CHAPTER TEN #2
Michael’s the first to step inside, pushing the door open. I’m right behind him, eyes scanning every shadow in the corners. You can’t trust places like this to be empty.
The smell of mold hits me first, and I wrinkle my nose but keep moving.
In one corner, there’s an old cash register with its drawer half-open.
A few coins glint under the weak light leaking through the busted windows.
Funny, in a sad kind of way. Money used to mean everything, but now it’s just junk.
Posters cling stubbornly to the walls, advertising medicine for diseases nobody even remembers anymore. The shelves are wrecked, tipped over and looted to hell. Stuff’s scattered everywhere: empty pill bottles, ripped labels, nothing useful.
We’re not the first ones here. That much is obvious. And we won’t be the last either.
In the back, there’s a small room behind a curtain hanging crooked to one side. Inside, it’s even worse—a broken stretcher shoved in one corner, a chair with two missing legs in the other. Part of the ceiling’s collapsed, and the walls look almost skeletal. It’s bleak, even for us.
I look down at Sarah, who’s been silently taking it all in. Her eyes meet mine, and she doesn’t miss the frustration written all over my face.
“I don’t mind sitting on the floor,” she says softly.
“But I do.”
We lost our sleeping bags in the river, so I pull my jacket from my backpack and spread it out on the floor, trying to make it as decent as possible. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got right now. And I hate that it has to be enough.
“Here.” I help her down carefully. She settles with her back against the wall without a single complaint.
Michael’s boots scrape across the tile as he paces back and forth, rifling through what’s left of the pharmacy, searching for what she needs. Eventually, he steps into the little room with a bottle of painkillers, a small bottle of antiseptic, and a roll of gauze.
He kneels beside Sarah. His eyes are already fixed on her wound as she takes the pills.
“You think it needs stitches, doc?” Sarah asks.
She always calls him “doc” when he’s patching her up. And let’s just say, he’s patched her up a lot.
I’ve patched up my fair share of cuts and scrapes, but Michael?
He’s basically a pro at this point. Sarah’s always been an accident magnet.
Back on the ranch, it was kind of a running joke, except I wasn’t laughing.
A broken wrist in the morning, a gash on her leg by sundown.
Every time she showed up with a fresh injury, I’d glue myself to her for the rest of the day, thinking maybe I could stop the next accident from happening. Spoiler: I never could.
Michael smiles at the nickname. “Not this time. It’s not too deep, even with all that blood. Just needs a clean bandage.”
I sit next to her, watching her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt. She looks everywhere but at me, probably embarrassed for getting hurt again. As if any of this is her fault. It’s not, and she knows I’d tell her that if she’d just look at me.
“All done,” Michael announces a few minutes later. Then he adds, “Now, Sarah, hand me your pocketknife.”
She looks at him like he just asked for her soul. “Why?”
I chuckle. Not even Michael has permission to touch that knife. I’m the only one she trusts with it, and that’s been true since day one.
“We’re too exposed out here,” Michael replies, already reaching for it. “You can’t fight like this, and I lost my backpack with my gun and knife in it.”
“Wait, hold on.” Sarah holds up a hand in his face, stopping him cold. “You already lost two weapons today? Yeah, no. Forget it.”
I laugh out loud this time, and Michael throws me a look so sharp it could probably curdle milk.
“I should’ve let you drown,” he mutters at her.
“And how exactly would you get a pocketknife now, huh?”
Michael rolls his eyes and turns to me. “I don’t know how you deal with her.”
Sarah finally pulls the knife from her pocket and holds it out to him, glaring at him the whole time.
“If you lose this, dear brother, I swear I’ll haunt you from the afterlife myself. Just so we’re clear.”
“God, give me strength,” Michael mutters, shaking his head as he takes the knife, while I try not to laugh again.
It doesn’t take long for the painkillers to kick in. I can actually see it happening. The tension leaves Sarah’s face, her shoulders relax, and her whole body just kind of… lets go.
“Are you a dream?” she mumbles, reaching up to touch my face. “Why’s everything so… funny and bright?”
She giggles, and I hear Michael laugh under his breath.
“Jesus Christ, Michael.” I shoot him a look. “How many painkillers did you give her?”
He holds up a single finger. “Just one. But it’s a strong one. And, uh, sometimes she gets… well, a little different.”
“So… she’s high?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as Sarah keeps trying to pat my face. I gently catch her hands before she pokes me in the eye.
