Jamison

ONCE WE MEET UP WITH THE REST of Cal’s group, we get back on the road. They tell us they aren’t sure where they’re heading yet, but that they’ve mainly been looking for supplies both to maintain their group of around forty—over fifty, including us—and, if they do meet a new settlement that’s welcoming, to offer the supplies to convince the settlement to let them join up.

But they plan to be picky about where they’re going to settle. They said one of the rumors they’re chasing is Reagan Airport. We probably shouldn’t say anything because that means they would take us all the way up to DC, when our goal is to get Amy and Henri-Two to Henri in Bethesda, but we don’t want to deceive them. So Andrew and I break it to them that the European Union—if it still exists in any capacity—isn’t coming. Cal and the others don’t seem heartbroken and maybe not even surprised.

For now, like us, they’re just nomads.

After a few hours, the radio on the RV’s dashboard crackles to life and someone calls out to them. It’s a scout they’ve sent ahead to look for a place to camp. The scout gives them directions, and within an hour and a half, we come upon a mall.

There are signs scattered on the ground of the mall parking lot—small, laminated with dark red letters that read “Distribution Center FL347.” Some have instructions directing where vehicles should go; others say the distribution center is for authorized government personnel only and “ALL OTHERS WILL BE SHOT ON SITE.” Though I think it was supposed to say “sight.”

Some of the others have already started setting up their camp. Cal opens the door for us and looks down at Andrew’s arm.

“If you need medical attention . . .” He points to a couple of pop-up tailgate tents. “Head over and see Dr. Jenn in the medical tent.”

“Do you have antibiotics?” I ask.

He frowns and shakes his head. “We’ve been looking, too. So far, no luck.”

Dammit.

Once Cal leaves us, Andrew turns to me. “I’m going to go see if there’s anything they can do about my arm. Can you help Daphne and Kelly with the kids?”

“Of course.”

He kisses me on the cheek and heads for the tent while I go to Daphne and ask what I can help with. We try to get the kids to set up their sleeping bags—it’s late in the afternoon, and it’s better that they have everything they need out and ready to go before the sun goes down. But they’re all distracted.

The Nomads have kids with them as well, and the two groups of children are staring each other down across the parking lot, probably waiting for the okay to meet up and start playing.

Daphne finally gives our kids the okay to go say hi—walking along with a couple of the shyer ones—and Cara and I tell Rocky Horror, Kelly, and Amy we’re going to check on Andrew.

“What kind of distribution center is this?” I ask Cara as we head over to the medical tents.

“They started setting these up during the flu-year fall. They did it in Maryland, too, but I don’t think they ended up doing nearly as much. At least not like this.”

There are a few trucks on the side of the parking lot closest to the mall. Two of the trucks are tipped over, their back doors broken open. Four are just blackened shells, the soot from the fire spreading all the way to the manufactured stone walls of the mall.

Cara continues but her voice sounds shaky. “The governor took over and gave an executive order that food and medical supplies would be stockpiled in distribution centers. Then the public would be told when they could come get aid packages—but they kept delaying it. I know in Maryland they were saying it was the politicians making sure they could keep their hands on supplies.”

She stops me, taking my arm. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but she takes a long, deep breath with her eyes closed, as though she’s trying not to have a panic attack, before finally telling me.

“In Maryland, they took things from the supermarkets, too. No warning, just went in overnight and emptied everything out. When they did it in Easton, people panicked, and that’s when everything started getting bad for us.”

From the snippets of what I’ve learned about Cara before she ended up at Fort Caroline, I know that her family hadn’t gotten the flu, but they must have died another way, because she said she was the only one left. I hold her hand because I know she doesn’t want a hug unless she initiates it.

“Was that how your family died?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “That was later. More panicking, but because of confusion and rumors. It’s not important right now. I just . . . I don’t know, I wanted to talk about that part. The distribution centers. How they did it in Maryland, at least.”

I nod. “FL347.” So maybe there are three hundred and forty-six others out there, or more. That might explain why we had so much trouble finding supplies when we got to Florida. We thought it was the Key Colony, but maybe it’s because all these distribution centers were stockpiling supplies.

“So there’s supplies in there?” I ask, trying to bring the conversation around to something other than Cara’s family.

Cara points to the smashed-in doors. “I think most of it’s probably gone by now.”

But there could still be something. Maybe canned food or some kind of antibiotics that someone overlooked.

After we check on Andrew and are back with our group, I tell them that I’m going to check the mall for supplies. Cara and Rocky Horror offer to come as well.

