Some of these tales were close to home. Such as a hidden lair below the medical center. Adrian had been told time and time again the hospital was essentially clean of any valuables, but if a man wanted to go down deep, he might find comps or medicines or other high-ticket items worth their weight in jack as barter to a better life. Only problems with that course of action were the stickiesthe Baptist hospital was dangerously close to the part of the downtown area of the city they called home.
He had two choices, three, if he included the logical decision of never going near the abandoned hospital complex. The scavie could go in alone and quiet and try to avoid alerting any muties of his presence, or he could take in a team of mercies and openly engage any hostiles who might have set up squatter’s rights within the hundreds of rooms.
With a team on his side, any loot would have to be shared. Adrian wasn’t greedy, but he was practical. Not to mention the element of trust. He could round up a few good men, but it would take time, and the smell of possible big jack had a way of driving even the best of allies apart. So far, he was the only man with an investment in this scheme, and he’d paid in jack and favors to find out the secret of the med center’s hidden basement.
Days before, Adrian had been across the old state line to visit a tiny ville in Virginia known as Cana. A friend of his father’s was rumored to live there, a colorful coot named Willard Boyles. Boyles was a semilegend in the scavenging business, with rumors and stories passed from ville to ville about his prowess and sense of fair play. The wily practitioner had been at it for thirty years before making his big score and hanging up his walking shoes.
The only reason he’d admitted Alton Adrian into his home was due to the younger man’s bloodline. Scavengers were sentimental like that. A few cheap self-brewed beers later, and the usual protective mask Willard wore had been discarded and he was speaking as bluntly and honestly as if he’d known Adrian all of his life.
“Experiments, boy! No telling what went on down there. Never been in those black labs myself, and I have no intention of going, either. Who knows what you might findor what you might let loose in the process!” Willard had said.
“Don’t think I’ll find anything to add much worse than the shit already running around Deathlands, Will,” the younger man replied. “And if I do, it’ll probably chill me first.”
“I’m not saying you’d go marching in and unlock Pandora’s box intentionally. Hell, some doors were never meant to be opened. Excuse the pun, but that old hospital is bad medicine.”
Adrian grinned. “Sure, you can say that. You’re set until the last train goes West. Me, I’m still trying to make the big score.”
Willard paused, remembering his past and his own endless days of traveling around the Eastern Seaboard of Deathlands while mining out a living from finding, repairing and selling pieces of the past. Perhaps it was the home brew or the sense of obligation to his old friend, Lee Adrian, the boy’s father. Either way, Willard Boyles was indeed set for life, and as such, he had taken pity and offered up a secret he’d never had the courage to fully explore himself.
“There’s a hidden basement level in the med-center tower in that hospital, you know,” he said casually, confirming what the young scavie had previously heard. “Not on any map or chart.”
“So, the legends are true?”
“In this case, yeah. Tale I got was that there were freezies down there. Hundreds of them. All with jewels and jack to start a new life once they woke up.”
Adrian listened to the older man speak, spellbound. A treasure trove had been kept in stasis along with the near dead. It was the ultimate score his ultimate score.
“Why so hush-hush?” he asked.
“Had to keep it a secret. Didn’t want grave robbers going in.”