The buildings closed in around him and seemed to grow taller, their blank windows dead eyes, the broken ones busted teeth. Water ran in a steady stream from beneath the door of a beauty parlor, flooding the sidewalk outside and a portion of the street. A woman wearing a bright yellow dress was sprawled near the front of a hardware store, her skin purplish, hair matted and tangled, obscuring her features. One of her shoes was missing.
Quinn scanned the business signs, his heart leaping when he saw the word GUNS in massive bold print above one storefront. He pulled the Honda to the side of the road, reluctantly shutting the engine off.
The wind was his only company on the street.
He ducked inside the store, handgun drawn.
The shelves were immaculately clean. There wasn’t a single weapon left. In the rear of the store he found a solitary magazine that would fit the AR-15 along with a spilled half box of matching shells. He gathered these up, pouring them back into the container before leaving the store behind.
On the following street, two burnt husks that had once been pickups were locked together by their crushed front ends. The drivers had either escaped or been ravaged by the flames so violently that they were no longer visible. Quinn skirted the wreck and pulled to the curb beneath a flapping awning, its garish purple and orange colors bright amidst the drab surroundings. He drew the pistol again and eased inside the drug store.
An old brass bell chimed over the door as he entered, the air within the store thick with the scent of decaying food. A long, glass counter spanned the left side of the building, shining malt dispensers and candy cases lining the wall behind it. A pair of bare and graying feet protruded from an aisle on the opposite side. The rear of the store was devoted to the pharmacy, and Quinn hurried down the aisle to its white counter.
Rows and rows of shelves holding containers of pills and fluids took up the wide space. A dead computer sat atop a desk and several hundred bright green capsules were scattered on the floor. Quinn stepped on them with a popping sound and began to search the desk’s drawers. He found what he was looking for, not in the desk but hanging from a thin chain attached to one of the shelf ends.
He thumbed through the pharmacy desk reference, its dog-eared pages dry and loud as he turned them. When he reached the section on antibiotics, there were dozens of choices listed. He scanned them, glancing toward the street every few minutes. The names began to blend together, their uses obscure within the subtext of medical language. He concentrated, reading each section thoroughly before moving on. When he saw the words, ‘broad-spectrum’, he drew a line across the page to the corresponding dosage and drug name.
“Ertapenem.” He said the word, its pronunciation like chewing a bite of food too large. “Why the hell can’t they name drugs something normal?” Quinn said under his breath before beginning to scan the shelves.
He found the vial of antibiotic on the bottom of the second shelf. After checking the contents, he grabbed three more bottles, tucking them into a cloth bag he spotted in the corner of the room. On the opposite side of the pharmacy, he found antiseptic, plastic-wrapped syringes, a ream of gauze, as well as a tube of burn cream. He squeezed out some of the paste onto a finger and spread it on his face, sighing with the relief it brought.
Pacing back to the desk, he spotted another row of vials secured within a glass case. When he leaned in closer, he saw they were all opiates, Morphine being the most prominent. He considered taking a few of them but decided against it. He’d been here long enough.
Grabbing a large first aid kit on the way out of the store along with two handfuls of candy bars, he paused, skirting between the aisles to an alcove holding wheelchairs, crutches, and wall full of elastic braces. There was only one of the items he sought, leaning against a row of oxygen tanks. After grabbing it, he hurried toward the door, tucking the white cane beneath his arm, and eased out into the fresh air.
A herd of stilts stood in the center of the nearest intersection.