“Kinda,” Michael admits, lips twitching as he tries not to laugh again. “Which, let’s be honest, is pretty funny!” He gives in, slinging an arm over her shoulder and grinning as he looks at her, clearly loving every second. “Right, little sister?”
“Hilarious.” Sarah breaks into full-on belly laughs, and Michael joins in as I narrow my eyes at both of them.
How the hell did I end up as the babysitter for these two?
“Michael, look, look!” Sarah taps Michael’s arm and points straight at me, barely able to contain herself. “James is getting mad. Look at his eyebrows, they’re doing that thing where they meet in the middle. Amazing!”
The two of them lose it, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, while I rub my forehead. When these two team up, it’s a one-way ticket to a headache for me.
They’re laughing, and yeah, it’s a relief to see. But we’re in an abandoned town, inside a busted-up pharmacy, with no clue who might show up next. I can’t afford to let my guard down.
I stand up. “I’m gonna take a look around.” My eyes flick down to Sarah. I give her a quick once-over, head to toe, just to make sure she’s really okay. “You need anything?”
Her face lights up like she just had the best idea in the world. “Can you find me some chocolate?”
Oh, sure, that’s exactly what we need right now. She’s already wired, and if we add chocolate, we’re screwed.
I fold my arms and give her a look. “You really shouldn’t eat chocolate after taking painkillers.”
She tilts her head, eyebrows nearly merging into one as she glares at me. “That’s… the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard!”
I laugh despite myself.
“All right, all right, I’ll look for some chocolate.”
I turn to Michael, who’s lounging beside her. Sarah’s head is resting on his shoulder now.
“And you,” I point at him, “don’t let her move.”
Michael gives me a lazy mock salute. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Hurry up, Dream James,” Sarah says, giggling again.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.
I grab my gun from my backpack and head to the window on the other side, scanning the empty street. It’s eerily peaceful, ghost-town empty, and I’m hoping for some sign of a candy store or anything useful.
My search doesn’t last long, though. I spin around just as the pharmacy door crashes to the floor, and two guys stroll in like they own the place.
What the fuck?
The first guy, wearing a yellow cap, moves erratically, eyes darting like he’s jacked up on something. He smacks an empty can with his bat, and it clatters against the wall. Next to him is another guy with long hair sticking out from under a blue bandana.
I drop down fast, taking cover behind one of the shelves still standing. From here, I’ve got a clear view of the entrance and the little room at the back where Michael and Sarah are.
I glance across the pharmacy and spot her. She’s pressed against the wall, lips tightly sealed, her body rigid. Above her head, a faded sign hangs like a warning: “No way out.”
A third guy steps into the doorway, and he’s impossible to miss. Tall, broad, with a snake tattoo winding from his neck to his ear. One look at the way he moves and it’s clear he’s in charge.
He grabs a fourth figure and hauls him inside.
This one looks about ten years older than me, his head shaved on the sides with a blond tuft sticking up in the middle.
A scruffy beard hides half his face, and fresh blood trickles down his temple.
Both arms are covered in tattoos, and duct tape binds his wrists. No doubt about it, he’s a hostage.
“Ryan,” the snake guy sneers, jabbing a finger into the hostage’s chest. “Did you really think you could just slip away? That you could steal from me and I wouldn’t hunt you down?”
Ryan—the hostage—fights the tape binding his wrists, but one of the men shoves him to his knees.
“I did what I had to do, Aaron,” he says.
Aaron, the guy with the snake tattoo, shakes his head slowly at Ryan. “And look where that got you. Tied up, with nowhere to run.” He leans in, his voice lowering with a dark edge. “Now… tell me. Where is she?”
She? Who the hell are they talking about?
Ryan doesn’t answer. He just drops his eyes to the floor.
Aaron steps forward and slams a fist into Ryan’s stomach with enough force to make me flinch from across the room. Cruelty like that fills me with a dangerous kind of rage.
Aaron looms over Ryan. “Enough of this bullshit! Where did you hide her?”
Ryan coughs, struggling to catch his breath. “You left me no choice. She wanted out, and you wouldn’t let her go.”
“And now, you only have one choice,” Aaron hisses. “You can die slow or fast.”
“If I were you, I’d pick a quick death,” the yellow-cap guy chimes in, swinging his bat through the air.
A creaky trapdoor opens behind the counter, snapping everyone’s heads around. A woman in her thirties steps out. She has shoulder-length red hair, bright as fire, and she’s wearing a battered black jacket.
“I’m here. Don’t hurt him, please,” she says.