Step by Step/Issue 22

This is Issue #22 of Step by Step. This is the fourth issue of Volume Four.

'''NOTE: THIS IS VERY UNEDITED AND IS UNFINISHED. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.'''

Potter's Ground
Sunlight came through the soot on the window, more brown than bright. The infirmary had two moving souls in it, with Nolan standing to the corner and messing with his wrists. Unlike Carter, who had gloves on his hands for which Nolan recalled were for the ugliness of his infection, Nolan had his cuffs dangling on his right hand. It didn't matter much, since everything except for pumping the python had, for the better part of his life, relied on his left. He looked at the ceiling, then to the floor, thinking that Carter had either gone mute, deaf, or both. Though, the fine folks from where which Nolan had been birthed and raised would have sided for the word retard. But, Nolan knew the man was not that. Maybe a bit strange, but he seemed smart–if not for Carter siding with Brock.

Those were the least of his problems, for now. Nolan continued his study, halting and turning to a wall sided to him. It had started to peel, and underneath the dermis was a beige sheet of cement. He went to the wall, ran a finger down it, and stopped to scratch out some dust and grime, freeing a spew of particles into the room.

"Damn," he noted, "Eugene was right."

Lyle was opposite to Nolan, rummaging through drawers of the reception's desk. He doesn't respond at first, one of his ears felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton, and the rest of him pretty much ached too much to give a damn. He took a look at the inside of one drawer, looking for anything useful, and pondered the idea of how much damage could a stapler do.

"About what?"

"The army." Nolan said, still thinking about Carter. Then at the idea, thought about Caroline, the girl who had sped into the place (thankfully, Lyle was still in bed and no business had been carried out). The thought was brisk, leaving him as the constant booms of assault rifles rang out in the hallway. "Brock's prob'ly thinking that after whatever shit's blowing up outside is over, he'll burn us a campfire and sing a song while this school crumbles like a sandcastle."

Lyle agreed. The building was elderly, and it's generator had gone out fast. Along with the herd of crazies outside, the school didn't stand a chance. Lyle shut the drawer, walking to the center of the room. It was an enormous school. The clinic was a bitter link of chains in the main office, with rooms ranging from a personal W.C. to a teacher's lounge to which had been used for the previous week by Susie Brown. "Nothing," he said, taking his time look around.

He swore he saw the a familiar face, Joseph's, breeze by outside. Lyle thought about helping him, to save the sane man and not let an insane man end his life, but then Lyle remembered where he was, and who he was. A low life, according to Brock, that deserved nothing but a beat down and to get his head smashed against a locker.

Never had he been the pushee, he'd always been the pusher. Unless you counted the events with Big Earl, though some might have called it a feud.