Page 44 of Sawyer’s Mistake

“A bakery?” He shook his head, in no mood to play games.

“That,” she agreed. “And also a pharmacy.”

His heart beat faster in his chest. A pharmacy. Why hadn’t he thought of that? A pharmacy would have painkillers. He tried to temper his excitement, knowing, even if there was a pharmacy, it had probably been looted over a year ago.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Feminine hygiene products,” she replied, her face deadpan.

“You think I’m going to be embarrassed by those words?” he asked. “I have four sisters,” he added. His voice caught on the present tense, and suddenly the ache in his heart was stronger than the pain in his back.

Her expression softened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t lose anybody in the Remur invasion.”

He nodded, and they walked on in silence. Every so often, they passed a dusty, abandoned vehicle covered in that strange reddish dust that seemed to have arrived with the Remur. Sometimes the doors and trunk were open, but there were no dead bodies in sight.

“What do you think happened to the bodies?” she asked. “When they really started piling, I mean.”

“We buried a lot of people,” he said, thinking to those large common graves in the first days of the invasion, when the number of people alive still outweighed the number of dead people. He’d certainly buried enough bodies those first days to last him a lifetime.

“And then?”

“The Remur must have taken them.” He shrugged, wincing as the pain in his back flared all the way up to his neck.

“Back on the yacht, some people said … some people said the Remur ate them.” Suddenly, she jumped up, squealing. “Look! There! Beyond the hill! I told you there was a town.”

The church spire was still standing as were a few buildings next to it. They walked past two side by side bakeries.

Only in France.

“This place doesn’t look big enough to have a hospital or a pharmacy,” he said, striving to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“You man of little faith,” she berated. “Look at that.”

And she was right. Right beyond the church was a pharmacy. The green cross and part of the name lay, broken, on the sidewalk, but the letters PHARM still hung proudly from the marquee.

“Looks like we’re not the first ones here,” he said, looking at the shattered shop window.

“You really are an optimist, aren’t you?” she said, shaking her head and moving past him.

“Hold on,” he stopped her. “Let me go first.” He squeezed past her, stopping to listen for an instant.

“Come on,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her. Inside, it was dark. He flicked on the flashlight on his watch. Pill boxes and bottles littered the floor as if a tornado had gone through the store. Some of the bottles had cracked, coating the floor with viscous, multi-color liquids.

He took his backup torch out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“You have one minute to find what you need,” he said.

She nodded and headed straight towards the back, as if she knew exactly where she’d find what she was looking for.

He started looking at the names written on the boxes, trying to remember the name of the generic components. He skipped over the ibuprofen, knowing he needed something stronger. The words oxycodone and hydrocodone jumped out at him.

Jackpot.

He pocketed several small boxes, and then the ones next to them for good measure, even though he didn’t recognize the names. He’d have time to check the details later.

He heard a faint noise and looked up to find Alix staring at him. He cursed himself for his weakness and stood up.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.