Annie took a shaky breath and for the first time Timmy noticed just how bad she looked. She looked ... brittle. Her face was pale except for dark circles under her eyes and her hands were still shaking. She looked - like a junkie - worn out.

Annie saw him staring at her and gave him her best motherly smile.

"Listen, honey. I think you're going to be all right. But we need to treat the wound with antibiotics as soon as possible, just to be safe. Understand?" Timmy nodded. "I know you're not feeling well right now and the truth is I'm in a bad way myself. I don't think I can stand up for another five minutes, let alone go outside."

"Outside? Why do you have to go outside?"

Annie looked away from him. She's ashamed.

"We need drugs, honey. Just to make sure we are all better. I need you to go to the drugstore."

"Oh." The only place he wanted to go was bed, all thoughts of KABOOM cereal and other breakfast treats forgotten for the moment. "I guess I can go. There's a CVS just down the hill."

Annie smiled wanly.

"That's my good boy. I'll go make a list. It'll be okay."

Timmy smiled.

Happy Birthday to me.

Chapter 28.

Run, Timmy, Run!

His ankle throbbing, Timmy peeked around the corner from the Church of the Resurrection - a name that took on a whole new meaning these days. He'd already done a quick nerve-jangling walk through the church, hoping to find supplies - maybe a medicine cabinet or first aid kit. It would have made things a lot simpler. But there was nothing other than old holy water and a few boxes of petrified donuts. It was also blessedly free of any resurrected.

So that left the CVS.

The sun hung low in the sky. He had planned on leaving early in the day but his backyard friends had stuck around and Annie wouldn't let him leave the house until they were gone. In the fading light he made out the main entrance to the CVS, about two hundred feet away. The lone zombie, doing a pa.s.sable impersonation of a mannequin at a Stephen King Menswear outlet, made it a very long two hundred feet. It stood in the middle of the street, almost directly between Timmy and the store.

"You are one big f.u.c.ker," Timmy whispered. A small jolt of guilty pleasure in using the 'F' word made him smile. "One big, fat f.u.c.ker."

He'd memorized the list clutched in his hand. "Penicillin, Oxycontin, Codeine, Snickers, Valium, BATTERIES." The last he had written himself. Timmy was fresh out and his Nintendo DS made a lousy paperweight. His favorite video games used to be 'Left For Dead 4', 'Burn, Zombie, Burn' and 'City of the Dead'. Now his tastes ran more towards 'Pokemon Arena', and 'Mario Kart'.

He thought about turning back. Annie would understand. It was one thing to have him take his chances outside to get her the pills. She'd rather wait a day for her pills. She wouldn't want him risking his life with a zombie standing right there. Except some part of him knew she would. She'd never say it out loud. She'd say, "It's okay, honey," and give him a big hug. Probably make him lunch. But she would be disappointed in him. It would show itself in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking. Then there was the issue of his ankle. Maybe he didn't need antibiotics. But maybe he did. So no, he wouldn't turn around. In the end, Timmy was an eleven-year-old boy and when it came down to risking death by zombie or disappointment by Mom, he'd take his chances with the zombie.

Besides, he was developing a knack for sizing up the undead, and this corpse scored pretty low on his threat meter. It looked like a big fat biker, but a little cleaner. Its considerable gut was partially covered by a grimy T-shirt - 'Ride me 'cause I ride a Harley'. A thick blond beard framed a face that was definitely not suitable for framing. Gla.s.sy eyes reflected the setting sun, giving them an eerie orange cast. Everything about the zombie promised lethargy. Sometimes promises were meant to be broken, though. You don't judge a book by its cover, he thought, and you definitely don't judge a zombie by its gut.

Still. He needed to get inside that CVS, and that meant either making a run for the front door or taking his chances by sneaking in through the back entrance. Not knowing what was waiting for him in the rear lot, Timmy decided to take his chances with the devil he knew.

Before he could lose his nerve he ran across the street and cut right, running down the sidewalk toward the entrance - and the zombie. His arms and chest, sore from the tug-o-war with Annie and the zombie, slowed him down, but he figured he was plenty fast enough to make it safely to the store. He was about a hundred feet away when the zombie turned, its vacant stare transforming into one of ravenous hunger. It started lurching toward him.

"Oh s.h.i.t. Oh s.h.i.t. Oh s.h.i.t. Oh s.h.i.t." The words flew past his lips on puffs of air. He had miscalculated. The zombie was too close to the entrance. He'd never outrun it. He stopped before a blue and red postal box, about twenty feet from CVS's revolving doors. The zombie shambled toward him.

