We wander into the little store behind the pumps. The store named Tom and Jerry’s is little help, either. It’s lined with toppled shelves and more trash. We spread out, looking for any usable items. Ethan pulls out a little packet of pills that must be medicine. Clay holds up an empty gas can triumphantly. I want to be excited, but empty cans will get us nowhere. My hands reach under toppled metal shelves and fallen light casings, until I find something plastic and crinkly. I pull out the wrapper sure it’s trash, but this one has weight. A candy bar—Baby Ruth, according to the label. Both boys stare at it like I’ve just found gold.

“We’ll split it three ways,” I say, opening it.

It’s been smashed and melted and hardened several times, but when I put the chocolate in my mouth, the sugary flavor explodes over my tongue. It’s so sweet it puckers my lips. A grin spreads over Ethan’s mouth as he chews. Clay licks his fingers when his portion is gone.

“Find another one of those,” he says.

But I can’t. We dig through the piles for a while until our fingers are grimy and I’ve scraped the skin off two knuckles. The best I can do is a bag of chips that has been pulverized to crumbs. We take turns sliding the tiny salty crumbs into our mouths until the bag is gone. Then Clay nods to the door.

“Let’s go get some gas before it gets dark.”

We head back toward the front gate. We pass several abandoned buildings with nothing but rodents, debris and more trash. Then we come up to a dumpy brown building with a flaking sign. Clay reads: “Urgent Care Medical Clinic. Hang here. I want to see if there’s any drugs in there. We can trade ‘em in the next town over for what we need.”

I know how expensive medicine can be. Arn would trade months worth of pelts for a few pills or salve or even iodine. The three of us file in through the frosted glass doors.

Something’s very wrong. The putrid stench sends everyone’s hands over their mouths. Flies buzz in the hundreds and their carcasses line the front windowsill and the floor. Broken needles, dirty bandaging and a dried mess that looks like old vomit cover the floor. I stagger back toward the door. I don’t care what’s salvageable in here. My brain is telling me to run. Then I see dark mounds blocking the hallway.

Corpses. The pile of bodies is three feet high and stretches down the hallway. The stained sheets cover many, but to my left a clawed hand dangles over a soiled table. Lank, blond hair sprouts from under a sheet near the front. Another is slumped in a chair, his legs purple, his face a bloat mask of decay.