His wide eyes locked onto mine. “Why in the hell did you do that?”
A person. A living person. Why couldn’t I move? Speak? Say anything?
He motioned behind him with his thumb as he stepped into the aisle. “Before you go around shooting at things, you should really check out all the entrances first. The back door was open, you know?” He shook his dark shaggy head. His shoulders rose and fell. “Just a suggestion.”
I couldn’t say anything. Not a word, though my lips trembled.
“You think you can put that down for a second?” He nodded to the gun. “You’re making me nervous.”
I couldn’t quite figure out what he was making me.
“Do you speak English? Habla ingles?” He made some quick motions with his fingers—sign language. “Parlez-vous Anglais? Anything?”
I lowered my arm, aiming the gun at the ground. “I’m sick.” There was so much I should have asked, should have said, should have done, but I chose, in that pivotal moment, to announce my illness to the only other living person around. Great.
“Sick, huh?” He took a few more steps toward me, crunching the glass beneath his worn cowboy boots as he drew closer. “How sick?” Before I could answer, Callie’s tugging and fighting against her harness drew the stranger’s attention and he gave a low chuckle. “Well, a’righty then. Just when you think you’ve seen it all, a cat on a leash.”
His deep laugh caused my shoulders to go rigid. I kept my finger on the trigger, but the gun pointed down. “Are you following me?”
He returned his attention my way. “Following you?” He shook his head. “Kid, I was here first, remember? If anything, you’re following me.”
“But I heard you, yesterday. Your laugh. You were laughing at me.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I was following you. Only means we crossed paths at the same time, and your complaining happened to entertain me.”
That didn’t make sense. “You saw me, but you didn’t let me know you were there? Why?”
“Why would I? I don’t know you.”
I didn’t think I had ever had a more frustrating conversation in my whole life. “Are there any other people around? Have you seen anyone else?”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets and shrugged again. “Nope. You’re the first person I’ve run across.”
“And you didn’t think letting me know someone else existed, was alive, would be important to me?”
He removed his hands from his pockets and held them up. “Like I said, I don’t know you, and right now, I don’t even think I want to know you.”
Is he mental or something? “But there’s no one else around?”
A huge grin spread over his whiskery face and his eyes brightened, enhancing a few wrinkles around the edges. “And ain’t that perfect? The best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”
I shook my head. Unbelievable. Of all the possible people to have run into, I had to find this guy! “What are you saying? This isn’t perfect at all!”
He continued smiling at me as he squatted next to Callie and ran his fingers between her ears to calm her. “One man’s hell is another man’s heaven.”
“You’re insane!”
“That’s debatable. I’m not the one shooting out glass doors, am I?”
I slipped the safety on my gun and shoved it into my waistband. “Stop touching my cat.”
“But she likes it.”
“Leave my cat alone and go away.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually said that. The only person I’d seen in nearly two months, and I’d had enough of him to last a lifetime.
He stood and brushed his hands off on his pants. “I’m not finished here. I still need a few things from inside.”
“I need a few things too.”
“Then by all means”—he waved his arm in front of him in a grand gesture—”after you.”
I walked over the broken glass, grinding the pieces into the tile. I had come a long way to get here and refused to let him scare or annoy me into leaving. “I don’t like you.”
He gave his familiar chuckle. “Few people do.”
We split ways, he heading to the personal hygiene aisle and I heading to the back corner of the store toward the pharmacy.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Two people finding each other in the rubble of an apocalyptic aftermath should come together, lean on each other for support, and find a collective way to survive. I shouldn’t be sick and he shouldn’t be crazy. This whole thing was wrong.
A large security gate ran across the length of the counter. The door to the pharmacy was locked with some fancy contraption requiring a keycard plus punch code. Through the metal gate, bottles of medicine lined the shelves, untouched and waiting. So close, but nearly impossible to get.
I grabbed on to the gate and shook the heck out of it, pulling and tugging, using up what remained of my strength and causing my already aching arm to radiate pain. The gate wouldn’t budge. I slumped forward, my forehead resting against the counter with my fingers still wrapped around the metal frame.
I needed tools. And getting tools required breaking into another store. The situation was beginning to feel a lot like the book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie—if you want prescription medications, you’re going to need tools, and if you need tools, you’re going to have to break into Home Depot, and to break into Home Depot you’re going to need....
When would this ever end?
“Here, hold this. I’ll be right back.”
I lifted my head, and the insane stranger shoved several boxes of toothpaste, deodorant, and a stack of spiral notebooks into my arms before moving past me and down the hall toward the restrooms.
Really?
I was about to toss the whole lot on the ground, when he returned, winked at me, and produced a small black bag. He placed it on the counter, unzipped it, and removed several small tools.
“Better than bullets,” he said, as he jammed them into the lock, twisting and turning them, until with a smile, he slid the gate open. “Ta-da.”
Okay, that was impressive. “How’d you learn to do that?”
“Picking locks? My old man taught me when I was a kid. Thought it might come in handy someday.”
