Page 33 of Sick(ness)

Sawyer moved methodically, scanning for useful supplies. “Check the baby aisle,” he said. “Sometimes there’s protein powder or formula that’s good for calories.”

She nodded and hurried down another row. The baby section appeared to have been raided hard; shelves stripped bare except for a few crushed boxes and a lone pacifier still sealed in plastic. She grabbed it anyway, unsure why. Maybe some part of her still clung to the thought that there were babies somewhere who needed it.

By the time they made it to the checkout lanes, Addy’s hands were shaking. Everything around her seemed like a snapshot of the moment the world stopped. Candy bars half-unwrapped on the conveyor belt. A wallet lying open beside a register, its photos curled with moisture. The register drawer was half open, with money that was now as valuable as dust.

Sawyer stood beside her, silent for a long moment. Then he reached over, gently taking the cans from her arms and loading them into his pack. “Let’s move,” he said quietly. “We’ve got what we need.”

As they made their way toward the front of the store, the soft clink of cans in their packs was the only sound. Addy was focused on the door, on the weak daylight filtering through the glass, on the promise of fresh air beyond it, when a low, wet sound broke through the silence.

A moan.

It was faint at first, but then it came again, drawn out and rough, like air scraping through broken lungs.

Sawyer froze mid-step. His hand went instinctively to the rifle slung across his shoulder as he turned, scanning the dim aisles. “Stay behind me,” he muttered.

Addy’s pulse spiked. She followed his gaze toward the back of the store, past the half-collapsed shelves and spilled boxes. That’s when she saw him.

A man was slumped against a metal rack near the dairy section, half-hidden behind a display of cleaning supplies. He was skeletal; his clothes hung off him as if they’d once fit another person entirely. His face was gray, lips cracked, eyes glassy and sunken deep into his skull. Every shallow breath rattled in his chest, a thin whistle escaping with each exhale.

“Oh my God…” Addy whispered, taking a small step forward before Sawyer’s arm shot out across her chest, stopping her.

The man’s head lifted weakly at the sound of her voice. His eyes met hers, unfocused but pleading, the faintest trace of humanity flickering there. His mouth opened as if he were trying to speak, but only a strained gurgle came out, half word, half death rattle.

Sawyer didn’t hesitate. His expression went hard, calm, practiced. In one smooth motion, he raised his gun, sighted down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger.

The sound cracked through the still air, echoing off the aisles like thunder. The man slumped sideways and didn’t move again.

Addy flinched at the shot, the sound ringing in her ears. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The image burned behind her eyes: the gray skin, the open mouth, the sudden, final stillness.

Her voice came out small and trembling. “He was, he was still alive.”

Sawyer’s jaw tightened. He lowered the rifle and checked the corners of the room, making sure the noise hadn’t drawn attention. Then he turned to her, eyes steady, voice low and even.

“No, he wasn’t,” he said. “Not really. That’s not living, 2b.”

Addy swallowed hard, forcing back the nausea rising in her throat. Part of her wanted to argue, to tell him he had no right. But deep down, she knew he was right. The man was already gone; the virus had just left the shell behind to suffer.

Still, something inside her cracked a little at the sight. She’d known death was everywhere, but this was the first time she’d seen it take someone up close, raw, and human.

Sawyer slung the rifle over his shoulder and nodded toward the door.

“We need to move. That shot’ll carry.”

Addy followed him out, her legs unsteady. As they stepped into the afternoon light, she glanced back once through the broken glass door.

The man lay still in the dim aisle, illuminated by only the weak rays of light coming through the windows, surrounded by the quiet ruins of what had once been normal life.

The sharp echo of the gunshot still rang in Addy’s ears as they hurried down the street, boots crunching over bits of glass and gravel. Every noise seemed louder now: the wind through broken signs, a can rolling somewhere in the distance. The air itself was charged, as if something were holding its breath.

They needed to move. Fast.

“The pharmacy’s next,” Sawyer said, scanning the block as they approached. The streets were unnervingly empty, cars left at odd angles, doors open, a child’s backpack spilled onto the curb.

The door to the small corner pharmacy was locked, but Sawyer didn’t waste time. He wedged his pry bar between the frame and the latch, muscles flexing as the wood groaned in protest. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, giving it one last shove. The lock gave way with a snap, and he slipped inside, motioning for her to follow.

It was darker here, colder too. The air carried a faint chemical sting, the lingering scent of disinfectant and dust. A few fluorescent lights still flickered in the ceiling, generator probably, casting a sickly green hue over the shelves.

Addy’s heart pounded as she moved through the aisles, flashlight beam sweeping over half-empty rows. “Grab the essentials,” Sawyer said quietly from behind her. “We don’t have long.”