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For some reason, the memory of him saying it and the way he said it triggers my long-dormant sense of humor. I stifle a giggle. Then another one.
“What’s going on back there?” he demands.
I shift behind him, adjusting my hold on his waist. He’s not going all that fast at the moment, but the wind blows into my face the loose strands of hair that escaped my ponytail. “Nothing.”
His bad-tempered tone makes me laugh even more. This time I can’t smother it. I shake against him as I try to contain the laughter.
“What the hell? Are you having an asthma attack back there?” He slows down and glances back over his shoulder.
“No. Just thought of something funny.”
“What?” He turns his head again to peer at me. Our faces are only a few inches apart.
“Nothing,” I say again. “Just my own thoughts.” I tighten my arms around him until I realize what I’m doing. Then I have to purposefully loosen my hold. I turn my head so he doesn’t see me laughing.
He’d like it if he knew his smart remark made me giggle. He’d take it as a smug victory. No sense in giving him that.
***
THE TRIP TO CHESTERgoes through woods and over hills on an old hiking trail we like to use because it avoids all the towns and most fellow travelers. Our ride is uneventful. We stop once so Jackson can move a fallen branch out of our way, and I pee behind a tree and drink a few swigs of water while we’re stopped. But otherwise the afternoon is uneventful, and we reach the road that leads into Chester without encountering anyone else.
The town has been deserted. For the past few years, every town that hasn’t been barricaded and protected by armed guards is deserted—with only the occasional vagabond or traveler taking shelter in the abandoned buildings.
Like all the other towns in this region, all the accessible houses and stores have been thoroughly pillaged, but when we reach the old drugstore we found—off all the main roads—I’m relieved to see it’s still in the state we saw it before.
The building has collapsed, and the rubble is still piled up over the back section of it.
Maybe no one else has found and looted it yet.
“This is going to be a pain in the ass,” Jackson mutters, pulling to a stop and visually assessing the situation in the same way I am.
“I don’t care.”
“It would be nice if we had a bulldozer.”
“It would be nice if we had a lot of things. Let’s not complain and just do it.”
It’s just as hard, frustrating, and backbreaking as Jackson predicted. An hour later, I’ve got a number of bruises and so does he. We wouldn’t have been able to move some of the heavier sections had he not brought rope. We secure it to the ATV and use the momentum from the acceleration to move the largest pieces of wall.
But we finally free up enough of it for us to look through the broken shelves and scattered medicine bottles.
There’s a lot here. I’m aching and sweating and roasting in the heat of the sun, but I gather up everything I see that could possibly be of use. Prescription-strength ibuprofen. Benadryl. Steroid cream.
I almost sob when I see a name on a bottle that looks familiar. I grab it and peer at the label. The ink has bled some, and it’s not entirely clear.
“Antibiotic?” Jackson asks. He’s gobbling up medications with exactly the same enthusiasm as me.
“Yeah. But it’s not the kind I’m hoping for. This is just like a sinus infection antibiotic. Not very strong. But better than nothing. Keep looking.”
“I’ve got a bunch of eye drops and some allergy medication. Oh shit. These are epinephrine shots.” Jackson piles everything he finds into a sack. “I don’t recognize this one.” He tosses me over a bottle.
I squint as I read the label. “I think that’s an antibiotic too, but I’m not sure what it’s used for. At least we found two.”
We search the rubble for a half hour, and we come away with more medication than we’ve gotten our hands on since the very first year. But only the two antibiotics. Evidently the rest of the ones carried by this pharmacy were on the other shelves, which all got emptied long ago.
But still... It’s a good haul. Well worth the trip.
The very last bottle I find—having dug it out from under a heavy piece of wall—has a familiar name. I stare down at it, my hand shaking.
