, Hold Your ID Cards and Head to the Designated Location. Trucks Will Be Taking You to the Quarantine Zone Shortly!"
The usually bustling streets were filled with a mix of excitement and tension. Residents, clutching their ID cards and carrying large bags, walked with their heads held high and smiles plastered on their faces, exuding an air of triumph as they made their way to the military-designated assembly points. It was as if they were the chosen few, the lucky ones who had beaten the odds.
On either side of the street, crowds of people lined up, watching enviously as those in the middle of the road marched toward their uncertain futures. Some waved goodbye to friends and family, offering blessings and well-wishes.
"Goodbye!" Brian and Sarah stood on the sidelines, waving at Osborne and Kelly, who were part of the procession. They shouted their farewells, their voices mingling with the noise of the crowd.
It wasn't until Osborne and Kelly disappeared into the secured area, guarded by soldiers, that Brian and Sarah turned around and headed back. "Mr. Alman and his family are probably in the quarantine zone by now," Sarah said softly, her eyes glistening with tears as she linked her arm through Brian's. The thought of saying goodbye to so many people in one day was overwhelming.
"Yeah, they're definitely in there," Brian replied. He wasn't surprised that the Almans had made it in. In this apocalypse, medical personnel were invaluable. No one in their right mind would turn them away, especially not the government. He glanced up at the clear blue sky and murmured, "It's just the two of us again..."
Back at the RV, Brian and Sarah sat on the chairs, feeling a little out of place in the now-empty space. To keep their minds off things, they decided to pack up the essentials they'd need before leaving. Besides their bags, Brian prepared a larger travel bag, carefully disassembling the shotgun and packing it inside. He was grateful it was a short-barreled model; otherwise, it would have been impossible to bring along. The assault rifle, which had no bullets anyway, was left behind.
The problem was, if the soldiers checked their bags, the shotgun would be discovered easily. Brian thought long and hard but couldn't come up with a solution. He decided to put it off for now and deal with it later if he had to.
"Ah, well. There's still some beer in here. No one's gonna drink it, so might as well give it to old Antoine," Brian said, opening the fridge to clean it out. To his surprise, he found four or five bottles of beer inside. He sighed, grabbed them all, and headed over to Antoine's RV.
"Hey, Antoine! Open up! Check out what I've got for you!" Brian called out, knocking on the door. But there was no response. That was strange. Usually, even if Antoine was drunk, he'd at least grunt back.
"Did something happen to that old man?" Brian wondered, feeling a pang of unease. He peered through the window, but it was too dark inside to see anything. Remembering Antoine's odd behavior last night, he felt a growing sense of anxiety.
He quickly put down the beer, tried the RV door, and found it unlocked. As soon as he opened it, a rush of foul gas poured out, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. Brian knew something was wrong. He clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, stepped back quickly, and took a few deep breaths of fresh air.
"Are you okay?" Sarah, who had been packing inside the RV, stuck her head out when she heard the commotion. Seeing Brian leaning against the RV, gasping for air, she rushed over to him. "I'm... I'm fine," he managed to say after a few deep breaths.
Brian looked back at Antoine's RV. What was going on in there? If Antoine was still inside... He ran back to their RV, grabbed a clean cloth, soaked it in water, and told Sarah to stay back. Covering his mouth and nose with the damp cloth, he stepped back into Antoine's RV. The smell was overpowering, but the cloth helped a little.
The interior was a mess, with empty beer bottles scattered everywhere. On the bed, he saw a figure lying motionless. Brian's heart sank. He quickly opened all the windows to let in some air and moved toward the bed. Antoine was pale, his eyes closed, and his body rigid. He was dead, but his expression was peaceful, almost serene. He was holding a photo tightly in his hand, a small smile on his face.
Brian checked for a pulse, but there was none. He sighed inwardly, took the photo from Antoine's hand, and saw a young couple smiling happily. On the back was a recent message: "I'm coming to find you. We'll be together soon... right?"
"Name: Antoine. Age: 67. Cause of death: Suicide. Method: Carbon monoxide poisoning." Two uniformed police officers were taking notes beside Antoine's body outside the RV. After finishing their report, they retrieved a body bag from their patrol car, zipped Antoine inside, and carried him to the vehicle. They were efficient, having seen too many suicides in Dallas to be fazed by it. They also confiscated everything from the RV, as was standard procedure.
Brian and Sarah stood by, watching in silence. Their faces were expressionless, but their tightly intertwined hands betrayed their inner turmoil. "Kid, your name's Brian, right? The deceased left a letter for you," the female officer said, handing him an envelope before quickly getting back in the patrol car and driving away. Her behavior seemed odd, but Brian understood why—she didn't want him to ask for the stuff they'd taken.
Brian raised an eyebrow and opened the letter:
To Brian:
If you're reading this, it's probably you. Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. Truth is, I kinda liked you, kid, and I'm grateful for the time you spent with me. I've lived longer than I should have. Every day was a bonus, but I'm tired. I thought of my wife yesterday. She must be lonely. Maybe it's time I joined her.
Don't be sad. For me, this is a relief. Everything in this RV is yours now. Take whatever you need...
"Wishing you happiness up there!"
Brian folded the letter, feeling a pang of sadness. He looked up at the departing patrol car and understood why the officer had acted so strangely—she was afraid he'd demand the stuff back. But Brian didn't care much. Antoine lived off booze; he didn't have much worth taking. Besides, they had their food and ammo.
"Brian, look! There's another line at the bottom!" Sarah pointed out. Brian unfolded the letter again and saw a final message:
"I left a surprise under the bed. Don't let anyone else get it."
Brian was impressed. Antoine had anticipated the police would read the letter first and take everything before handing it to him, ignoring the last line.
"You old drunk, you're pretty sharp," Brian muttered, heading back to Antoine's RV. He lifted the mattress and found a hidden safe with a four-digit code. Remembering the date on the photo—07/12—he keyed it in. The safe opened smoothly.
But when he saw what was inside, he froze. The safe held two vials of liquid and a syringe. The label on the vials read: MORPHINE.