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...want to do it. I tell myself I'm nuts, but I take a step, and then another, and my hand reaches to pull open the frosted-glass door. It's the same instinct that makes you rubber-neck at a crash; sometimes you just have to see. No matter how bad you think it's going to be, no matter how mangled the vehicles, or how much blood is splattered on the road; you still have this need to know.

    The door swings open slowly. I'm not a total idiot - my arm is at full stretch. There's just a flicker of movement down near the grill, but the shower is otherwise empty as far as I can tell in the dim light. Empty, that is, except for a folded map, my car keys sitting invitingly on top.

    I make a snatch for them, relieved no nasty skittering thing makes a second appearance. It's a local map and three locations are circled on it in three different colors.

Yellow: The cemetary

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