Heartland Junk Part I: The End: A ZOMBIE Apocalypse Serial (11 page)

"I said turn
around," the voice called again. "Ain't nothing for you here."

"Mr. Dinkins?" I
shouted. "It's Ray. From the hardware store? I sold you your
gutters."

"I seen you, kid.
I don't want to shoot you, but I will you come any closer. Turn
around and live your life." His words rolled out in a rapid-fire
slur.

"Son of a bitch got into his own stash!" Rivet cried.
"
Never
trust a
pharmacist."

"We don't mean any
harm," I called, "but we need your help."

"Ain't got no help
to give," Dinkins said.

"You do. You know
you do. We won't come in, I promise. But just throw us something.
We'll leave you alone."

"Like hell we will," Rivet muttered darkly. On hands and
knees, he scooted around the back of the yellow Chevy, paused, then
leaped across the gap between the Chevy and the next car down the
line like a feral cat. Instantly, thunder roared and a metal
slug
pinged
off
the fender of the Chevy.

"Whatever you're
trying out there, it won't work. Now back the fuck away before my
aim gets better. Life don't need to end here."

"I don't know if you've
seen
, but there's not a shit ton of life out here," Jennie
shouted.

"Nice try, sweet
thing. I seen this movie in the seventies. One gets in, they all
get in. You won't sway me with your bouncy teets. I ain't swung
that way in years."

"You better hope you don't run out of ammo, creep," Jennie
shot back. To me, she mouthed,
what the fuck?

"Let's go," I said. "Let's...
Rivet!
Where are you?" He'd disappeared. "Shit." The stag
from the hardware store parking lot was halfway across the street,
loping with one leg dragging lame behind him. Three more came out
of the courthouse next to it. They were wearing smart pantsuits and
ponytails, legal secretaries. Old Judge Mathers loped out behind
them, blood caked to the front of his officiating robe. He leaped
the curb with a gutteral shriek and made a beeline for us. We'd be
trapped in a few seconds.

"Can we..."
Fuck, how do I even ask this?
"...can we kill these zombies real quick?" I
shouted. "Without you shooting us?" In reply, two gunshots rang out
of the pharmacy and both of Judge Mathers's kneecaps exploded
neatly under his flowing robe. He pitched forward and began to
crawl, leaving a long red stain on the road behind him.

"You have to shoot
their heads," I called. Pause. "I think."

Another shot. The
judge's head unplugged at the top, spritzing the double yellow
lines in the middle of the street. He lay still. Dinkins began to
laugh.

"Good sightin',
son," Dinkins cackled. "Been a few years since 'Nam, but this old
fag ain't forgot how to sling lead. Call 'em out for me—hey! How
the fuck'd you...ahhh!"

"Get in here,
Ray!" Rivet's voice shouted. "Help me with him."

RIVET WAS sitting
on Mr. Dinkins's back beside a spilled dispay stand full of condoms
when we got into the pharmacy. He had the old man's arms wrenched
up under his knees, pinning them to the small of Dinkins's back.
Dinkins was kicking and hollering, and Rivet sported a cheesy
grin.

"Sorry about this,
sir," I said. I meant it; he looked like he'd been enjoying
himself. He was wearing an old army uniform that looked like it
hadn't seen daylight in a decade, and every now and then, he eyed a
long, wood-stock rifle that lay on the floor a few feet away from
his head. A short, silver blade was fixed firmly under its barrel.
A fucking bayonet. Behind me, a little bell chimed as Jennie shut
the front door and locked it.

"Sorry my ass,"
Dinkins spit. "Sorry means you didn't intend to do what you did.
Since you clearly intended to rob me, I refuse to accept your
apology as legitimate. In fact, current evidence allows me to
speculate that you still intend to relieve me of my medical
supplies, in which case your inane apology is doubly moronic. So
save your sorries for someone who wants 'em. If you really wanted
to help, you'd get your greasy friend off my back."

"Talker, isn't
he," Rivet said. "You been into the Ritalin?"

"I take aspirin
for my back, as if it's any of your business," Dinkins said. His
face was getting splotchy from struggling against Rivet's weight,
and his sweaty, ear-length gray hair flopped over his forehead.

