100-Days-in-Deadland(20)

I caught a movement that had been nearly hidden by a minivan, and I sobered. “Look,” I said, pointing at the blonde woman coming around the minivan.

Dark stains marred the front of her shirt and her mouth. Her arms, what was left of them, swung limply with each step. Then I saw the boy hobbling behind her, dragging his left leg. He couldn’t have been more than three or four. He was also covered in blood. He followed her like she was his mother, though according to the news, zeds retained minimal cognitive functions, let alone memories.

I shivered at the thought of a kid getting attacked. What kind of monster would go for a kid?

“You can’t think of them as people anymore,” Clutch said, and I found him watching me. “That kid would kill you the first chance he got. Any of them out there would. They’re the enemy. Out here, you either have to kill them or be killed.”

“I know,” I said as Clutch drove past a row of new houses. A garbage can sat at the end of each driveway waiting for a pickup that would never come, a stark reminder that civilization had just stopped. “But knowing it is easier than seeing it.”

“You’d better come to terms with it quick because we’re stopping up here.”

I looked out the window to see Clutch pull up to a row of old brick buildings. He stopped in front of a pharmacy, wedged between a barber shop and a clothing store. The sign overhead read Gedden’s Drug. The store was small and easy to miss. The glass window next to the door was intact. Through it, I could see decently lit aisles, and everything looked quiet and nothing appeared out of place. A Closed sign hung on the glass door, and I hoped they’d locked up before any zeds got inside.

“No telling how many are wandering around outside so we’ll have to be careful,” Clutch said, and I followed his gaze to the end of the block, where another zed limped across the street. Tires squealed, and a truck lurched around the corner, barreling right over the zed. Someone let out a whoop, and the truck tore past us.

Clutch gripped his gun. Neither of us moved until they’d turned another corner.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“Don’t know.” He drove us around the store and down an alley alongside the building to the lower-level back entrance off the street. It only had one door, and it was closed. The small parking lot backed up to the river.

I grimaced. Two cars sat in spaces marked Employee Parking. At least the door to the pharmacy was still intact. “Looks like we may have a couple helpful smiles in the aisles,” I said, nodding toward the cars. “At least it doesn’t look like anyone else has been here yet.”

“Looters think short-term. The idiots will go for things like cash, booze, and electronics. The smarter ones will go for food, drugs, and ammo first. I’m surprised no addicts have hit this store yet for pain killers, so we need to treat this run as our only shot. The more drugs we can load up on now could save our lives when winter hits.”

That’s what I respected about Clutch. He was always thinking ahead. Not just a day ahead, but months and years ahead. Being a prepper, he already had a full year’s supply of food tucked away in his basement. Well, six to eight month’s supply now that he had me hanging around. The basement was lined with shelves, and every shelf was filled with food, water, and supplies.

His need to be prepared started with something he’d seen in the military, but I was thankful for his worst-case-scenario mindset now. “So what’s the plan?”

“I go in and check it out. You keep watch out here. Keep the doors locked and stay low. If that truck comes around again, lay on the horn, and we’ll cut our losses. If everything’s good, when I give you the all-clear, follow me in. Once inside, get to the pharmacy and load up on every antibiotic and any other drug you can find for sickness and injuries. When in doubt, throw it in the cart. What we can’t use ourselves, we can barter with. We won’t be coming back. I’ll hit the aisles for painkillers, Imodium, and other supplies. If anything happens, you run straight to the truck and lock yourself inside. I got a key and can unlock it from the outside. Got it?”

I nodded, though the entire time my mind was locked on the potential for caffeine. Clutch had to be the only trucker in the world who didn’t drink coffee. My life had done a one-eighty, and while I’d fallen into a new routine more easily than I’d expected, my brain hadn’t. It still craved its daily fix, and reminded me with a headache every morning.

Clutch checked the door, and it didn’t open. With the butt of his rifle, he broke the glass, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside.