There are no growls and grumbles, though. Not from the dead or the bear. No shuffling feet in the snow, aiming for her. The commotion from earlier has calmed, and she only hopes that holds true for the remainder of her mission. She hefts her bag on her shoulder as the pharmacy comes into view, its windows busted out and the first row of supplies scattered across the ground.
She can’t see inside far enough to know if there’s any threat within. Her heart picks up the pace to slam against her ribs, her flight response telling her to flee rather than risk it. She doesn’t listen. No, shooting class never taught her how to handle any of this, that’s for damn sure, but she can still pull a trigger just fine, so she aims her sights into the dim interior and steps over the windowsill to enter the unknown.
Something must have knocked the power supply loose to flicker the lights overhead, illuminating the space before cloaking her in shadows again. It’s like a fluorescent trap calling out to a mosquito, and she feels like the bug right about now. Still, she puts one foot in front of the other, snagging a few supplies they could use off the shelves to shove in her pack before finally reaching the back counter where the real drugs are kept.
There is a man at the far corner staring at the wall, his back heaving with every breath, but his attention fixed on nothing. She freezes, aiming her gun at the silent target, unsure if she should call out to him or brace for impact.
If he’s infected, then he’s caught in some kind of hibernation. Motionless and docile, and she wonders if this is how they all behave when there’s nothing around to hunt. If they shut down until another fly gets caught in their web.
Or, he’s alive and hurt, and she could help him.
It could go either way at this point.
The garbled sound of a radio startles her with nothing but muted static. She flinches, knocking against a shelf and toppling over a row of cleaning products. Just like that, the man in the corner is activated, turning toward her with surprising speed and nearly vaulting over the counter with snapping, bloody teeth.
He is on her before she can blink, her gun barrel sideways between them instead of pointed at his head like it should be. She shoves at him, but he hardly moves, except to pin her to the ground, rotten drool dripping from his mouth onto her neck. Fuck, she can’t die here like this. Who will help Theo? He’ll assume she abandoned him. That she went to the wildlife center alone. He will suffer for who knows how long, and then if he makes it to the other side of his migraine, he’ll think she left on purpose.
If.
If he makes it to the other side.
He might not. She could be his only chance, and so she refuses to give in or to allow that apathy toward her own life that she’d grown so fond of over the years to take over once again. She kicks the monster in the stomach with both feet, shoving it back a few inches, reaches for her belt to grab her knife, and plunges the sharp end into a soft eyeball on its next attempt to rip her throat out.
Instantly, the body goes heavy and limp, crushing her. She rolls it off with a disgusted grunt, shaking her arms as she pushes up onto her knees, if that might fling the remnants of gore off her coat.
There’s no time to waste, so she grabs her pack and heads behind the counter, looking for lithium and finding nothing just like she expected. That’s a specialty item, and they are toofar into the wilderness for any of those. There are a few mild painkillers that she drops into the bag because they’re better than nothing.
Then she pauses, catching sight of something that will knock him out cold. If he’s passed out, he can’t be hurting. What could be his only hope sits inside a locked, clear cabinet staring back at her like a siren to a ship at sea.
Fentanyl.
She isn’t surprised they have some. A place like this would be hard-pressed to get anyone to a larger city for emergency end-of-life relief. They would need to keep these things on hand just in case.
She takes the butt of her gun and breaks the glass, grabbing the bottle with shaking hands. Fuck she wants it, too. Wants to feel the all-encompassing bliss that only a drug like this could offer, especially if she might not make it out of this ordeal alive. Sobriety is far less appealing when the rest of the world might be descending into an apocalypse. It would be easy to chase away all her anxiety right now, but if she does that, she can’t help Theo, so she resists the temptation even when her fingertips start to tremble with the urge.
There are other drugs that she takes, too. A little Oxy. A vile of morphine that’s useless without any syringes, and she can’t find a single one. A year’s supply of ibuprofen, because why not? Her brain fixates on the fentanyl in her possession until her nerves are lit aflame like a fucking junkie all over again. She can’t do this. Can’t let her past dictate her future or ruin his only chance at relief.
Can’t let her ex keep winning even from the grave.
Nora nearly misses the moaning woman under a toppled rack of toilet paper until she’s nipping at her boots. Snapping teeth aim for a bite, while torn ligaments from her neck hang loose.
She slams the handle of the gun into her temple again and again, knowing it’s a mercy but also needing an outlet for all her sudden frustrations. Funneling them into the corpse at her feet until it stops moving is the logical choice. Doesn’t realize she’s crying until her nose begins to stuff up and tears dry against her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the unnamed person on the ground who’s found more peace than Nora ever will. “I’m so sorry.”
And then she runs for the window, hopping over the ledge and rushing down the street again toward the sheriff’s station, hoping she isn’t too late.
* * *
It’s worse than she feared when she sees Theo again, not on the cot where she left him, but back on the hard floor with his temple dripping crimson from self-inflicted injuries. There’s no time to waste, so rather than fumble through reassurances, she squats down to where he’s propped against the wall and palms his face with both hands, feeling the ever-present quaking in his body. “Look at me. I need you to let this melt under your tongue. Do not swallow it. Do you understand?”
He groans, unable to maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds, barely registering her presence at all.
“Dammit, Theo, look at me! Under your tongue. Do. Not. Swallow. It. Tell me you understand.”
“Yeah… yeah, I understand,” he grinds out, a whimper escaping him a moment later as he grips her arm.
Quickly, she pops a tablet out of the container and slips it into his mouth. “Under your tongue. Under your tongue. Holdit there and let it melt. It’ll take a few minutes to kick in. Come here, you can lean on me, it’s okay.”