"If my apology was
bullshit," I said, squatting in front of him, "then that excuse is
still dripping from the bull's ass."

"What's your
drift?" Dinkins looked confused.

"You haven't
figured out how it works yet?" Rivet asked.

"They're still
coming over here," Jennie said. She was standing by the display
window, watching the three secretaries shamble between the parked
cars outside.

"Let's get to the
back. Maybe they'll forget about us. You got a back?" I directed
the last at Dinkins.

"Of course he
does," Rivet interjected. "How do you think I got in?"

I bent to pick up
Dinkins's rifle from the floor with one hand, the axe held loosely
in the other. It was heavier than it looked, with dark brown wood
grain running from the stock along the underside of the barrel. I
got the feeling that it was older than it looked, too.

"Can we let you
up?" I asked Dinkins.

"I was about to
ask the same thing," he snapped.

"I mean, can we
trust you?"

" 'Bout as far as
you can throw me," he said. "But yeah, I won't try anything."

I looked at
Jennie. She shrugged. Then Rivet. A heavy hand thumped against the
pane glass in front. I looked to see a disheveled brunette woman
looking in, mouth agape, eyes pink.

"I guess we don't really have a choice," I said. Rivet sighed
and stood up. Mr. Dinkins groaned and stretched his arms out in
front of him, working his fingers open and closed, then lifted
himself to his knees and arched his back like a kitten, first up,
then down, cracking the vertebrae. He let out a sigh of
satisfaction and mumbled, "Yeah, there it is. Okay,
hoof!
"
Watching him stand was like watching a dry creek bed erode. First a
knee, then a creaking, tottering foot, repeat with the other side,
straighten the legs a century later, unbend the back. Finally, he
reached his feet.

"Spry as I ever
was," he winked at Jennie.

"How do you get
out of bed?" Rivet asked incredulously.

"Usually there
aren't young men tackling me in bed," he said cynically. "Although
there was a time..." This time, he winked at me. I actually
laughed. I kind of liked the old guy.

"Go on," I said,
gesturing with the rifle. He stretched his legs once more, then
moved surprisingly quickly toward the back of the store. I walked
right behind him. Jennie followed. Rivet began sloping through the
aisles.

The pharmacy sold
more than drugs. The main floor had six or seven aisles that sold
makeup, toiletries, toothpaste, shampoo, over-the-counter syrups
and tabs for coughs and colds. That kind of stuff. At the rear,
where Mr. Dinkins, Jennie, and I went, was the pharmacist's
counter, and behind that, Valhalla.

Plastic orange
bottles and little white paper baggies lined shelves that ran from
floor to ceiling. Locked glass cases held still more bottles. They
glittered like bars of gold, welcoming us into their midst.

"Jackpot," Jennie
said. Dinkins shot her a look.

"Goddamn junkies," he said, "A time like this, and
this
is all you can think
about?"

"This is all that
matters," I said. "Have you wondered yet why you're still normal
while everyone else turned into a zombie?"

"Been too busy
taking 'em out with that gook bazooka in your hands to worry about
it," Dinkins admitted. "Isn't there a virus or something? Figured I
was fine as long as none of the shits bit me." He lifted a section
of the pharmacists counter on hinges and walked through, then sank
into a rolling office chair on the other side. He watched bitterly
as Jennie tucked her fire poker into her belt and started picking
through the bottles.

"What have you
been taking?" I asked Dinkins, leaning against the counter and
resting my axe on the floor beside me. I placed the rifle on the
counter's fake granite surface.

"Aspirin," Dinkins
said. "What's it matter what I've been taking?" His eyes shifted to
the left, nervous.

"Listen, Mr.
Dinkins. You don't have to worry about it anymore. Nobody's coming
to investigate. I know you're taking something else, otherwise
you'd be like those things right now. Whatever it is, it's why
you're still alive."

Dinkins insisted.
"I'm telling you, I'm not."

"You know what all
this is, Ray?" Jennie asked, stepping up with several translucent
orange bottles crammed between her fingers. She dropped them on the
counter. "I got the obvious, oxy, Vics, Percs, but there's got to
be a ton more stuff we can use."

