6. The Supply Run
Six
The Supply Run
They reached the edge of town just after noon way better time that Sawyer had anticipated.
From a distance, it looked almost normal: low brick buildings, a grocery store, a pharmacy, and a small strip mall with faded signs. Only when they drew closer did Addy see the stillness that made her chest tighten. Cars sat like empty tombs, doors open.
A banner strung across Main Street flapped weakly in the breeze: Summer’s End Fling, August 25th. Just a few weeks ago.
Addy leaned forward, scanning the streets. “You’ve been here before?”
Sawyer nodded. “Once or twice. Used to fish north of here. Small, quiet place.”
It didn’t look quiet anymore. It looked as if it had exhaled and never breathed back in.
He parked the truck behind a laundromat, hidden from the main road. “We’ll go on foot from here,” he said, killing the engine. “Less noise. Safer.”
Addy slipped her pack on, glancing around. The wind stirred a few leaves and scraps of paper, but otherwise… nothing. “Where first?”
“Grocery store,” Sawyer said. “Then the pharmacy. If we’ve got time, we’ll check the sporting goods store. Might be something useful there.”
Inside the grocery store, the air was stale and cold.
The place had an aroma of spoiled produce and damp cardboard.
Somewhere near the deli, a faint, sweet rot lingered, the ghost of things that had once been fresh.
A magazine rack near the entrance had collapsed, its glossy covers fanned across the tile floor like fallen leaves.
Headlines promised “Flu Season Tips” and “10 Ways to Stay Healthy This Winter.”
Addy stepped carefully around the mess, her boots crunching on broken glass and bits of dried cereal.
Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound of her own breathing too loud in her ears.
Shopping carts were scattered everywhere; some overturned, some still half-full.
One held a child’s toy, a box of mac and cheese, and a forgotten purse with its strap torn.
Sawyer scanned the aisles, his flashlight cutting through the dim. “Grab anything sealed,” he said quietly. “Cans, dry goods, water if you can find it.”
They moved quickly, keeping their voices low.
Addy’s hands trembled as she pulled cans from the shelves: soup, beans, anything sealed.
Most of the shelves had been picked over, but here and there she found overlooked treasures: a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, two dusty bottles of sports drinks.
At the end of one aisle, a display of cereal boxes still stood half-intact. The cartoon mascot on the front grinned through a thin layer of dust, oblivious to the world falling apart around it. Addy caught herself staring for a second; the absurd normalcy of it was almost enough to break her.
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.”
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.