Cruel World(101)

The stilt was closer, its long arms sweeping products from shelves as it moved toward the pharmacy. It hissed and pawed at the corpse on the floor before leaning in to feed.

Quinn ducked down, mind racing. He drew out the revolver and stared at it. There was an entire herd outside the door. They would hear a shot. He would be trapped inside as they poured in and eventually tore him apart.

Something shattered, closer this time.

His eyes roamed the space around him. Drugs, shelves, office chairs, the door (mostly glass), a rock painted a multitude of colors on the floor.

He stared at the rock.

It was a doorstop for the pharmacy entrance. It was semi-round and roughly the size of a softball. A sloppy, yellow smiley face was painted in its center.

He snaked a hand out and pulled it to him, waiting for the creature to roar. There was a tinkling of glass and then a loud sneeze. He worked himself beneath the pick-up counter and drew his feet in as footsteps came closer and stopped outside the pharmacy door.

Long seconds ticked by.

The stilt grunted and stepped inside.

He had two rapid heartbeats to decide if he would move or not.

He moved.

Quinn eased out from beneath the counter as the stilt took another step down the closest aisle. He wound back his arm and threw the rock as hard as he could at the back of its head.

The rock flew through the air and connected with the stilt’s skull, the pale, hairless skin there splitting open in a spatter of blood.

It fell forward, trying to grab onto a shelf as it plummeted, but its hand met only empty air. It flattened on the pharmacy floor, arms above its head, blood dribbling down its neck.

Quinn stepped forward, putting the revolver against the slight nub of its ear, but it didn’t stir. Chuffing breaths came out of its nose, and its long fingers twitched.

He turned and picked up the cloth bag along with the cane. Halfway to the front door he slowed, then stopped, staring out of the drug store’s window.

Another stilt was making its way toward the store, its eyes twitching in their sockets as it left the bulk of the herd and moved with long steps in his direction.

“Fuck,” he swore, his voice a hoarse whisper. He ran back the way he’d come and stepped into the pharmacy to see the prone stilt’s eyes beginning to open.

The rock. Where was the rock?

There was a scratching at the front door. The bell tinkled.

The creature before him made a guttural sound in its throat.

His eyes scanned the space around him, seconds ticking down.

Quinn set the bag down and grabbed the biggest syringe he could find off of the counter. Tearing the wrapper off, he knelt before the glass case holding the opiates. His hands shook as he pulled the door open and snatched a vial of morphine from within. Quinn shoved the tip of the syringe into the rubber stopper and drew back the plunger as he crab-walked to the waking stilt’s side.

He jammed the syringe into the monster’s back between its shoulder blades and depressed all of the morphine in one movement.

It stiffened and issued a short grunt. Quinn peeked over the pick-up counter and saw the other stilt standing in the doorway, its head swinging from side to side. The creature before him struggled to get its wide hands beneath its shoulders, but its movements were becoming sluggish. It bared its teeth and found him with its eyes.

They were blue, like Alice’s, like Ty’s.

Its eyelids fluttered, and it gasped for breath, legs sliding along the floor in slow semicircles. He chanced another look over the counter and saw the stilt by the door tilt its head, but its attention was turned to the large group outside that croaked as one, their voices intermingling in a base discord.

The stilt on the floor shuddered, its muscles slackening.

The bell chimed, and the front door closed.

Quinn slumped, sliding down and lying flat. He couldn’t stay here. He had to move. But at that moment, nothing was more right than the chilly tile against his back and his sweat cooling on his skin. When his breathing had returned to normal, he went to the front of the store and looked out.

The street was empty. The intersection where the herd had been was completely vacant.

The sun had dropped below the hill Ferry was built into. The afternoon shade lengthened with each minute. He gazed out at the Honda and then at the street that would take him back toward the recreation area and the lodge where Alice and Ty were waiting.

Time ticked by.

He checked the street every other minute, the bag and Ty’s new cane clutched at his side. He should go now. There hadn’t been any sign of them in at least twenty minutes. They’d moved on. But God, there’d been so many of them. Why were there so many? And why were they moving together?