"f.u.c.k."

Timmy stayed behind the postal drop. It came up to just below his neck. There were a few penny fliers taped to the side facing Timmy - Two Free Piano lessons if you buy ten. He stood his ground, making sure the mail drop stayed between him and the dead biker. The sound of a distant gunshot registered in some part of his brain, but it meant nothing. Sporadic gunfire was more common than church bells these days, and he knew it had nothing to do with him or his friend here.

"Zombie, zombie go away, come on back another day," he whispered. And in his mind it whispered back: Zombie, zombie here to stay, yes indeedy.

He could see its eyes clearly now. They were light blue ice chips, no longer reflecting fire. One of its ears was missing. It looked like it had been chewed off. It came straight at him, and hit the mail box.

Timmy jumped back as the zombie made a grab for him over the mail box, its blackened hands coming close enough for him to smell a mixture of tobacco, s.h.i.t, and something else that didn't bear thinking about.

It took another swipe at him, but Timmy was already beyond its reach.

"Come on ... Come on ..."

The zombie finally gave up trying to walk through the mailbox and started moving to the left, between the box and the side of the building. Timmy took a half-step to the right. At least he had the open street to his back. If the thing had moved to the right, he would have literally had his back to the wall.

It took another step to the left and Timmy took another to the right. They did a slow orbit around the mail box, looking like the world's most mismatched pair of wrestlers sizing each other up. Finally they had switched places, so that the zombie was in front of him, still separated by the postal drop, and the CVS entrance was behind him.

"Easy peasy." He turned, ran, and tripped over the uneven sidewalk. He didn't fall, but his left ankle buckled and the pain was so great that for the moment he forgot all about zombies and survival. He took another step toward the door and almost collapsed as a fresh wave of pain washed over him.

Timmy moaned.

The zombie moaned.

Timmy started hopping.

The zombie started lurching.

He was ten feet away from safety, but two feet away from death. He hopped faster, tears of pain blurring his vision. He wasn't going to make it. It was too close. It would reach for him or he'd fall again. But he wouldn't stay down. Here, at the corner of Broad Street and Woodland Drive, the dead never stayed down. Maybe never again.

"No, no, no, no ..."

He closed his eyes - an incredibly stupid thing to do - and hopped faster - an incredibly smart thing to do. He opened his eyes and there was the door. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the zombie still lurching toward him, but farther back. It's so slow. His luck was in, as his dad was fond of saying when something went right. Without sparing another glance toward Horrid Davidson, Timmy shot through the revolving door and inside the CVS.

That's when things got a little scary.

He quickly found the locking bolt at the top of the door, just barely within his reach. His luck was still in and the bolt hole was lined up with the bolt on the door. He pushed the bolt up and was rewarded with a satisfying click just before the zombie crashed against the gla.s.s. It held, and except for a funky gray smear where the undead head met the gla.s.s, it seemed fine. That was good. The zombie also seemed fine. That was bad.

He stood at the door, catching his breath and staring at the creature, forgetting for the moment about his errand. Aside from the thing on the deck, he had never been this close to one of them before. The zombie was just standing there now, looking and not looking at Timmy. As before, it seemed to be in standby mode. Its face was almost pressed against the gla.s.s. Part of its lower lip had been torn away and he could see a few broken teeth. And its beard was moving. Timmy's stomach did a little flop. There were maggots and worms in its beard.

"f.u.c.king gross."

Speaking seemed to break the spell, and he remembered the reason he was here. He turned away from the zombie and gingerly took a half-hop into the store. There were no lights and only about a third of the store was visible in the washed-out daylight that spilled in from the entranceway. The rest was swallowed by gloom and darkness. But he'd been in enough CVS drug stores to more or less know where everything was.

The front counter was about twenty feet away, to his right. He stepped around an ATM machine that had fallen or been pushed to the ground. He could just make out not-so-crisp twenty-dollar bills scattered across the floor. Yippee. I'm rich.

Ignoring the paper he went straight to a refrigeration display next to the front counter, putting a little weight on the bad foot and receiving a sharp reminder that he still had a bad foot. Wincing, he hopped the rest of the way. He leaned against the refrigeration display and took a moment to catch his breath. Behind the gla.s.s door were bottles of c.o.ke, Diet c.o.ke, Dr. Pepper and - Yes. Orange Crush.

He slid the door open and grabbed a bottle. It was warm of course, and when he popped the top it practically exploded. Ignoring the foam he drained the bottle in six long gulps.