"Should find some
morphine, maybe even fentanyl, and look for dextroamphetamine and
methylphenidate. Adderall and Ritalin, but they may be generics.
Might try lisdexamfetamine, too. Diazepam, clonozepam,
alprazolam...anything that ends in "pam" or "lam," might as well
take those, although I don't know if they work. We'll have to put
together some kind of benzodiazepine test. Also..." I turned to
Dinkins. "You do vet meds?" Back to Jennie. "Look for ketamine.
Probably in that locked case over there, if he has it. Look for a
little picture of a horse."

"Jesus, Ray,"
Jennie said, then went back to scanning the shelves.

Dinkins was
watching me. "You go to school, kid?"

"Everyone
does."

"I mean college.
How do you know so much about drugs?"

"Practice." I
shrugged, turned to Jennie. She looked lost. "I got it," I told
her, picking up the rifle and walking over. "You keep an eye on
Dinkins."

"Christ, thank
you. These labels are making my eyes squirm."

She took the rifle
and walked back to Dinkins just as Rivet came over and dumped a
bunch of cough syrup bottles onto the counter.

"Pink gold," he declared happily. "Bottled comas, made to
order." He scanned the pile of bottles already on the counter and
smiled even more broadly. "This apocalypse is going to be a
fucking
blast.
"

"Robbing from an
old man," Dinkins glowered. "I hope you're...proud of
yourself."

I froze, my back
to them.

"Hope...of
yourself," Dinkins said thickly.

"Hold him down," I
yelled, skipping the few steps to the scattered drugs on the
counter. I plucked up one, screwed off the child-safety lid, and
dropped two tablets into my palm.

"Proud...of..."

Nobody else had
moved. Dinkins shut his eyes. "Fucking hold him!" I said. I gripped
him by the chin and shoved the two pills into his mouth.

"...hell off of
me!" Dinkins yelled, spitting the tablets at me. "What was that?
What're you trying to do to me?"

"Swallow it, Mr.
Dinkins," I urged. "Come on, you still have time." Jennie moved
behind him and grabbed his arms, but he jerked free.

"Time for what?"
he snapped.

"Time to stay
human." I shook out four more pills and jammed them into his mouth
before he could snap it shut, then held it closed for him and
pinched his nose shut. Jennie got ahold of his arms again.
Dinkins's face grew panicked as he tried to breathe. His eyes
bulged.

"Swallow!" I demanded. He shook his head violently against my
grip. "Swallow before you suffocate." He blinked slowly, and his
eyes went from clear to bloodshot.
Stubborn son of a bitch!
Finally, his Adam's apple bobbed
and I heard the slurp of saliva slide down his throat. I let him
go. He reeled back, gagging, and Jennie released his arms. Rivet
was just watching the whole scene like it was part of a
movie.

Dinkins moved to
stick his finger down his throat, trying to activate his gag reflex
to vomit the pills he'd just swallowed, but I was waiting for it.
Fast as a wink, I snagged his wrist.

"What the fuck did you...
oh, shit
, what is that? It's so dark...blood..." Dinkins
sagged in my grasp, and I let him go. It'd be a hellish few
minutes, but he'd be fine. Then I glanced at the label on the open
bottle on the counter and caught my breath. Shit. Maybe. I'd just
crammed him full of triazolam, a drug used to treat severe
insomnia. Duration: 10 hours or more. Onset: Rapid. Recommended
dose: One .25-milligram pill. In extreme cases, two.

And I'd given him
four. I looked sharply at Dinkins. His eyes were closed and he was
still caught in the darkness mumbles. In about 10 minutes, he'd
probably be out cold. From there, he'd either sleep until morning
or, at his age, stop breathing completely. Or, hell, he could still
turn into a zombie. Looks like we had our benzo test subject right
here.

Most ways you
looked at it, he was a dead man. Life was too fucking fragile these
days.

"You look like you
saw a ghost, Ray," said Jennie.

"It's nothing," I
lied. "Nothing."

Just then,
somebody outside screamed, and the glass window at the front of the
pharmacy shattered.

I WATCHED the
glass pieces fall as if they were snowflakes, twisting in the air
to catch the sun in a brilliant arc and then winking to bronze,
spinning, tumbling, a glimmering cascade of dying beauty, jewels
tumbling from the heavens while the rot of hell pierced the
veil.