45
The bearded guy introduced himself as Rum. The Indian’s name was Pavel. “Like, my folks wanted a real American name, you know?”
With a few minutes of stillness, Dale felt like he’d recovered enough to move if he had reason. Maybe “the building is on fire” or “the zombie rats escaped the lab.” Until then, he decided to stay planted on the uncomfortable chair by the entrance, letting the sweat dry on his shirt and the half of a cinnamon roll in his gut churn itself into acid around his meds.
He couldn’t help giving a little chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Pavel.
“I think I’ve finally given up cinnamon rolls for good,” Dale said.
Pavel snorted, but Rum laughed outright. “That’s a diet you’ll stick to.”
Dale took off his smeared glasses. His shirt had a dry patch, near the bottom,
