Page 34 of Sick(ness)

She nodded and moved fast. Painkillers, antiseptic, gauze, bandages—most of it still there, just buried under a thin film of dust. She found a first-aid kit near the back and tossed it into her pack, then climbed over a toppled shelf to reach the prescription counter. Papers littered the floor, bottles scattered and broken. A phone dangled from its cord, the tone dead but persistent.

In the corner, a cabinet marked Emergency Medical caught her eye. The door stuck for a moment, then gave way. Inside gloves, saline, antibiotics, sutures. Her pulse jumped. This was gold. She stuffed as much as she could into her bag, double-checking labels by flashlight. Next, she found the feminine hygiene area, stuffing that in next.

Sawyer appeared beside her a moment later, scanning her haul. “Anything good?”

Addy zipped her bag shut. “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

He gave a quick nod, glancing toward the door. “Good. Then we’ve got one more stop before we’re out of here.”

Outside, the afternoon light had shifted, longer shadows stretching across the street, the wind colder now. Sawyer pointed down the block toward a faded green sign.

The Sportsman’s Den.

The windows were miraculously intact, a good sign or a bad one.

They crossed the street quickly, boots splashing through a puddle near the curb. Sawyer tested the handle; it was unlocked. He pushed it open slowly, gun raised.

The smell hit first: faint gun oil, dust, and old leather. The place was small, the kind of shop meant for hunters and weekend campers. A few racks of gear lined the walls: sleeping bags, lanterns, tackle boxes, camping fuel.

“Stay close,” Sawyer murmured.

Addy’s flashlight flickered over the counter where a cash register sat open, bills still inside. Behind it, rifles glinted in a locked display case. A few had been taken, but most remained. The shelves beside them were half-empty, with ammo boxes scattered.

Sawyer headed straight for them. “Looks like they didn’t get to this side,” he said, scanning quickly. He grabbed several boxes, .22, 9mm, a few shotgun shells, and stuffed them into his pack. “We’ll make do.”

Addy searched the nearby shelves, finding a hunting knife still sealed in its packaging, a sturdy pair of gloves, and, to her delight, a compact propane stove and a water filter kit. She tossed in a handful of matches for good measure.

“This stuff’s a gold mine,” she whispered, unable to hide her excitement.

“Yeah,” Sawyer said, his tone quieter, more measured. “But we need to move. That shot back there might’ve drawn attention.” He gave one last scan of the shop, behind the counter, down the short aisles, toward the dark storage room in the back. Nothing stirred.

Still, Addy couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching from the shadows.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder, her gaze drifted toward a wall lined with old photos: families holding up fish, kids in life jackets smiling by a lake. The kind of life that already felt like a different planet.

When they stepped back outside, the air sharp with the chill of the oncoming evening.

“Let’s go,” Sawyer said, rifle at the ready. “No more stops.”

They jogged back to the truck, loading their packs into the bed with practiced efficiency. Addy cast one last look down the quiet street. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a curtain move in one of the upstairs windows, a flicker of motion, a shadow. But when she blinked, it was gone.

She climbed into the passenger seat. The engine rumbled to life, breaking the silence that had settled over the town like a shroud.

As the buildings receded in the mirror, Addy exhaled slowly. Her hands trembled, but not from fear alone, from the weight of what they’d seen, what they’d taken, and what they’d left behind.

“Do you think anyone’s still out there?” she asked softly.

Sawyer kept his eyes on the road. It was a long time before he answered.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “But not many.”

The truck rolled on, the fading sun catching the barrels of their rifles and the edge of Sawyer’s jaw. Behind them, the town stood silent, waiting, watching, as the world continued to fall apart.

Seven

The Watchers

As the truck disappeared down the cracked two-lane road, its low rumble fading into the distance, the quiet of the town crept back in, heavy and unnatural. A gust of wind stirred loose papers across the street, rustling old flyers and wrappers that whispered along the pavement.