“Shouldn’t we get a few people to help out?” Daphne says.

“I’ll go,” says Taylor.

“No,” I say. “You stay here and keep an eye on things. It’ll draw less attention if it’s just the three of us. We can see what’s in there first and then tell the Nomads. There are more of them than there are of us, so it’s better if we can get supplies for us first.”

“Jamie.” Daphne gives me a look that feels judgmental. “These people are helping us—helping Andrew. We should be returning the favor, not taking supplies from them.”

“We aren’t taking supplies from them,” I say. “We’re taking supplies from the governor of Florida, who thought stockpiling them for herself was better than passing them out to people. We’ll let the others know what’s in there, and I’ll even help them get whatever’s left. But if there’s only a few antibiotics, I’m making sure Andrew gets them. He got mauled by a wild animal, and if we don’t find something to fight the infection, he’s going to lose his arm.”

Daphne frowns but doesn’t argue anymore. We need to be careful now. There’s no way these people would help Andrew before their own. The Keys decided to sell us out to Fort Caroline the second they needed help. We have to make sure we can get out of here, on our own, before the Nomads realize they have a bargaining chip in me.

We wait until the sun gets low in the sky before we walk around the back of the medical tent and over to the burnt trucks. We don’t slink, we just walk—with our empty backpacks—looking like we’re out for a normal stroll in the parking lot. If anyone notices us, they don’t yell or point or run to see if they can come along.

I take one glance back but can’t see anyone paying attention to us at all. There isn’t even a lookout.

We enter through a store called Bealls, which I’ve never heard of, but it looks like a department store. Of course, there are no clothes or shoes—they’ve all been moved elsewhere. All that’s left are mannequin limbs and empty perfume and jewelry counters.

There’s also trash, leaves, and debris littering the floor. And quite a few bullet casings.

“Looks like they really did get raided,” Rocky Horror says, nudging one of the tarnished brass casings aside.

On the floor ahead of us are two bodies lying face down. They’re both wearing military fatigues. The gun holsters at their sides are empty, but I check their pockets for anything else. Not even a wallet.

The bodies are old, but they aren’t just decayed; there’s strands of muscle and tissue hanging from their faces and hands, left over from whatever bugs didn’t want them. Holes have been torn in their fatigues by animals. Small, crusty animal droppings litter the floor around them.

“Be careful,” Cara says. “There might still be animals in here wanting to protect their home. Or their food.”

I flick the safety off the handgun. Rocky Horror has the rifle, but it still doesn’t have any shells. There’s a broken two-by-four ahead that I pick up and hand to Cara. She takes it carefully, making sure she doesn’t get splinters.

The department store is mainly empty—as though they cleared it out to be a processing area for their stockpiled supplies.

But the stockpile isn’t really a stockpile. At least not anymore.

Outside the department store, in a glass-ceilinged atrium, there are a few stacks of plastic tubs and cardboard boxes. Most have been ripped apart and are damp with mold and mildew. Dark red sunset filters through the cracked and dirty skylight above the atrium, and tendrils of ivy hang down through some of the larger broken panes. Beneath the skylight is a decommissioned fountain that’s full of stagnant green water.

It was probably drained before the government occupied the mall, but with the broken skylight has become a pond.

“Wait,” I say, holding out my hand to Rocky Horror and Cara. I pick up a broken tile by my foot and toss it into the fountain. The sound of the splash echoes through the atrium and down the empty halls of the mall. Four birds—the most unexpected creatures we could see since so many of them have been wiped out—fly out of the cracked and open roof. Water spills out over the top of the fountain edge but nothing else moves.

“Just checking for alligators,” I say.

“Good looking out,” says Rocky Horror. Then we set about checking the boxes and tubs. I open one crushed cardboard box and fat cockroaches run from inside, scattering to the darker corners of the atrium. The cans inside the box have been crushed, and it looks like whichever ones didn’t immediately open then exploded later, once the seal was broken and the inside started to spoil.

There’s one can that seems like it might be okay. I grab it with two fingers, but its label is slick with fuzz and slime from the rest of the food that sat on top of it. I take it over to the fountain to wash off the sludge, checking again for any movements or eyes. A dead squirrel floating in the water puts me a little at ease. If there was something hiding in there, it would have eaten that thing by now.

“Jackpot.” Rocky Horror is looking inside a large beige trash receptacle. He pulls out a black plastic tub and puts it on the ground. I throw the can into my backpack and join him.

