After covering his nose, he went inside.
"Keys to the kingdom..." He muttered. Inside the armory, it was an arsenal. Ammunition, arms, small and large.
"Jesus... If this is what we've got in Ogunquit, if there are survivors in other places..." He didin't let himself complete that thought.
His subconscious completed it for him.
"There could be thousands of people, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, who are armed to the teeth. A pistol won't do it compared to what's coming." He thought.
He loaded up on as much as he could in one trip. He wished to himself that he had exercised more before this whole nightmare began. Maybe then, people would have accepted him more. But there was no time to dwell on the past. It was time for Harold to turn over a new leaf. He was alive. Those bullies, for all their popularity and smugness, they were dead. It was time to let his insecurities die with them. It was a new world. An equalized world.
Harold wished he had a cart, or a wheelbarrow, or something like that. He slung two AR-style rifles over his back, and carried as much ammunition as he could, which wasn't much. He lamented how scrawny he was.
He briefly thought back to a month before all of this. John Corrl, the leader of the jocks, shouting at him as he tried to attempt the rope climb for the Presidential fitness test during gym class.
"You got arms like chicken wings! Do you even lift, you pathetic piece of shit? Browsing conspiracy sites is not exercise!" Harold grimaced briefly, but took a deep breath, and tried to let it go. Frannie would never be interested in a bitter teenager. He had to become a man. He had to kill his old self. Before all of this, he had contemplated suicide. He had contemplated worse, though... not seriously. Just standard edgelord bullshit. He sighed, laughing at what he saw as a bit of irony. Those conspiracists had been right, well, atleast some of them. It was not just the flu. The ones who said that it didn't exist, and was just an excuse to give people the mark of the beast, they were wrong, but he had never put much stock into religion. He exited the Ogunquit Police Department, and walked over to Frannie.
"Any signs of life?" He asked. Frannie sniffled a bit, and shook her head.
"Statistically, we can't be the last people on Earth. This is a small town, and... the two of us survived. So... It's not like this is going to be the end, Frannie. We are not the last people on Earth. There are others, and the CDC is our best shot at finding them. They've probably got hundreds of people, living in biohazard suits. Must be a pain in the ass, but... It beats the alternative. Bet they wish they were immune." He said, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation. Fran was not amused.
"Harold, none of this is funny. None of this has a silver lining. All my friends are dead, everyone I ever knew is dead." Fran muttered despondently. Harold frowned, and felt a lump in his throat.
"I consider you a friend, Frannie. Probably the only friend I ever had." He said.
"I was your baby sitter. I was your sister's friend." She replied, bitterly.
"You don't have to feel the same way about me as I do about you, but we can atleast make a go at finding others. On the subject of the armory, it's chock to the brim. Fuckin' Patriot act, right? Even in a small town like this, they have enough gear to outfit a small army. I think we should take as much of it as we can. You never know what we'll find on the road. Follow me, I'll show you." He said. He thought about reaching for her hand, but thought better of it. Wouldn't be appropriate. Not now.
Fran and Harold entered the police department armory together, both of them wincing at the stench of the dead inside. It was an unseasonably cold summer, so that helped a little bit, but not much. As he led her into the weapons storage area, her eyes widened.
"See? I told you. This is one of those good news, bad news type situations. The good news is that we're going to be armed to the teeth. The bad news is that everyone with the same idea is going to be aswell. Hopefully, they have good manners, if they don't though, I don't want anything to happen to you.. I mean, us." He explained.
"There's a generator here somewhere. If we can get it working, we can turn on the lights, get some practice at the firing range. We both need it. If we're caught out on the road without actually knowing how to use this stuff, they might as well be paperweights." He looked at his shoes. He was sick of being a boy, he wanted to be a man, someone competent. Someone other people could respect. Could it happen? Could he achieve it? Maybe. Maybe if he tried very, very hard.
They spent the rest of the day at the firing range.