Part 16 (1/2)

Tucking the box under his arm, he headed back outside. A strange feeling came over him. The street was totally quiet. He didn't even hear any birds in the trees. Weird. And then he saw the footprint.

He stared at it, long and hard, trying to figure it out. It looked fresh. It also didn't look like a footprint of one of the Others. They usually shuffled, and this was clean, a perfect imprint. He could even see the Nike logo embedded in the sole.

He drew in a breath. Were there humans alive in this town?

Half of him wanted to turn around and run back to the kids, to get Peyton and tell her the news. The other half said he should go and investigate these survivors himself. Maybe they had stashes of food. Maybe they had knowledge of other groups. Maybe they'd seen Peyton's father.

He walked in the direction the footprint pointed, searching for others but seeing none. But soon he came across something else: a small pharmacy, its front door wide open.

I should just keep walking, he scolded himself. Find the guy who made the footprint. Find the grocery store. I don't need anything in there.

But he did. And while he told himself he was only thinking about antibiotics, Neosporin, and vitamins, he knew deep down his pathetic, weak body had a different idea. The promises of the prescription counter drew him in like a tractor beam and, a moment later, he found himself walking through the front door, his forehead and palms damp with sweat. The itch in his stomach grew stronger the closer he got to the counter.

He gritted his teeth; he thought he'd been doing so well, ignoring the itch that crawled up his spine every morning when he woke up and kept him awake every night. He hadn't realized how dependent he'd been on the drugs until he'd attempted to stop taking them. But he really thought if he could just go mind over matter, eventually the desire would go away. And Peyton would see that she could believe in him. Rely on him. That his love and devotion to her was stronger than any drug.

But as his feet led him over to the prescription counter, almost of their own accord, he wondered, not for the first time, if that were true.

Just a few pills, he told himself. No one's supposed to go off cold turkey. It says so right on the bottle. I need to wean myself off slowly. It'll be better that way in the end.

It wouldn't be a big deal. He'd just take them at night before bedtime. On nights he didn't have the watch. When no one was depending on him. He was allowed to sleep, right? No big deal. He'd start taking half the dose. Then a quarter. Eventually he wouldn't need them at all.

He scanned the racks, feeling a little sick to his stomach as his brain hopped around his head in nervous antic.i.p.ation. Allergy medicines, stool softeners, emergency contraception. But the spot where the good stuff should be-the painkillers-was all cleared out.

Of course. He should have known. An aching disappointment settled in his stomach like a rock and suddenly he wished he hadn't come. He tried to remind himself he was supposed to be down here gathering food. And that he needed to get on with his mission. It was for the best anyway. He didn't need the drugs. He was stronger than that.

Except he wasn't. And he knew there was no way he was going to be able to leave now without finding what he suddenly realized he'd been looking for all along. The real purpose of his visit to Paradise. The one he hadn't been able to admit to himself before now.

He dove into the racks, grabbing medicine and reading the labels and tossing them aside. His heart pounded in his chest and his trembling hands found it difficult to grasp on to the bottles. Antacids, hemorrhoid creams, cough medicine. Where were the pain killers? h.e.l.l, he'd take a high dose of aspirin if he had to.

No. He forced himself to stop. Trying to still his heart and steady his breath. He didn't need these. He didn't have to succ.u.mb. He could just walk out of this store and never look back.

He took a tentative step, willing his feet to obey him.

”Looking for something, boy?”

The scratchy male voice nearly made Chase jump out of his skin. He whirled, whipping out his knife. Sunbeams shone through the broken gla.s.s storefront window, silhouetting the intruder. All Chase could tell was that he was big.

Mr. Footprint, he presumed.

”Stay where you are,” he said, trying to keep fear from filling his voice. ”I've got a knife.”

”Yup. Can see that.” The man stepped forward, evidently unconcerned. Chase could now see his wild black hair and scruffy beard. He was dressed in a pair of jean cut-offs and wearing a t-s.h.i.+rt that claimed pirates were way cooler than ninjas. The s.h.i.+rt also listed reasons why. Over the t-s.h.i.+rt he wore a tan leather jacket, out of place in the sweltering heat.

”I said don't move!” Chase was beginning to wonder if coming to Paradise had been a bad idea.

”Oh, fine. Have it your way,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders. ”Y'all might as well put down the knife, though. Ain't aiming to hurt you none.” He held out his hands, showing they were empty.

Chase lowered his knife, though he kept it in his hand. ”Sorry,” he said. ”Just don't run into many people these days.”

”Not many left to run into, I reckon,” Mr. Footprint replied. ”I was pretty surprised when I saw you outside. Figured I'd follow you in, see what you were up to.” He scratched a pus-filled boil on his right cheek, making Chase think of the Others. But this guy wasn't a zombie. He was just... dirty.

”Nothing much,” Chase replied, not wanting to admit his true purpose. He could barely admit it to himself. ”Just checking things out.” The jewelry box felt heavy under his arm, and he gripped it tighter. Not that there was any reason in the world this guy would take it.

