"This must be it," said Sasha, gazing upon the stores in front of them.
"Yep," came Daryl's brief reply. "Sounds pretty quiet out there. Everybody stay close. And pay attention," he said, glancing at Mila.
They all started towards the buildings, hands on their knives. Between them and their target was what seemed like an endless expanse of a parking lot littered with leaves and bits of paper that stuck to the wet asphalt like a tissue paper mosaic. They would be exposed and vulnerable if they were caught there by walkers- or worse, people. Along the face of the mall were ten concrete pillars that supported the red and green roofs of the stores. The mall itself was comprised of a hardware store, a couple of clothing stores, a small coffee shop, and, at its far corner, a tiny veterinary clinic. The latter caught Mila's eye; if she was ever going to have a chance to be useful, this was it.
"Guys," she called in a hushed voice. "That clinic- there's bound to be medicine we can use in there! Some of the same medicine used on animals is used for people. And not just anyone knows what to look for!"
They acknowledged her by meeting her eyes. "We can hit it on the way out," Sasha decided skeptically.
"No, we should go there first," Mila said. Sasha looked surprised that she had suggested an alternative plan after she felt that the matter had been settled. "Look, most of what we'll find to bring back in there won't weigh much, so if we get in a tight early on we won't be too weighed down to run. And as long as it's locked up, there's probably no dead ones in there because most people wouldn't have thought go in there in the first place. . . ." Her eyes darted between her companions', pleading.
Daryl nodded first. "It's a good plan. You pick out what we can use." Mila swallowed, trying to hide her satisfied smile, as they treaded closer to the buildings.
Upon reaching the door to the clinic, the tenseness of the party eased since that they were no longer out in the open. Daryl relaxed his grip on his crossbow, jiggled the handle to test whether or not it was locked, and knocked on the glass door loudly. "Give it a minute," he said, leaning against the painted cinderblock wall. He chewed his fingernails, cradling the bow in his free arm. Mila leaned against the wall next to him and Sasha and Glenn sat on the ground against a nearby pillar and began talking amongst themselves. Daryl looked over at her, his eyes trailing up and down her body, but looked away when she caught him.
"What?" she asked curiously.
"That was good thinkin'. Suggestin' we come here first." His blue eyes squinted as they skimmed over the road and woods beyond, aloof.
Mila raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Is that a compliment?" she asked as she scrutinized his face for any telltale sign of affirmation. And she found it; the corner of his lip twitched into a short-lived smirk. "Wow. . . . You know that means a lot coming from you."
He paused, glancing down for a second before indulging his curiosity. "Why?"
She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling as if the answer should have been apparent. "Because you're, like, the ultimate survivor," she elucidated with a jaunty grin. Before he could stop himself, a chortle escaped him, causing Mila to laugh. Daryl worked away on the inside of his lower lip, his temple twitching, while attempting to regain his stone-faced composure.
"Come on. I don't think there's nothin' in there." He pushed himself away from the wall, laying his gloved hand on the bar the stretched across the door to open it. "You ready?" Sasha and Glenn rose to their feet and lined up behind him, prepared for anything in case things were not as quiet in the clinic as they anticipated. "Let's do this," Daryl said, crossbow raised, as he pulled the handle open.
They entered the building, stepping into what had been the sky blue waiting room. Other than the collecting sediment of dust, it was almost immaculate. Six thinly padded chairs bordered the walls of the room. Prescription Diet dog and cat food, including that used for glucose management, kidney care, and skin sensitivities, sat neatly arranged on shelves lining the right wall; on a neighboring, smaller shelf were their canned counterparts. To the left was a wall full of pamphlets in clear, plastic file holders issued by pharmaceutical companies with information on various maladies like heartworms, intestinal worms, and the like, and straight ahead was a cut-out counter through which a limited view of the office could be seen from the waiting area. A white, wooden door beside it separated them from the rest of the potential gold mine.
Each member of the group readied their flashlights and Daryl grabbed the doorknob, turning it with a nod. It led to a thin hallway of with four, unlabeled doors (one to the office). Mila pointed to the first one, suspecting that it might be either an exam room or drug room. Sasha stood back, wordlessly standing guard at the exit.
Mila had been right; it was an exam room. Glenn and Daryl cleared it quickly and moved on to check the others while she looted it for useful items. She opened the cabinets along the wall and grinned to herself, energetically unzipping her bag to fill it with her newfound spoils.
"No walkers," Daryl announced, walking back to her. "Next room's got a lot of meds. You havin' any luck in here?"
"Definitely! Look! Depo Medrol, bandages, nitrofurazone, a stethoscope, an otoscope!" She held out her findings for him to see as she rattled them off. "This place must have gone completely untouched!" she exclaimed, turning back to rifle through the cabinets again.
"The stuff in here ain't no good?" Daryl asked, peering into the mini fridge in the corner.
"Most likely not. I wouldn't bother with it at this point." He closed the door to the fridge gently and, leaning against the steel exam table, turned to watch Mila as she scrambled to gather anything she deemed useful. Zipping the backpack, she swung its straps over her shoulders jubilantly. "Next room?" she chirped, a look of glee painting her face.
Daryl stepped aside and gestured for her to walk past him. She entered the drug room and quickly surveyed the shelves, choosing rolls self-adherent wraps, syringes, and a variety of topical creams and half-full pill bottles that rattled like maracas as she tossed them into her bag. Glenn emerged from the back of the building and joined Daryl in the doorway. "What was in the last two rooms?" Mila asked as she made her final selections.
"Oh," Glenn blinked, surprised that she had noticed his return amid her rummaging. "One's got scalpels and needles and stuff. I guess it was where they did surgeries. I figured you might want to look for yourself. The other one was nothing but cages."
"Scalpels and are good to have around," Mila quipped. "Did you see any catgut or steel wire?"
". . . Catgut?" Glenn asked, shaking his head.
"Yeah. It's suture material. It probably would have been in a flat, plastic, square box."
"Yeah, actually. It was by the sink."
"What about the key to the locked drawer or cabinet?"
Glenn's brows scrunched in puzzlement. "How did you know there was a locked cabinet?"
"Because that's probably where the euthanasia solution is. Its- it was- against the law to leave it easily accessible. The anesthesia is probably locked up with it."
"Oh. Well, no. I didn't find the key. It's a latch and padlock. I could check the office for it," he offered.
"Nah," Daryl finally spoke. "We'll just break the latch. 'S quicker that way." Glenn shrugged as Daryl made his way into the next room.
The door to the locked cupboard was sealed with a padlocked hasp as Glenn had said, and Daryl inspected it before digging a flathead screwdriver out of his pack and wedging it deeply between the polished wood and old metal. He worked at the latch for several minutes, and the metal began to fold over on itself before the screws that held it in place finally gave way, splintering the wood in their wake. Mila applauded his resourcefulness in bringing the screwdriver with him; she had not thought of how useful one could be as a multi-tool. He gave her a nod and stepped back so that she could clearly see what was inside. Sure enough, there was anesthesia, lactated ringers, and pentobarbitol. She wrapped the delicate glass bottles in paper towels and tucked them away snugly into her bag and added the sharp surgical instruments to the first aid kit. She zipped the pockets and stood, swinging the bag over her shoulders; it was much heavier now.
"I think we're done here," she concluded looking between her companions.
Daryl nodded in approval. "Alrigh'. Let's hit the hardware store."