“Really? What kind of dad teaches their kid how to pick locks?” Rude, I knew, especially when my own father taught me to shoot guns and build a bomb shelter. Who was I to judge?
He placed each tool back in the bag with precision, each one in its rightful place. “The kind of dad who happens to be a convicted criminal. Grand larceny.”
I drew in my breath. Jeez.
He looked up at me and smiled. “Kidding. My dad was a locksmith. A real good one, too.” He lifted his bag. “See? His lessons came in handy, didn’t they? So what are you needing, and please tell me you’re not after Oxycontin? It’s not worth it. That stuff can really mess you up if you abuse it.”
“No. Just antibiotics. I cut my arm and I think it’s infected.”
He nodded and let out his breath in an exaggerated way. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Your arm. Show it to me.”
I removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeve to expose the bandage. Blood and puss stained the gauze. It made me a little woozy, and I slid to the floor to sit.
“Yeah, that’s going to need to be cleaned.” He squatted in front of me, slipped a pocketknife from his jeans, and cut the bandage off without the blade touching my skin. He let out a low whistle. “That’s a deep one, a’right.” He stood and pointed down at me. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”
I had no idea who he was, and I was pretty sure I didn’t like him, but since I couldn’t have my dad, the doomsday-loving lunatic would have to do.
“Hope you like Berry Blast.” He reached into the grocery basket, unscrewed the cap on a bottle of Gatorade, and handed it to me. He took my other hand and placed one large white pill and three smaller ones of various colors in my palm. “Take them all
. You’re going to need them.”
“What are they?” I rolled the pills around.
“Does it matter?”
I glared at him. “Yeah, it kind of does.”
He shook his head. “Fine. That one’s an antibiotic. Those two are for your fever and that one”—he pointed to the smallest pill—”will liven you up a bit and make you nicer to be around.”
“What?”
“It will take the edge off and make it easier for me to do what I’ve got to do.” He started removing various items from the basket—needle, thread, rubbing alcohol, scissors, clean bandages, a bottle of Jack Daniels. Great. “That’s mine, so don’t touch it.”
“I am a nice person.” I held the tiny pill out to him. “I don’t want it.”
He pushed it back at me. “You’re mildly pleasant, if that. Do yourself a favor and take it. Trust me. You’re going to want it.”
Trust him? He had a bottle of whiskey next to the supplies he planned to stitch me up with.
“Suit yourself.” He poured the rubbing alcohol in the cap of the bottle then ran the needle and the entire pre-cut length of sewing thread through the liquid. With a sigh, he laid it all on a paper towel at his side, spreading it out like a medical scene from a television show. “I’m not the one about to have a needle shoved in and out of my arm, you are. Your choice.” He held up the Jack Daniels and winked before taking a swig. “My choice.” Letting out a low burp, he patted his chest. “Ahh, much better. You ready?”
I tossed all the pills onto my tongue and swallowed them down with a mouthful of warm Gatorade. Maybe I did need a little something to get through this. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” He smiled and rubbed the top of my head as if I were a dog. “Don’t worry. I’ve sewn on buttons and mended socks several times. This ain’t all that different.”
I yanked my arm to my chest. Oh, heck no! “This is way different!”
“You know what?” He sat back on his haunches, tented his knees, and rested his arms on top. “Why don’t we let that little pill kick in before we patch you up?” He took another drink from his bottle, screwed the lid back on, looked at it for a minute, and then launched it backward, high over his shoulders. It crashed in the next aisle over a few seconds later.
Jeez. “Are you drunk or something?”
“Nah, I’m no alcoholic. Addictions a bad thing.” He wagged his finger at me. “Remember that. But I’m an adult and you’re not, so it’s okay if I need a swig or two to give me a helping hand. Adults get to have that distinct pleasure.” He leaned forward. “You notice I tossed it away, right?”
He waited for me to answer, so I nodded.
“That’s called restraint, something kids like yourself don’t tend to have. Anything more than a sip or two and you’re heading for a lifetime of pain and hurt. Remember that, too.”
“I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. Never have.” I’d seen Toby hover over a toilet after a night of binge-drinking. I had witnessed him passed out, nearly naked, on our front porch, too tired or too high to open the front door. I had experienced enough of his anger, his wallowing, and his sappy love to know I didn’t want any part of it. Besides, Dad had enough on his plate dealing with my brother. If I started any of those things, he may have given up completely and joined the both of us on the road to hell.
The odd stranger cocked his head and gave a quick nod. “Good. Don’t start.” He leaned back against a shelf full of drug and pregnancy tests. “So, what do you do for fun?”
“You mean when I’m not trying to survive the end of the world?” Warmness filled my belly and exuded from my core, creeping to the very ends of my body—my toes, my nose, my fingers. Light airiness surrounded my head and seemed to lift me up, making me feel feather-like. Wow, that was fast.
“Yeah, before all this. What kind of things were you into?” He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “Sports? Music? Nah, I bet you were a book nerd. Am I right?”
How dare he? “I like books, but I wouldn’t say I’m a book nerd. Just because someone likes to read doesn’t mean they need labeling.”
