He pulled out six of the plastic bins, slid them over to her.
“Look through those envelopes,” he said. “We want amoxicillin, penicillin, s.h.i.t like that. I’ll get you that water.”
He stood, looked over the counter and out into the store — still empty. The pharmacy door was off to his left. It opened into store’s horizontal rear aisle. Most of the end-cap displays were untouched. If he’d needed a new mop head or a four-for-three bargain on Tampax, it would have been his lucky day.
He saw the refrigerators off to the left, still lit from within. He skipped the soft drinks, grabbed three bottles of water and an orange juice instead. One refrigerator contained sandwiches. He grabbed three.
The lights are on … the refrigerators are working.
In all the apocalyptic movies, the power was one of the first things to go. But not here in Chicago. With the city all but destroyed, wouldn’t the psychos have hit a power plant? A transformer? Power lines, maybe? Apparently not.
He looked up and down the line of refrigerators. There was enough food and water to last him and Sofia for several days. And if they ate through all that, the shelves were still filled with dry goods, canned tuna, crackers … enough to last them weeks.
Long enough for the National Guard to arrive, to take control of the city.
An idea struck him. He jogged through the aisles, careful not to step on anything, looking for small appliances. In Aisle Six, he found what he wanted: an electric heater.
He juggled his loot as he walked back to the pharmacy door. If he could find a way to board up that front entrance, maybe board up whatever rear entrance the place had, they could stay here at least long enough for Sofia to get better.
Just to the right of the pharmacy door he found a waist-high wall of bandages and disinfectants.
He walked into the pharmacy and set the food and water next to her. She held up a white paper bag: amoxicillin.
“Good girl,” he said. He opened a bottle for her and put it in her hands. He then opened the medicine, put two pills in her mouth. She lifted the water bottle — weakly, but on her own — and took a drink. Her eyes closed in relief.
“Oh my G.o.d,” she said. “Thank you. I never thought water could taste so good.”
He grabbed the box with the heater, slid it in front of her. “Unless you object, I’ll just go ahead and plug this in for you.”
Her eyes widened. She shivered. “Heat? Oh, Coop, if I wasn’t so messed up, you’d totally get a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b.”
“Yeah? Well, then get ready for your panties to evaporate.”
Cooper walked out, gathered an armful of peroxide, cotton b.a.l.l.s and gauze wrap. He walked back to her and set the pile of medical supplies next to the pile of food.
She weakly lifted her water bottle, took another drink. “I’ve had better dates, but not many,” she said. “Turn the heater on before I change my mind about f.u.c.king the living h.e.l.l out of you.”
“Yeah, all your bleeding and shivering is such a turn-on.” Cooper ripped open the heater box. He looked at the cash register on the counter, followed the power cord down to an outlet. He plugged in the heater, turned it as high as it would go and pointed it at her.
The heater’s fan spun up. The air came out, warm at first, then it quickly turned hot.
Sofia closed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall. “Oh, h.e.l.l yes. Thank you.”
Cooper gently opened Jeff’s coat and pulled up Sofia’s shirt to look at the wound. The edges were gray, almost black. It looked horrible. He had no idea what to do next.
He opened the bottle of peroxide, then a box of gauze strips. He poured peroxide onto the wound. Sofia hissed as the liquid fizzed into whiteness. He used the gauze to dab at the wound. He cleaned as gently as he could, wiping away blood both dry and wet. He used more gauze to cover the wound, then ran tape around her stomach and back.
“That’s all I know to do,” he said.
He smiled at her. She took a drink of water, smiled back.
Swishhhh.
They froze: the front door had just turned.
They heard footsteps.
A man’s voice called out, and it was all Cooper could do to not p.i.s.s his pants for the second time.
“Where are you, motherf.u.c.ker? Are you in there?”
The voice sounded confident, aggressive; the voice of a man in a bar challenging another man to a fight.
Swishhh … swishhh … swishhh.
More noises. Feet moving, cellophane rattling, boxes falling. More than one man; maybe three, maybe four. Then, the sound of a low, deep growl.
Too deep to be human.
Sofia’s hands snapped out: she grabbed Cooper’s jacket, surprising him. He started to lean back, but she pulled him close.
“They’re going to find us,” she hissed. Her face was only inches from his, her skin red, the edges of her nose cracked and raw. “They’re going to find us. They’re going to kill us.”
“Be quiet,” he whispered back, trying to push her away. She was losing it. She was making too much noise. He had to get her out of there, had to get himself out of there.
“Sofia, let go of me!”
Out in the store, something hit hard against a shelf. The shelf must have tipped over, because it crashed onto the floor with a sound like a broken gong. Cooper heard people moving around, yelling at each other.
Sofia’s puffy eyes filled with tears. She mouthed two words, over and over:
Shoot them!
The noises in the store grew closer.
Cooper grabbed Sofia’s wrists, pulled at them, tried to tear her grip from his coat.