There's a reason Tom told me to bring Jenny along.
She was once a student here at Lakewood High. It's not a scenario I really considered; the idea that people here once enjoyed normal lives within these walls doesn't feel right now that it's being used as a survival shelter.
The same corridors where we sleep once witnessed normal teenagers going from class to class, living by the rigid schedule of clocks and bells. Lockers held backpacks and textbooks and probably things that had no business being on school grounds.
It's so different now.
I wonder how she feels about it.
"This way." Jenny's flashlight beam cuts through the darkness. "The maintenance office should be down these stairs."
The beam reveals concrete steps descending into a basement level I hadn't known existed. Our footsteps echo against the walls, and the air grows thick with the scent of mildew and rust.