He flips open the lid of the tub and right on top there’s a package of gauze, sterile pads, and bandages.

Rocky Horror claps his hands. “I figured some government schmuck would try to hide his own stash to sell later.”

Cara joins us and we stuff the medical supplies into our bags. There’s also five bottles of rubbing alcohol, rubber gloves, over-the-counter pain meds, and burn gel.

“No antibiotics, though,” I say.

“No, but let’s keep looking. And let’s keep an eye out for places where a grunt with a gun would try to hide things.”

“The security office,” Cara says. “The guards before the pandemic would have had lockers.”

“You’re a genius,” I say.

She shrugs, smirking. “Why do you think I’m still here?” Then she heads over to a smashed plexiglass sign with the mall map on it.

There are four lockers in the security office and all four have combination locks on them. I pull on one of the locks, hoping it’s old enough to just break, but it doesn’t.

“Notice any hardware stores on that map, Cara?” I ask.

“No need,” Rocky Horror says. He holds his flashlight out to me, and I take it. “Keep it on the dial for me.” He pulls on the lock and starts spinning the dial until it stops. “Cara, remember eighteen.” He spins the dial in the opposite direction, only this time it goes around a couple of times before finally stopping. “Jamie, you’ve got thirty-two.”

“How do you know how to do this?” I ask. Cara has grown curious as well and is watching over his shoulder as he spins the two numbers in order, then starts spinning in the opposite direction.

“I looked up a video online. Bike cops liked to lock up their bikes outside my apartment while they went into the coffee shop across the street.” The dial finally stops and he spins it one last time to reset.

“All right, all together now.”

“Eighteen,” Cara says.

“Thirty-two.”

“And five makes . . .” The lock snaps open. “Public domain version of Yahtzee.”

He pulls the locker open, and I shine the flashlight in. Cara was right. Someone did use this place as a hiding spot for the supplies they wanted to trade once the superflu had burned itself out.

Only the locker is filled not with medicine or first aid but with candy and black binders stacked three in a row.

Rocky Horror laughs as he flips open one of the binders. “It’s porn!”

“What?” I attempt to look but he pulls it away.

“No! You’re underage. Cara, lookie.” He giggles as he turns it around to her. She frowns.

“They’re printed-out pictures of websites,” she tells me from the other side of the binder. “Why bother stockpiling this?”

“Probably thought the web would go down eventually and he could use porn sheets as currency.” Rocky Horror grabs another binder. “Aw, he didn’t discriminate. This one’s got bi porn!” He flips through it and flinches at whatever is on the next page. He snaps the binder closed and throws it back into the locker. “Oh, no. We don’t need to look at that anymore. Grab the candy for the kids and I’ll teach you how to pick those other locks.”

We watch as he demonstrates on the second locker, then we try our own. Cara eventually gets it, but Rocky Horror finally has to take over and open mine. He takes the lock off, then snaps it closed again and hands it to me.

“You can practice later.”

Rocky Horror’s locker is filled with canned food and Little Debbie snacks that have probably gone very bad by now. Cara’s locker is filled with clothes—but most are men’s size XL so they would be pretty useless for her.

I open my locker and the first thing that catches my eye is the white pill bottle in the cubby up top. The label says clindamycin hydrochloride. I flip it sideways to read the directions, trying to figure out what kind of medicine it is.

“Jesus.” Rocky Horror grabs something else from the locker.

“Is that weed?” Cara asks.

I look up from the bottle to see the large ziplock bag of marijuana.

“And that’s not it.” He picks up a package the size of a brick. “Gotta give the guy credit for diversifying his investments. Drugs, porn, and candy.”

The bottle doesn’t say what clindamycin is, and next to “dosage and uses” on the label, it just says “see accompanying prescribing information.” But the name sounds familiar. Like I’ve heard it before.

Or maybe read it. I put it in my bag.

“What’s that?” Cara asks.

“I’m not sure. But considering what it was stashed with, I’d say it’s either prescription painkillers or antibiotics.” I want to check my mother’s journal before I tell anyone what it is. “Let’s get back to the others. We can come back tomorrow when there’s more light.”

Rocky Horror puts the brick of drugs in his pack, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Look, if it’s heroin, it’s a painkiller. I’m going to give the Nomad doc the option. Especially if they’re going to have to cut anything off anyone out there.”

I know he’s talking about Andrew. If these aren’t antibiotics, Rocky Horror is right. Andrew might need the heroin. I nod and we head back outside.

I was right. I had read the word clindamycin before. It’s third down under the list of antibiotics in my mom’s journal.

