One Second After

“I’ve had four folks down here this morning already asking for extras. I can’t give them out, John. I’m responsible to everyone here, not just Jen….” She hesitated. “Not just you, John.”

“Liz, we’re talking about my daughter, my little girl,” and his voice began to choke.

She pointed towards the neatly arrayed cabinets with medications.

“John, I’ve got hundreds of people I’m responsible for, and if what you said is true a lot of them will die, some in a matter of days. We just don’t keep that much inventory in stock anymore. None of the pharmacies do; we rely on daily shipments.”

“There won’t be daily shipments for quite a while, Liz.”

“Then my patients with pancreatic enzyme disorder? They don’t take their pills daily they die. If what you told me is true, Mrs. Sterling will be dead within a week….” Liz’s voice trailed off and she stifled back a sob.

She took a deep breath and looked back up at him.

“Severe hypertensions, arrhythmias, we got five people on anti-rejection drugs for transplants. Jesus Christ, John, what do you want me to do?”

He hated himself for doing it, but now started he couldn’t stop.

“I lost Mary already, Liz. Please, dear God, not Jennifer, too. Not that.”

He lowered his head, tears clouding his eyes. He wiped them away, struggling for control.

He looked back into Liz’s eyes, shamed… and yet, if need be, determined.

Liz looked straight at him and John could see that her eyes were clouded as well.

“It’s going to get bad, isn’t it, John?” He nodded his head, unable to speak.

Liz continued to gaze at him, then sighed, turned, and opened the refrigerator. She pulled out four vials, hesitated, then a fifth.

John struggled with the horrible temptation to shove Liz aside, reach in, and scoop all of them out. The temptation was near overpowering.

He felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder and started to swing, wondering if somebody was pushing their way in. It was Makala. She gazed at him and said nothing.

Liz quickly closed the refrigerator, opened a cabinet, took out a box of a hundred syringes, then bagged the vials and box up, wrapping several extra layers of plastic around the package.

“Maybe I’m damning myself for doing this,” Liz said quietly. “That’s five for you; there’ll be five for the Valenti boy, and one each for the remaining thirty that come in here.”

“That’s fair enough,” Makala whispered.

Liz looked at her, didn’t say anything, then turned away.

“Stop at the cooler; there still might be some ice there. Grab up whatever candy bars are left as well. Go straight home, John. They should be kept stable at forty degrees; every ten-degree increase cuts the shelf life in half. So go home now. Once you run out of ice, try and find the coolest spot in the house to store them.”

“Thank you, Liz. God bless you.”

“Please leave, John. I got a lot to think about, to do today.” John nodded, still filled with a sense of shame.

“You want me to stop at the police station and bring someone back?”

Liz shook her head. “I’ll send Rachel into town to get some help. She rode her bike in here, so she can be there nearly as quick as you.”

Liz then opened a drawer in the locked room and pointed down. Inside was a .38 Special.

“It was against company policy, but my husband insisted I keep it here. You know how he is, ex-ranger and all that. I’d of used it if you hadn’t showed up,” and her voice was now cold. John wondered if he had tried to shove Liz aside, would that .38 have come out? From the look in his friend’s eyes, he knew it would.

“Some advice, Liz.”

“Sure.”

“Get out of here.”

“You know I can’t do that, John.”

“I mean once it starts to run short. Load up what you think you’ll need for you and your family; then get out. When you start running out, it could get ugly.”

She looked up at him and smiled, all five foot two of her standing with shoulders back.

“Jim taught me how to use that gun,” she said. “I’ll see things through.” John squeezed her shoulder.

“God bless you,” and he walked out. The line behind the counter was growing. There were several nods of recognition; some were silent. Apparently everyone in line knew what had just happened with the bloody man whom Pat had thoroughly trussed up with, of all things, a roll of duct tape.

One woman saw the bag John was carrying.

“Matherson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked past John to Liz. “What did you give him back there?”

“Just some syringes for his little girl, that’s all, Julie.”

“I don’t want to hear tell of any special treatment going on here, Liz. If so, I’ve been a customer of this firm for twenty years and let me tell you I have a list here….”

John went down aisle four. Surprisingly, there was a whole stack of one-pound Hershey bars, and without hesitating he scooped them all up and dumped them into the bag. The high-school-aged girl behind the counter saw him do it, not sure what to say as he walked by.

“Don’t worry. Liz said I can take them now and pay later.”

The girl nodded, his action setting off an argument with a customer who had no cash and wanted cigarettes.