Rhett left it on for Chris to watch in silence while he disappeared into the back to look for supplies. It had become obvious that this was going to be a long term situation, so he figured he should hold up with as much as he could scavenge. He also used a key he found in a desk to open the safe and helped himself to the money inside. "Just in case the world doesn't fall apart," he said to himself as he grabbed a backpack and filled it with money and other valuables lying around.
"Rhett, come take a look at this!" Chris called, and Rhett was running back to the bar. Chris was facing the television and Rhett looked to the screen to see another shot of the CDC but with a different person talking this time. This was a tall man in a disheveled suit, flanked on both sides by the same men in suits. Rhett raised the volume on the television as the man talked.
"We have a number of shelters setting up in every major city and a majority of rural areas across the country. We advise everyone seek refuge at a shelter no matter how safe, secure or well stocked their home residence or public location appears to be. If you are showing early symptoms of the Waterhouse-Friderichsen infection, we advise that you also seek refuge, for each location is equipped to accommodate you."
"What is the cutoff for infected people?" a man in the audience broke in "How infected is too infected?"
"If you are coherent and not trying to harm anyone," the speaker continued "And you comply with all orders and requests at the shelters, then you will be allowed refuge." Other people in the audience began to shout questions and it became impossible for the speaker to continue.
"So on a scale from "1" to "completely", how fucked are we?" Chris asked, a sense of dread weighing on his voice. Rhett just blew air through his nose and shook his head. "You think one of these shelters are a good idea?" Chris said as Rhett began to rub his head. His cold meds were beginning to fail. "I ain't doing that shit," Rhett said "Sounds like a bad idea, herding everyone in one place with this sickness running rampant?"
"I don't think they're gonna let infected people just walk in there, not with the amount of fear going around," Chris said as he eyed the shotgun sitting on the bar. "How many shells did you find for that gun?" he asked. "Just four. I don't think he kept much in the way of ammo here. Maybe at his house," Rhett said, not taking his eyes off the screen in case the commotion settled down and something relevant would be said.
Chris picked the gun up and opened it. "That's okay. Can I just have one shell?" he asked. Rhett immediately looked away from the television and at Chris, who had a calm look to his as he patiently waited for a shell. "Why, Chris?" Rhett asked, being careful to pick his words.
"I'm dead," Chris said calmly "What do you care when I finally end it. I don't want to be one of those things, and you don't want to have to deal with me when I turn."
"I'm not killing you, Chris," Rhett said.
"I'm not asking you to. Just give me a shell. I'll take care of the rest."
"I give you a shell, I'm killing you. No dice."
"Who are you to care now?" Chris yelled "I'm dead no matter what. I just want to go out on my terms. At least let me die with some dignity!"
"Dignity?" Rhett yelled back "You're looking to off yourself all alone in a bar, surrounded by corpses! Where's the dignity, Chris?"
Chris said nothing.
"You want to kill yourself? Fine," Rhett continued "But not here, not this way."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Go home, see your family one last time. Don't just check out and leave them wondering what happened to you. Don't let them find out down the line you did this."
"And let them see me like this? Infected and dying? Why would I put them through this?"
"To say goodbye. To have your fucking dignified end."