He smiled. “I totally called that one, didn’t I?”
Idiot. “I bet the last time you read a book was when you were a toddler. ABCs and one, two, threes? Am I right?” I shifted my weight to become more comfortable, but the lightness of my head caused me to slowly fall to one side. Weeeee....
He caught me in his large hands and lowered me gently to the floor. “Ahh, it’s kicking in. About time. How do you feel?”
“Awesome.”
“Good.” He took his jacket off, rolled it into a ball, and tucked it under my head. It smelled like a combination of Old Spice and Axe body spray.
So that was what he was doing when I had shot the door, making himself smell nice. The spray was actually quite lovely, and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs. Weird.
“Keep still so I can make sure to stitch your arm in a decent pattern. You move, you may end up with zig-zags and a puckered scar.” He rolled my sleeve all the way up to my shoulder and leaned in close to my ear. “Just so you know, reading is a good thing. People should do more of it.”
“What?” Nothing he said made sense—ever.
“Nothing. Here, hold this.” He shoved a stuffed Santa into my arms, and proceeded to clean my wound.
What in the world? But when that first poke of the needle pierced my skin, I hugged Santa tight, almost squeezing the stuffing right out of him. Holy— “How many stitches?”
“Not sure yet. You’re tough. Hang in there.”
I was far from tough. Each pinch and poke caused my eyes to water. I closed them tight and hugged that stupid Santa as the thread weaved its way back and forth through my skin.
With more gentleness than I would have expected from him, he wiped the wetness away from my cheek with his thumb. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a sympathetic look and went back to stitching me up.
I must have passed out, because one minute I was biting my bottom lip and fighting back tears and the next I was sleeping on top of a pile of Pillow Pets—unicorns, lady bugs, and brown floppy dogs—covered in a zebra-striped Snuggie. Strange, but definitely comfortable.
He sat across from me, his back against a shelf, a Pillow Pet of his own tucked behind his head, and Callie lying on her back in his lap. He rubbed her belly, and my kitten purred in delight.
“You’re such a good girl. Yes, you are,” he whispered.
Several cat toys littered the floor by his long legs along with a bowl of water and an opened can of cat food. I couldn’t help but smile at the rugged man playing with the little orange and white ball of fur.
“How long was I out?”
He straightened. “I’d guess an hour or so. Not too long. How you feeling?” He placed Callie on a leopard-print dog bed with her leash tied to a bottle of fabric softener, and crawled toward me.
“I think I’m feeling okay.” I took my time to sit up in case my head felt like floating away again.
He placed his palm on my forehead and nodded before removing it. “Fever’s down. That’s good.” He picked up my partially drunk Gatorade and handed it to me. “You need to drink more. I’ll get you another bottle and another antibiotic before I go.”
He moved to stand, and I grabbed his arm, forcing him to remain squatting. “Go?”
“Yeah, there’s a good hour of light left before the sun sets, and I thought I’d get a move-on.”
My grip tightened. “You can’t go.”
He tipped his chin and smirked. “You can’t stand me and I can barely tolerate you. Why in the world would I stay?”
True. He had a point. “Because we’re the only people left,” I argued. “It makes sense we should stick together.” At least until I could find someone better, but I wouldn’t tell him that part.
He shook his head. “Not a good enough reason.”
“It’s not safe to be on our own. We can work together.” In every movie I’d ever watched the survivors stuck together. That was how it worked.
“Work together? What can you do? You have no skills.”
True. He had another good point. “I’ve kept myself alive all this time. I must have some skills, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’ve barely kept yourself alive—barely. I’m actually surprised you’ve lasted this long.”
“That’s not nice.” I removed my hand from his arm.
“Maybe, but it’s true. I’m doing just fine on my own, and adding a kid and her ‘cat on a string’ doesn’t seem like the best move for me.”
I bit the corner of my mouth to keep myself from crying and showing weakness in front of the jerk. “What about me? What’s my best move?” I had hardly anything left to give, and if he walked out the storefront, leaving me on my own, I might curl up in a fetal position and call it quits. I hated him, but I needed him.
He didn’t say anything, but kept his eyes on mine, unblinking and creepy.
“Tell me. What’s my best move?”
He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“You’re going to curl up and lie here in a ball if I leave, aren’t ya?”
My shoulders stiffened. How did he do that? But who cared? He was softening. “Probably.”
He sighed. “If I stay, you have to promise me one thing.”
Heck, I’d promise him pretty much anything... well, almost anything. I nodded.
“Just promise me you won’t suck all the fun out of being the last people around, okay?”
He lit several candles and placed them around our staked-out corner in Rite Aid. Candles of all sizes and fragrances lined the pharmacy counter and nearby shelves, casting swaying shadows on the walls as the wicks flickered. Comforting, yet eerie at the same time.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. The makeshift bed of stuffed animals, Snuggies, and packages of toilet paper cushioned my bottom and kept me off the cold linoleum floor. It sure beat the gas station, and happened to be more comfortable than I would have imagined.
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