”Name's Luke,” the stranger said, holding out a hand. His fingernails were caked with dirt and Chase wondered when he'd last taken a bath. Back home, Tank had made them all bathe at least once a week, and on this trip they'd washed up every time the interstate pa.s.sed a river. The kids didn't like it, but Chase thought maybe they would change their minds if they saw the state of this guy. ”Don't think I've seen you 'round here.”

”Just pa.s.sing through,” Chase replied. His instinct said it'd be better not to mention Peyton and the kids, just in case. ”Was looking for food.” He shrugged his shoulder. ”No luck though.”

Luke laughed, a little unkindly. ”Think you're going to find food in the local pharmacy, do you?”

Chase felt his face heat. ”Um, no, no,” he said, not knowing why he'd bothered to lie. Who cared what this derelict thought of him? ”I was just looking for some... Band-Aids.”

”Ah, Band-Aids. Of course.” Luke smiled lazily, looking around at the mess Chase had made in the prescription aisle. ”I shoulda known.” He paused, shuffled his feet, then looked askance at Chase. ”So, since you ain't had any luck finding food, you want to come back to my place for some grub? My girlfriend can cook you up something real nice.”

”No, that's okay,” Chase replied, feeling nervous. Not that Luke seemed like a bad guy, necessarily, but you couldn't be too careful. Besides, he shouldn't be hanging out, filling his stomach while Peyton and the kids were waiting for him to return. And if this guy cleaned his house as rarely as he cleaned himself... ”I've got to get going.”

”Suit yerself,” Luke said with another shrug. It was almost as if he had a nervous twitch. ”I was just thinking I might have some of those... yeah, let's call 'em Band-Aids... back the house.” He gave Chase a knowing grin and glanced at the empty shelf behind him. ”If yer still lookin' for them, you know.”

Chase's heart leapt in his chest and his hands started shaking all over again. This guy had drugs? Drugs he was willing to part with? The itch tickled up his spine again, like a thousand hungry spiders. He could almost feel the pills scratching down his throat, silencing the pain. Dulling the itch. Lulling him into the first good night's sleep he'd had in a week. He opened his mouth, ready to say yes...

...but then his mind flashed to Peyton's weary face-and somehow he managed to say no.

”No thank you,” he replied, forcing the itch at bay. He'd made a promise to Peyton, after all. To his brother, to the children. He wasn't going to be weak anymore. He would be strong-for them. They deserved it. They deserved so much more. ”I'm only looking for food.”

Luke nodded knowingly. Chase had the distinct feeling the man didn't believe him, but luckily didn't press him on it. ”Well, I reckon I may be able to help you out with that, too,” he drawled instead. ”There's a little grocery down the street. Don't got nothing too special left, mind you. None of that filet mig-non or nothing. But if you've got a hankering for some green beans or canned meat, this is the place.”

Chase felt a surge of excitement. Now this was more like it. He'd get the food, head back to the motel. They'd be eating by sundown. ”That would be great,” he said. ”I'll follow you.”

”Excellent,” the man said, slapping Chase on the back. He led the way out of the store. ”After all, if we don't help out each other in this flecking mess of a world, who we got left to help?”

”So true,” Chase agreed, feeling himself relax. Sure, this guy was a little rough around the edges, but he seemed like a decent fellow when all was said and done. And more importantly, he was leading him to food. Real food. He imagined again returning triumphant, with sacks full of goods, as well as Peyton's jewelry box. Maybe he could find some candy for the children. Who knows, maybe there would even be marshmallows and he could teach the kids how to cook them over an open fire. A guy could dream, anyway.

Luke led the way through a narrow, brick-lined alley into what was likely once a gorgeous courtyard. Now it was crumbling and decrepit, the intricate sculpture of an algae-stained stone fountain the only remnant of its former glory. Chase looked around, suddenly nervous again. This didn't look like the kind of place that would hold a grocery store.

Luke stopped at a door at the far end of the courtyard. ”Sorry for the detour,” he said, apologetically. ”Gotta get my grocery list from the little woman, since we're headed that way. She's always saying I'm c.r.a.p for picking out vittles.” He pushed open the door. ”Why don't you come in for a minute?”

Chase glanced at the useless Rolex on his wrist. ”I'm actually kind of in a hurry,” he hedged. ”Maybe you could just-”

Luke pshawed. ”Surely you have time for one drink,” he cajoled. ”After all, it's been ages since I had any company besides the girlfriend. And she's not exactly the best conversationalist, always twittering away like some crazy bird.”

It was the last thing Chase wanted to do. But the guy had been willing to help him and his old-world sensibility told him it would be rude to say no. And, after all, what harm could come of a quick drink? A little conversation. Maybe find out this guy's story and if there were any more of his kind around town. If any of them had seen Peyton's father. He had plenty of time before dark. No big deal.

He stepped forward, following Luke across the threshold.