December 9th, 2033
I haven’t any luck finding antibiotics. I’ve sifted through the debris of the five registered pharmacy’s listed citywide and have come up empty handed. Not even an aspirin. The fires that took most of Santa Clarita burned long and hot and there just isn’t too much left.
My best bet is to go door to door in the neighborhoods above the lake and take my chances. Although the houses may have been booby-trapped by the troopers, I don’t have a choice. I have to lay it on the line for this kid, if I’m going to lay it on the line for anyone all.
One, or one million, it’s all the same.
Service above self.