James stepped through the shattered glass of the door and looked around the bar. Even in its glory, he was certain that this place was the sort of dive found in many small towns. The furniture had all been demolished in a fit of rage by someone or someones. A large hunting knife was buried right through the eye of the deer head mounted on the wall above the jukebox. James righted a surviving bar stool and climbed up on it to retrieve the knife. He wasn't sure he'd have any real use for it but it seemed some how cruel to leave it where it was now.
As he climbed down, he heard something completely unexpected! A groan!
Whirling around toward the source, he frowned when he found nothing but the bar waiting for him. Somehow he'd expected to find some drunkard passed out on the bar or even someone wounded stumbling about from the back room but there was nothing.
"Oh damn..." a disembodied voice replaced the groan and James found himself jumping in surprise and, admittedly a bit of joy. He ran around to the other side of the bar to find the source. Heaped on the floor was a bloody, soot covered man writhing in some sort of pain. Despite some bumps and bruises, he didn't look seriously wounded so James had to assume the source of the agony came from the empty vodka bottle still clutched in his hand. The man looked momentarily terrified of James's appearance and then looked utterly confused. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" James countered, offering his hand to help the man up off the floor. "Are you hurt at all?"
"All over." he said, groaning even as he moved his hand to grasp James's. "Russ Allen, formerly of the country hospital."
"As in it's no longer there." Russ laid his head against the cool wood of bar and actually smiled. "Big boom."
"Are you drunk?" James had briefly rejoiced at having found a medic of some variety but so far, Russ was making a less than stellar impression.
"Not nearly enough." Russ said with a pained smirk. "So, I ask again, who are you?"
"James Hunt." he replied, leaning back against the wall to observe the first living person he's seen since driving away from his friends and co-workers. "So are you a doctor?"
"Intern, or was. Remember? Big boom?" Having recovered himself somewhat, Russ was rooting around in the limited remains behind the bar.
"Right, got that." James frowned. "I'm not sure you really need more alcohol Doc." he ventured after several empty bottles met their death on the floor.
"I'm not sure you're in any place to dictate how I wait for my alien overlords." Russ retorted, not even looking back at Hunt.
James just shook his head. "Right then..." Without anything more to say to the man, he turned on his heel and picked his way over the rubble back toward the door. "Good luck Doctor."
Russ looked up in surprise. "Wait..." He gave up his search for liquid bliss and stumbled, less gracefully, after James. "What are you doing here anyway?" As he stepped into the street, he had to shield his eyes from the near blinding sun.
"Looking to help people. I guess I was looking for hope – survivors. So far I've only found you." James quirked an eyebrow, surveying the disheveled doctor once more and then hopped into the jeep and turned the key in the ignition.