I open the bottle and pull the cotton ball plug from the top, then shake out one of the 150 milligram pills. They’re green-and-blue capsules. My heart surges with hope because this is exactly what Andrew needs.

I take one of the pills and put the bottle back in my bag—replacing the cotton to keep it from rattling—then head over to where Andrew is lying atop his sleeping bag, awake but looking like he wishes he weren’t. I hold out the capsule. “Antibiotics.”

His eyes go wide as he holds out his good hand. “You found some?”

“Yes.” I hand him my water bottle, and he downs the pill. “There should be enough for all of us in case something bad happens again. Even after your round.”

He smiles, and it seems like the first genuine smile he’s had in months. “Good. I think a couple others are going to need them, too.”

I shake my head. “I mean us. Our group, not the Nomads.”

Andrew stares at me as though he doesn’t understand.

“There was only one bottle.” I take it out of my bag and show it to him. “That’s all we have, and my mom’s notebook says you have to take a hundred and fifty milligrams every six hours.”

“If I got bit by a crocodile every six hours—”

“Alligator.”

“Whatever, I wouldn’t take all those pills. We’re giving them to the Nomad’s doctor, Jenn, and she’s distributing them.”

“What about everyone else?”

“No, Jamie, what about everyone else.”

“What if one of the kids gets sick?” I ask. “Are you going to be okay with them not getting antibiotics because we used them on strangers?”

He stares at me as though he doesn’t understand how the kids might need them. They’re kids. They could get sick; they could get hurt. One of us could get hurt. He rode up and down the eastern coast of Florida looking for antibiotics after I was shot and found none until we got to the Keys.

We lucked out with this porn-obsessed drug dealer. Maybe he’s one of the bodies in the mall, maybe he’s a body somewhere else nearby, but wherever he is, he helped us. We’d be stupid not to keep what we can when he was planning to do the same.

“What happened to you?” Andrew asks.

It takes me by such surprise I don’t know what to say. So to buy time, I ask, “What?”

He’s studying my face as if it’s a mask he’s never seen before. “You aren’t like this. You don’t do this. You’re kind, Jamie. You care about other people—you kiss stuffed animals to make them feel better, for Christ’s sake—so how can you just say these people—who are helping us, by the way—aren’t important?”

“You’re important. Cara’s important, and Amy, and Henri-Two. The others and the kids, they’re all important.”

He sighs and looks over to the group of Nomads at the fire closest to us. Our group is on the other side, separate from everyone else.

“I get what you mean. But you would never have said this last spring when we first met. I was a stranger, and you gave me the antibiotics and pain meds you had in the cabin.”

“I wasn’t going to use them all myself.”

“Exactly. And we aren’t going to use all this.” He holds out his hand to me. I stare at it for a moment, understanding exactly what he’s doing but still not sure I agree. Finally I hand the pill bottle over to him. “We’re doing the right thing,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

I know what he means. Morally, yes, we are absolutely doing the right thing. But morality is a construct of civilized society, which doesn’t exist anymore. Now we shoot each other over supplies or out of revenge.

In the cabin, it was easy to pretend we were still playing under the original moral rules of society. Then the people came—Howard and Raven and the group of others who showed up and demanded our supplies.

About an hour after Andrew gives the antibiotics to Dr. Jenn, Cal approaches our group. He says hello to everyone who is still awake, then kneels down next to me.

“Can I talk with you?”

I get up and follow him off to a quieter area of the dark parking lot. I can see half his face in the dim light of our fires.

“I heard you and a few others went into the distribution center and found supplies.”

“Yeah. We gave Dr. Jenn all the medical stuff, but we couldn’t find much food.”

He nods. “I just wanted to say thanks for helping us out. I know you didn’t need to, since you snuck in—”

“It wasn’t—”

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop the lie. “It’s okay, I get it. Things are tough and you’re looking out for your people. And most of your people can’t look out for themselves anyway. I’m saying thank you for real. What you did shows great leadership.

“I want to take a few more people into the mall tomorrow and do a full sweep,” Cal continues. “Every square inch, for as long as it takes. I’m sure it’s been mostly picked over by now, but you guys got lucky, so maybe we’ll get lucky again.”

“Okay.”

“Ask your people if any of them want to join. We’ll split everything we find based on our people. Sound good?”

That means they get more than we do, but they also have more storage space in the trucks and RVs. Also, they have more people to help search.

“Sounds good.”

He holds out his hand and we shake on it.