Page 53 of Dozer

Kenzi walks in like she owns the place.

"Careful," I say, sweeping my flashlight across a ceiling tile hanging by one corner, water damage spreading dark and uneven above it. "Structure's compromised in places."

"I've worked in worse."

"You've worked in an abandoned hospital before?"

"I've worked in a flooded basement morgue during a hurricane evacuation with a generator that cut out twice." She steps over a section of collapsed drywall without breaking stride. "This is basically a spa day by comparison."

I look at her. She looks back. "Don't judge."

"I'm not." I reassure her.

"You are."

"I'm assessing." And admiring. She’s something else.

"That's your word for judging."

"Works for both."

She smiles, and for half a second the building feels less like a dead thing around us.

I move ahead, weapon low, flashlight cutting through the dark. She stays close enough that I can hear the quiet rhythm of her boots behind me. I don’t know how she does it but she never crowds me and she doesn’t lag behind either, she’s always the perfect distance away. Somehow, she just knows the cadence we need to be in, it’s like we’re in sync. I've started noticing that. I've started noticing a lot of things about her that have nothing to do with the mission.

The deeper we go, the worse the building gets. Exam rooms stripped of anything valuable years ago. Hallways littered with broken tile and plaster. Evidence that a homeless camp had been set up in here for a while. There’s rusted gurneys abandoned against walls that have proof someone in recent years slept on them. The particular silence empty medical buildings seem to specialize in, the kind that presses against the ears because the place was designed for voices, footsteps, alarms, people coming and going, and now there's nothing. I don’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural, but if I did, I’d be certain they lived here. The place feels exactly like what a haunted worn down hospital should feel like. It’s eerie as fuck and I don’t like it.

Most people get quieter in places like this. Kenzi gets more confident. It’s like she’s comfortable here or something. Her flashlight moves in slow, deliberate sweeps, catching details most people wouldn't notice unless they were specifically looking for them.

"This used to be a records room," she says, stopping beside an open doorway.

I scan the room. Empty shelving covered in dust and a few collapsed boxes. "How can you tell?"

"Shelf spacing." She steps inside, crouching near the floor. "See the dust lines?"

I do.

"Somebody pulled whole sections out at once. Not gradually. Look at the difference here." She points toward the shelving. "That section hasn't moved in years. Those were removed together."

"Records?" I ask.

"Probably."

"Probably." I repeat.

She looks at me and I almost smile.

"Don't start,” she warns.

"I'm not starting anything."

"You just used my word." She glares at me. It’s adorable.

"Probably."

She shakes her head and moves on. I follow, thinking about how well we work together. She sees patterns. I see threats. Between us, we're starting to build a picture neither of us could see alone. That thought stays with me longer than it should.

We find a former exam room deep enough into the building to be defensible. I clear it before I let her settle in, checking closets, corners, the space behind the door, the ceiling access panel, every place somebody could wait long enough to make our lives considerably shorter.