The hospital sat like a dead whale in the middle of the city — hulking, windows blown out, its façade scarred by fires and bullet holes. Ambulance sirens had long since become ghosts here; inside, rooms that once smelled of antiseptic now smelled like mold, rust, and old blood. Everything you needed — painkillers, antibiotics, surgical tools, canned food left in staff kitchens — lived behind those collapsed doors. Everything Joe, Love, and you needed to survive another month, maybe more.

You crouched behind a toppled billboard with the two of them, breath misting in the chill air. Joe’s flashlight carved a thin cone through the smoke. Love’s fingers tightened around the strap of her pack. You could feel the argument forming before a word left anyone’s mouth.

“We can’t just walk in,” Joe said. His voice was level, every syllable measured. “Hospitals attract everyone. Security quirks, traps, ambushes. We need a plan: perimeter, exits, roles.”

Love huffed, the sound part impatience, part anger. “And do you want us to starve while you map it for three days? There’s a whole supply cupboard in that wing. I can get in and out before anyone notices.”

You looked between them. Joe’s prudence had kept you alive more than once; Love’s boldness had done the same. Both approaches had teeth. The problem was the hospital wasn’t just supplies; it was choices.

“Looting hurt people once,” you said finally. “Not now — I mean then. Taking without thought got entire blocks killed during the early days. We don’t need to make that same call for ourselves.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “No one’s saying we should loot indiscriminately. But if we rush, we risk more than we gain. Even a single wrong corridor full of trapped carts or a collapsed stairwell could cost us Henry, or you.” His eyes flicked to the empty carrier that had once held Henry’s toys, a reminder of the child tied into this small, fragile family.

Love’s face softened for a second, then hardened. “So we wait and plan while we waste water and let any band of raiders stroll in and take everything? No. We’re not going to be moral martyrs. We survive.”

“You’re treating it like a grocery run,” Joe said. “This place is dangerous.”

“You’re treating it like a theory,” Love snapped back. “We’re starving, Joe. The kids in the next block are starving. If there’s medicine in there that can keep one of them alive, then what’s the point of being moral?”

Silence sat heavy for a breath. You remembered the faces of people you’d passed — hollow-cheeked women clutching empty bottles, an old man sitting on a stoop cradling a hand that had started to rot. Survival had a nasty smell to it, and your conscience had to decide whether to follow that smell or to hold to some harder line.

“We can do both,” you said. “We can minimize harm and maximize gain. Quick reconnaissance tonight, no confrontation. If it’s clear, we go in small. If it’s dangerous, we wait for a better plan. But we don’t sit here arguing while the sun sets.”

Joe considered that, chewing his lip until the stubble showed white beneath his jaw. Love stared at you, a flicker of relief — and a flash of something like respect — passing across her features.

“Fine,” Joe said at last. “One sweep. Quiet. West wing first. We move as shadows.”

Love snorted. “And if it’s empty, I’m burning the cafeteria menu so you’ll stop romanticizing strategy.”

They moved like practiced ghosts. Joe’s hand on your shoulder was light, guiding but not commanding. Love slipped ahead on the cracked pavement, eyes sharp for movement. You reached the service entrance — a door hanging by one hinge, smeared with something dark and old.

Inside, the hospital was a cathedral of abandonment. Operating rooms stared back with ceiling tiles collapsing like fallen teeth. Wheelchairs hunched in corners. A sign pointing to Pediatrics drooped at a crooked angle. Your flashlight skimmed across a shelf of unopened medical boxes, and your heart did a traitorous little flip.