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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 s.h.i.+vered. “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 s.h.i.+vering 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 s.h.i.+rt to look at the wound. The edges were gray, almost black. It looked horrible. He had no idea what to do next.