The door looked locked, but he gave a tug, and the rusty thing heaved a complaint and opened for us. He shoved me in ahead of him, and then slammed the door behind us. I heard a bolt slide home, and then he fumbled for a moment until a beam of light sliced the room. I took it in as the wedge of light crisscrossed it, finding myself in an industrial kitchen of some sort. He pulled me forward, and I noticed that it was an empty, dusty industrial kitchen, and he was moving through it with authority. We finally stopped at a closed door, and he pulled it open, pushed me inside. A moment later, I was bathed in the glow of a kerosene lamp. We were in a pantry or something, though it was almost completely empty now. A couple of boxes sat on the shelves, and a few scattered cans—things no one valued enough to take when this place shut down. There was also a mattress pad in the middle of the floor. "Lay down," he said. I did, moving to the pad and lying on my side, curled up in a ball. He made an impatient noise.
