The Room

The room isn't dark enough.

Too much light from the crackling vacancy sign filters through the threadbare curtains, illuminating the room in an eerie yellow glow. It's like a fucking beacon in the night; a giant x marks the spot for the whole world to see. I don't know why I thought this would be a safe place to stop for the night, maybe the kids deserved to sleep in a real bed for once. Maybe I'm getting too complacent in my old age. I know we can't stay here for too long. We have to get back on the road before it's too late.

The standard procedure is to keep moving, just to drive until we hit the border. A safe territory to gather our equipment and form a plan, but everyone was dead on their feet. This night had been particularly fucked up and I don't think we would have made it without running the car off the road. Just outside I hear a persistent thumping; I look outside the window and see Morgan kicking the vending machine. Another dollar sacrificed to the cola gods. He gives the machine a final kick and walks away.

I know he won't give up that easily. I'm not disappointed as I see him come back a second later with an axe slung over his shoulder. The stillness of the night is shattered by the sound of breaking glass. I cringe at the sound. I wonder how much we'll have to pay in damages this time, I then remember we didn't necessarily pay for the rooms either. Besides, who would call the cops? Not the clerk at the desk who had checked himself out long ago. He was thoughtful enough though to provide a few extra weapons to add to our collection.

Every little bit helps I suppose.

I scan the parking lot for any movements, my paranoia reminding me why we were here in the first place. I see the covering over the car has come loose again. The light from the single lamp post shines off the twisted bumper, which is barely hanging on. Luckily I still have some duct tape in the bag. I hate to ditch the ride, it held some sentimental memories, memories from the past that I no longer had any claim to. Tomorrow we'll have to scrounge up a new car; fortunately we had a pretty wide selection to choose from. The rest of the crew's cars were parked haphazardly in the gravel parking lot.

I check the lock on the door and am moderately satisfied it will hold. It has to. I take a quick inventory of the room: mismatched furniture, pressboard night stands and a lamp with no shade is bolted to the wall. There's a bathroom just big enough for what needs to be done. A busted up television and a closet without any doors, a painting on the wall that's been slashed to pieces completes the motif. The carpets have been ripped out near the corners, the distinct smell of urine and god knows what else mixed in for good measure.

I look everywhere but the bed. I don't want to deal with that yet.

My hands begin to shake. I can't even remember the last time I felt normal. Has it been so long that I don't even recognize myself? I step into the bathroom and flick on the lights. Two out of the three bulbs above the sink are burned out. For some reason this depresses me. I look at my reflection but see nothing but a shell. Dark circles have permanently taken up residence under my eyes. I think the color used to be green, now they only looked bloodshot. The new gash above my eyebrow is scabbing up nicely. I don't bother thinking how it will affect my looks — never gave much thought to them in the first place.

I lean forward placing my hands against the sink and try to think back to the beginning. How had everything gotten so fucked up anyway? It doesn't feel like a month, more like a lifetime since normalcy. All we've been doing is searching for clues in least likely of places. Dives and truck stops, coming up with nothing but deserted towns and piles of bones. This was our life now. Looking for answers to help us understand the manner of hell in which we were now living in. I don't even remember who I used to be.

When I think back to last night though, the stench, and how I've gotten used to it. Well, I don't know which is worse. I see myself as being disconnected from this, as if I can tell myself that none of this real and we just need to wake up. Self delusion is something that needs a bit of practice. I've become numb to everything. It's the only way I can continue to get up everyday. The kids though, they're the ones who continue to struggle. I've never been very good with kids — what could I possibly say that will make sense of all this? Besides, they can see through bullshit pretty easily. I won't even attempt to lie.

Now we're back to the start. We have to get everything sorted before we can move on again. A sharp wrap on the door jars me out of warped thoughts. I cross the room and peer through the keyhole — just Majic. I ask him the usual questions and he replies with the same obscene responses. We can't be too sure anymore, especially with the luck we've been having lately. I kick off the chain and open the door quickly. He squeezes through with ease and shuts it close. He bolts the door and slides down until he hits the ground. He puts his head against the door and takes a second to breathe.