A World Apart

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Stella

Maybe she's unconscious.

Right away my mind tries to justify the scene before me. The messy booth. The spilled drinks. The woman with pale skin slumped over it all. Any possibility of her being alive is discarded when a man comes over and places a hand against her neck.

"Hey, Merle! We got another O.D. over here!"

"Just toss her out back with the other bodies," a man behind the bar responds.

Less than a minute inside and I'm already itching to leave. I look to Joey. Unlike me his attention isn't focused on the woman being carried away. His eyes are on the table and the bits and pieces that are scattered across it. Torn up portions of tin foil and a glass pipe that's so scorched it's practically been dipped in black paint. Beside it is a little clear bag with murky crystals inside.

This is definitely not the place for a recovering drug addict.

Logan looks back at me, a shared level of concern creasing the lines of his skin. This is no place for him either. We've barely crossed the threshold and the amount of alcohol available is already ludicrous.

I can't say I'm particularly surprised a place like this exists. Somewhere for people to go who want to spend the rest of their days locked in a happy blur. It's a tempting retirement plan. Who knows. If I don't find Max I might end up here. There's little else I can see myself doing, and there are worse ways to spend your remaining days. I decide I'll keep this place shelved in my mind as a backup plan. If it's still standing tomorrow.

"There's gotta be at least a hundred people in here," Logan says, craning his neck to look around.

He isn't wrong. Even pre-infection this place would be considered crowded. The mass of people shuffling between these walls is pretty much unheard of now. In fact, this could be the largest congregation of living people in the entire United States.

"We'll be out of here faster if we split up," Logan tells us. "Probably have better luck just asking for a lift north than anything else, too."

I don't even have time to give him a doubtful look before he's off, gone amidst the crowd of people. It isn't that I don't trust him . . . well, actually, it's entirely because I don't trust him that I would have preferred we split into pairs, so our two substance abusers have at least one responsible person with them.

While Logan is off who knows where, I can at least delegate Gale to look after Maisie while I keep an eye on Joey. I tell Gale not to worry so much about asking people for a lift north and to mainly focus on keeping Maisie somewhere she won't get into trouble. In the meantime Joey and I will be the beggars.

We haven't even started walking in the direction of the bar and he's already suggesting to me that we get a drink. I glare back at him.

"Do you seriously think we have time for fun, Joey?" I ask.

"Come on," he shrugs back at me. "When are we ever gonna get another chance like this?"

He must see that I'm unconvinced because he gently grabs my shoulders and begins steering me in the direction of the little stools sticking out around the bench-top. "Besides, who would know more than a bartender?" he asks.

I let him guide me onto one of the seats. He sits down next to me as I place the basket on the ground at my feet. It isn't long before a man is standing before us on the other side of the bar. He's wearing a tie and a grey shirt and it's clear he's put some effort into styling his dark hair. Besides these factors there isn't much to distinguish him from anyone else. He could just be a friendly drunk wanting to offer us a round, but that possibility is erased when he asks us what we would like to order.