A corpse hung from the ceiling, dressed in hospital scrubs. Adam was immediately sure the man was dead. The corpse's tongue lolled from its mouth, and his milky, bloodshot eyes stared unseeing toward the door. A brown leather belt was wrapped tightly around his throat, digging deeply into the graying flesh. Adam peered closer, driven by sheer morbid curiosity, and saw deep scratches on his neck below the makeshift noose.

  His fingertips were bloody.

  "Jesus Christ,” Adam croaked, covering his mouth. On a supply locker next to the corpse, he spotted the remains of several burned-down candles. A chill ran down his spine. He wondered if the man killed himself rather than face the darkness.

  The room smelled faintly of decay, but Adam was sure the man hadn't been dead long. Maybe he'd been trapped here, slowly waiting for the candles to burn out. Shivering involuntarily, Adam glanced at the rapidly dwindling torch.

  He stepped around the man, careful not to disturb the hanging form, and tried the drawers and lockers, but found them all to be locked. Frustrated, he turned back, spotting a small bulge in the left chest pocket of his scrubs.

  Wincing, Adam reached into the dead man's pocket.

  "Sorry about this..."

  His fingers searched through the fabric, and a wave of nausea twisted his stomach. After a moment, he felt the hard edge of metal and pulled out a ring of keys. He briefly wondered at his luck, but given the state of the world, he decided not to question it.

  There would be time for that later.

  After a minute of fumbling, he found the key that fit the supply lockers. Inside was a cluttered array of medical supplies, half of which Adam couldn't begin to identify. He pulled out the list, set it on a nearby shelf, and began scanning for matches.

  He checked several items off in quick succession. Most were neatly packaged and labeled for single use. He was sure there was some commentary in there about landfills and plastic in the oceans, but all things considered, he let it slide. Adam picked up one packet containing a short length of tubing with a smaller tube at the end.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "So that's a cannula,” he said, nodding and tossing it into the bag, along with several needles of various sizes. After a minute of shameless looting, he opened another locker and spotted the bags of IV fluids.

  "Backup plan."

  He tossed five of the bags into his pack and tested the weight, then opened the last locker and continued his pillaging. A glance over his shoulder showed the torch burning dangerously low. He'd need to make a new one, and soon.

  The third locker held row after row of small glass vials. Adam picked up one ampoule and squinted at the label, immediately giving up. The word was beyond his ability to pronounce, let alone identify. Shrugging, he took one vial from each row, wrapped them tightly in a surgical towel, and stowed them in the middle of his bag. He slung the pack over his shoulder, satisfied he'd found nearly everything they needed for Samantha, everything but blood.

  He paused, turning to look at the man still hanging behind him. With a sigh, he opened several drawers until he found what looked like a quarter-scale saw.

  Adam began to cut through the belt, the man's body swaying slightly in the shifting torchlight. After a moment, the belt snapped, and the man dropped in a boneless heap before he could catch him.

  He grimaced and reached down to remove the belt. The man's skin was waxy and cold, like leftover chicken. He gagged, shuddering as the belt came free, leaving a deep purple indentation across the corpse's neck. He rolled the body over and gently closed the staring eyes, careful not to touch any more bare skin than he had to.

  Laying a towel over the man’s face, he sighed and opened the supply room door. The body was lighter than expected and he easily dragged it into the hallway. Settling the man against the wall, he squatted beside him, folding his hands over his chest. After a moment, he placed the towel over the man’s face, giving him what little dignity he could.

  Adam felt like he should say something, but no words came.

  "I'm sorry."

  It felt inadequate, like failure.

  He rested a hand on the man's shoulder and closed his eyes.

  "I wish I gotten here sooner."

  An almost unconscious sense of alarm rang behind Adam's eyes. He glanced up and immediately saw his mistake.

  The supply room door was nearly shut, the bucket blocking the door having shifted.

  He sprang forward like a sprinter off of the block, his fingers brushing the metal just as the door clicked shut. The last sliver of light vanished as his shoulder hit the wall, and he dropped to the floor, landing hard.

  Adam lay on the cold tile, barely breathing, while his heart attempted to escape his chest. The darkness closed in around him, and the sound of footsteps echoed faintly in all directions.

  His breath caught as the steps grew louder and all too familiar prickles of fear danced across his skin.

  The footsteps grew closer, louder, until they were right on top of him.

  He screamed, and the darkness swallowed him whole.

  I'll make it up to you!