The outside of the main building was white in color, the faded and peeling paint flaking off onto the ground. Cracked cinder blocks and weathered metal doors made up the face, stretching upward about ten or twelve feet. A chain and padlock had been wound through the big doors, preventing the group from entering there.

"Once we get these guys reprogrammed," Mike said, waving a hand at the Mister Gutsy nearby, "we can have them cut through it. Let's look for another way."

Celia stared up at the wall, at the faded letters printed onto it. Couldn't read it; the letters were indecipherable from the bombs and the ravage of time. Windows in the building were smashed in or boarded up as she peered in, but the gloom was impenetrable. Nothing they could do but get in there, somehow.

Simon found a small side door and the men pried it open with effort. Lionel waited outside. "Plan B?" he asked.

"Run like hell," Pesaro said, seriously. Lionel laughed.

Simon and Pesaro went left, so Celia and Mike went right. Two small offices on the left, and one larger one on the right hand side, contained small goods that she scooped into her pack as they searched. Cigarettes, pencils, a few fission batteries. A few empty bottles and tin cans that she could get at least one cap for. Around the corner of the hallway, Mike opened a door cautiously and peered in. He backed off quickly and shut it. "There's a big one in there," he hissed.

"Let me see," Celia said. She opened the door a crack and looked around.

"Scanning," a robotic voice echoed in the darkness.

She pulled the door shut, gently. "Sentry bot," she said. "Makes sense, though. Looks like the armory. Lots of guns."

"I am not going toe-to-toe with a gatling laser," Mike said.

"I could make a distraction, and you could sneak up on it," she offered. "If you'd prefer."

"We should wait for Pesaro," Mike replied, shooting her an annoyed look.

"You wanna run down the hall and fetch him?" she asked, snippily.

He gave her a look of exasperation. "Don't be so cavalier. These are military-grade robots. Any one of them could kill all four of us, if we aren't careful."

Celia rolled her eyes. "Figures," she said to herself.

"What?" he asked, testily.

"I finally have a way to make myself useful, and I can't even do that," she said, grumpily.

"You've been useful all day!" Mike said. "Now shut up. Let's go find Pesaro."

She followed, shuffling her feet. Mike led the way back to where the team had split up, and went through the doors at the end of the hallway. They opened into a cafeteria of some kind with a set of double doors on the opposite side and a small door on the left, several tables and chairs scattered through the room, and a vending machine overturned in the right-hand corner. Pesaro was huddled behind the vending machine, his body shielding Simon.

"Danger!" he yelled, and Mike ducked behind the closest table. Celia watched the Gutsy floating around the tables. It followed Mike's movement; she sprinted behind it when it turned, jumping onto the back. Getting up the frame was the easy part.

There was damage to the rear access panel on this robot. She had trouble getting the screwdriver to fit where it needed to, to lever it out. She pushed down hard on the handle, and the piece of metal popped out, flying off to the right. Mike yelled something about her being stupid, but she ignored him.

Just as she pressed the shutdown button, the Gutsy brought around the circular saw attached to one of its arms and pressed it to her back. She shrieked, and both girl and 'bot fell to the ground with the saw embedded into her back. Pain spread through her shoulder too quickly for her to feel it―crap, the last thing she needed was to go into shock.

"Mike!" Pesaro yelled.

Mike was at her side quickly, removing the saw with a jerk. He applied pressure to the wound, pushing her into the floor. "Have we found any med-x?" he asked, looking over at Pesaro.

"Some―in my pack," she gasped out. "Is S-Simon...?"

From across the room, Pesaro shook his head. He found her sack where she'd dropped it and shook out the goods, tossing Mike a needle. "What happened, Celia?" he asked, as he came closer. He eye the Gutsy dubiously.

"The back panel―ah!―was damaged," she said through gritted teeth. Mike jabbed the needle into her shoulder and depressed the plunger. "I couldn't get it to budge."

"We have to leave, now," Pesaro said. "This is a bad wound. We'll bury Simon, later."

"How did―" she asked, glancing at the teenager's body. He was roughly the same age as her. Now he was dead. She was shocked.

"Never mind that," Pesaro said. "Up and at 'em."

Lionel had been standing in a darkened corner in the courtyard. When they came from the building, he stirred and approached them. His face crinkled at the wound. "Damn, kid."

"Is it bad?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I ain't no medic. You're bleeding like a stuck pig." He grunted, looking up at the men. "Got anything to bind it? Gotta stop the blood."

No one could find anything to tie around her chest, so Pesaro went inside and removed Simon's shirt from his body. Once she was bound up and starting to get dizzy, Lionel asked, "Who's gonna carry her?"

"I can walk," she said, stubbornly. But she wasn't sure, really. The pain was fading but she was very lightheaded and wobbly.

"I am not that strong," Mike said, speaking over her voice. Celia believed him, he was thin as a rope. And Pesaro was a little too old to be carrying her, even if she had been losing weight―she sighed. She would have to walk.

"I can walk," she repeated, blinking slowly. The med-x was taking effect.

"Not with that much blood loss," Lionel told her. "You'll pass out on the road." He turned around, crouched down. "Come on, kid."

She hesitated. "I don't want to be carried," she said, sounding like a child. A spasm ran through her back, causing her to shudder. She suddenly felt very sleepy. She wasn't―like Pesaro, she wasn't like that. But she didn't feel right taking a piggyback ride from Lionel. He was at least three times older than Pesaro.

"If you wait, you will die," he rumbled, matter-of-factly. "Come on, kid, my knees are killing me."

Celia didn't feel like arguing, anymore. She leaned forward onto the ghoul's back, one arm around his neck and the other dangling at his side, uselessly. He hooked his arms around her knees, stood up, and started to trudge off. "Let's go, then," he said.

She felt giddy, a haze settling on her brain. That was the medicine, she thought. Lionel's neck was dry against her arm, like touching tree bark. The bone she'd seen exposed, before, poked at her. But it wasn't unpleasant. He was awful warm, too. Felt like a heating pad on her front, pressed into his back. It was comfortable and her eyes began to close.

He's a good person even if he's a grumpy old codger, she told herself, before she passed out across his back.