His pack secure on his back (A lot heavier than he remembered, and was totally killing his shoulders already.), and his own lame inner monologues quelled, Cyan was more than ready to head out for a morning of scrounging. Physically, anyway. Inside, however, his nerves were jumping through the roof and bouncing all around the walls of his stomach, quiet panic already setting in. But, no one would ever guess that he was a hair's breath from a break down from the playfully cheery smile Cyan wore as he gave his make-shift squad leader a double thumbs-up and a goofy, kid-like grin before climbing 'shotgun' into the car. To be completely honest, long car rides had never been very fun for Cyan. They were only slightly more chest-tightening now. Confined spaces, empty landscaping sweeping past the windows, and a very serious mom-like figure in the driver's seat aren't exactly a calming environment. He found himself wringing his hands tightly far before they stopped in front of the pharmacy.
Cyan leaned forward, squinting to try to see out the windows of the Jeep and into the ones of the small shop, but it was impossible to see past the direct storefront. He sighed rather loudly, yanking out his notepad to jot down an answer for Robyn, "I go alone. Quieter + if it goes south, less injury." Holding it up, the mute waited long enough to make sure she had time to read it before dropping the pad on the floor of the car at his feet. No need for that right now, he wasn't big on stopping to chat with the walking dead. Remembering just then that he had forgotten to empty out of pack before coming, he followed by pulling his pack from his back, unzipping it, and unceremoniously dumping the contents right on top of the befallen notebook. All of it was just a waste of space at this moment and would just limit what he would be able to collect on the run. A few shirts, pens with the caps chewed off, Art's GameBoy, and a scruffy-looking teddy bear that looked like it had seen far better days spilled out, (He took extra care making sure neither the gameboy nor the bear were in any way injured in the tumble.) were all he really had to his name.
'Welp, time to be reckless and stupid.' He let out a long breath, giving Robyn a small salute, trying to look like he wasn't going to toss his cookies. Tentatively, he hopped out onto the pavement, eyeing the shamblers in the distance with caution before jogging lightly to the storefront. He pressed his eyes against the glass, cupping his hands around his face to get a better look. Nothing really seemed particularly menacing, unless you think life-size cutout doctors were frightening. Deciding it safe, in an attempt that was thought to be obviously vain, Cyan tried pulling on the front door. Worth a shot, right? Well, to his ultimate surprise, it actually opened with relative ease.
The place was trashed. Shelves were overturned, papers and documents that probably held people's personal medical information were thrown every-which-way, and those doctor-cutout-things had probably seen some serious shit in their time. However, Cyan couldn't see any medicine. He shifted through the piles of papers and empty perception bags, but it seemed like the place was picked clean, save one thermal blanket and four unopened bottles of water in which he stuffed into his now-deflated backpack. With the front yielding insufficient resources, he moved to the back, to the thin door right behind the counter. Though, it seems like the owners of the shop, where ever they might be now, had the inconvenient sense to lock the only door leading into the back room, and the window in which medicines were passed back and forth through was far too small for a seventeen year old boy to squeeze into. Completely inconvenient? Yes, but it meant that no one else had touched what was back there, right?
Now, Cyan was no major league hitter... Actually, his six year old niece could probably hit harder than he could. ... But that didn't stop him from picking up a long piece of shelving (You know, the part with the brackets that get screwed into the wall.) from the wreckage and attempting to jam the right-angled end right between where the lock met the wood. The first hit was too feeble, didn't even scratch the paint, but the second was a sure hit. The lock popped out of place just a little, and after a few more good smacks, all the hardware fell out along with the shelf piece in Cyan's hands, both crashing to the floor, and the door drifted open. The loud noise made Cyan pause, not moving a muscle, straining his ears and listening to make sure he didn't accidentally just send of a flare saying 'All-You-Can-Eat, Next left!'.
No moans or groans were audible.
Well, paint him disappointed to see the back no better than the front. Again, papers. So. Many. Papers. Not to mention the god-awful smell the room had. Though, the shelves were still intact, that was a good sign. Pulling his hoodie over his nose to warrant away choking on the smell, he wandering up and down the little rows, looking through each of the bins on the shelves, all of them marked with little letters to organize prescriptions by last names' initials. Most were empty, some had the sick sense of humor of having empty pill bottles in little paper bags, waiting to be filled, and others just had the retched papers. Turning the corner, ready to take on the tedious task of digging through the next row, Cyan came up short. Sitting on the floor, propped up against a shelf was a man. Or, what was left of a man. Oh, true, all of the man was still in the room for sure, but maybe not in the correct order. His entrails splayed themselves out grandly on the floor between was was left of his legs and down the man's not-so-nice-n-white shirt, one arm was at the far end of the row, and his head had been bashed open, brains and whatever else turned to stomach-turning mush. The whole scene made Cyan feel quite weak in the knees, but the severe head wound eased his worry a fraction.
'Never thought you would think that, did you?'
Turning on his heel quickly, Cyan pulled at unchecked drawers at random, no longer wanting to be anywhere near this building. In his haste, he found two prescription bottles for some kind of heavy-duty pain killer that, when shook, rattled with assurance of something being inside, one Mars Bar, a small memo pad, and a handful of pens. But with his haste, he became extremely clumsy, dropping each item multiple times and banging into shelves repeatedly.
Pack slightly more full than it was before, he practically started to run for the door that led back into the storefront. Cyan dashed past the dead man, not daring to spare a glance, wheeling around the corner of the shelving unit and coming face-to-face with molting flesh. Scarcely speaking, really, since the walker barely had a face at all, with no jaw or tongue or even a nose to speak of. It was no wonder he had heard no moans, but the shuffle of its feet was quite loud. How had he not heard it?
If a mute could scream, they would be hearing him in Timbuktu. He reeled back, barely dodging around an outstretching arm and decided now was a good time to get the hell out of dodge, running at full speed toward the door. He crashed through the front in record time, and was back out into the morning light of the parking lot within seconds. Cyan was out of breath as he slammed himself back into the passenger seat of the Jeep, pale as a sheet and hands shaking like a lunatic.
"Leave. Now." The mute wrote on the new memo pad once he had enough control of his hands to write legibly, holding it up for his Leader to see, and pointing to the steering wheel to further prove his point.