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nods and does as I say. I take a couple of steps away from the building and see that there’s a metal ladder running from ground level to an access hatch up high. Before I can talk myself out of it I start climbing, trying to limit the sound of my heavy boots on the metal rungs. I pause when I’m two-thirds up and lean over to one side to peer in through a grubby window. The early morning sun is blazing through the windows along one side of the slaughterhouse and the hole in the roof, filling it with light, uncovering every gruesome detail that was hidden in the darkness last night. The Unchanged are inside the building now. I can see a couple of them slowly picking their way through the bodies and debris.
    At the top of the ladder I open the hatch and carefully ease myself inside. I’m on one of the narrow gantries running around the edge of the vast room, and I know I’m all too visible up here through the metal grilles. I move toward the side of the room that is still in shadow. I’m right above one of the intruders now. Looks like he’s wrestling with a corpse, trying to pry a rifle from the death grip of a decaying soldier. Fortunately he’s preoccupied, and I keep moving toward the front of the site undetected. Farther ahead I notice that this walkway’s loose. Several brackets and supports have come away from the wall, and it’s already feeling less secure. I’m less worried about my safety and more concerned that the creaking and groaning of the metal will cause one of the scavengers below to look up. They don’t look like typical Unchanged military or militia. They’re wearing odd, mismatched clothing, and they’re both weighed down with weapons, far more than they need. They look more like mechanics than soldiers.
    A sudden noise makes me catch my breath. I look back over my shoulder and stare down, worried they’ve found Adam. It’s nothing, just another Unchanged helping himself to a dead man’s gun.
    I turn around to try to get off this unstable walkway, but stop when I glimpse something happening through the large dust- and cobweb-covered window at my side. The reason for the enemy being here has suddenly become painfully apparent. Outside, under the protective gaze of five armed militia fighters, two young women and a white-haired, elderly man are working their way along the nearest pile of corpses, stripping them of anything of value. Inhuman bastards. There must be a hell of a black market somewhere for them to risk doing this, but the fuckers look well organized, and they know what they’re doing. Wearing yellow dishwashing gloves, the three of them move along the bodies at speed, each of them working at different heights, snatching rings and watches from the dead hands that stick out of the massive mound of rotting flesh, filling buckets with their stolen booty. A teenaged boy grabs each bucket when it’s full, replacing it with an empty one and carrying the stash away out of sight. What I’m watching makes me seethe with hate and anger, but what can I do? There are too many of them to risk taking on alone (and even though Adam’s with me, in terms of fighting I still think of myself as being alone). All I can do is wait for them to disappear.
    Hang on, something’s caught the attention of the grave-robbing bastards below me. One of them stops scavenging and calls to his pals. Carrying several weapons each, they head toward the door in the corner we exited through last night. I run back along the gantry, but before I get to the hatch I know it’s Adam. I hear the stupid kid before I see him through the window. Should have known he’d struggle to keep himself under control. The Unchanged are outside now, heading straight for him as he limps aggressively toward them, the sharp tip of his ski-pole walking stick held out like a bayonet. Fortunately the rest of this gang are either unaware or too interested in their haul to get involved. I climb back out through the door and down the