"I've got my spine, I've got my orange crush." Timmy loved that song. Dad would play it all the time in the car. He snagged another three bottles and made his way behind the counter. Large plastic CVS bags were strewn across the floor. He picked one up and filled it with two of the bottles. The third he opened. Running from the ravenous undead was thirsty business.

The racks against the wall were still in place and it looked like his luck was still in. Batteries, lots of batteries. He grabbed a bunch of AAs and AAAs and tossed them in the bag. After pausing a few seconds he grabbed some more. He'd seen a lot of zombie and post-apocalyptic movies - they used to be his favorite - and was pretty sure that batteries were going to be the Gold Standard in the new world.

The aisle in front of him disappeared in the darkness. Timmy knew the pharmacy was back there, even if he couldn't see it.

"Okay."

He walked slowly down the cluttered lane behind the counter, his bag of goodies softly bouncing against his leg. He ran his fingers along the display racks. Cameras, CDs, film, boom boxes, and ... there - flashlights. He grabbed two, throwing one in the sack. The other he left on the counter and walked back to the battery display to search for C batteries. As a soft sound of movement drifted out of the darkness, Timmy froze.

Did I hear that?

Silence answered. For a short eternity he stood perfectly still. He heard only the rasp of his own breathing, loud as a police siren. Thanks to the Orange Crush, he had to fight down the urge to burp. In the end he gave in and belched into his hands as quietly as he could. Quickly he opened the package of batteries in the flashlight and ... Do I turn it on? Right now he wanted light more than Paris Hilton wanted publicity, but did he dare turn it on? Light was a two-way street. Could zombies see in the dark? He didn't know and he definitely didn't want to find out.

The prescription counter was still on the other side of the CVS.

"Another long one hundred feet," he whispered to himself.

Moving as quietly as he could, Timmy made his way back to the counter where he had left the plastic bag.

I'm a ninja. A silent, deadly ninja. Cat paws in the dark. With all the caution of a Mormon in a strip club, Timmy unscrewed the back of the flashlight and gently slipped in the batteries, deciding to keep the flashlight off for the moment.

He started walking toward the prescription counter. From the corner of his eye he could just make out the rotting biker, still standing on the other side of the revolving door, face pressed up against the gla.s.s. Like a kid in a candy store. He doubted it could actually see him, but that didn't tone down the creep factor much.

Just grab the meds and run, he reasoned with himself. Nothing in here but us chickens.

As he walked through the gloom to the back of the store he could just make out the products along the shelves. Shampoos, toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, chap stick. He took some of these and tossed them in the bag. Douches, tampons - he left those alone. He was about halfway down the aisle now. What little light there was didn't reach this far back and Timmy was alone in the dark - he hoped. He stopped and listened, alert for any noises. All was dead still.

Repeating the silent prayer common to children all over the world - Please, just this once, just this once. Just let me be okay this once - he clicked on the flashlight. Light spilled across the aisle, seeming overly bright to his eyes. He shone it quickly down the aisle, judged the distance to the counter and turned it off.

"Green light," he whispered. He took another dozen silent hops. Stopped and listened. Nothing. "One, two, three. Red light!" He clicked the flashlight back on. The prescription counter was about ten feet away. A sign reading 'Pick Up' hung over it and he could also make out some of the shelves. He couldn't read the signs but knew they'd be alphabetical, like the ones in the library. He did his best to memorize the layout, then switched off the flashlight.

"Green light." Darkness swam back in. He made it all the way to the counter, feeling a little silly about being afraid of the dark AND being afraid of the light. The counter had one of those flip up sections, conveniently raised, and he strode right through. Easy peasy.

"One, two, three ... red light."

The flashlight clicked on, showing a surprisingly debris-free floor. There were drawers in front of each shelf, more or less filled with prescriptions. Timmy ignored these and shone the light on the top of the shelves. His luck was still in. The first sign said 'Asthma - Lipitor'.

Okey doke. Get the meds and get out of Dodge.

He'd walked to the shelves and started looking for the right pills. His mom had told him to grab what he could but to make sure he got the Amoxicillin, Codeine and Oxycontin. He'd get those, then just go stuff his bag with goodies from the filled prescription bins. If biker dude was still guarding the front, he'd take his chances with the rear exit. Not ideal, but once he was outside ...

Something moved, something behind him.

He tried to turn around but couldn't. He was scared stiff. Yes he was. The soft whispering sound, the soft sound of something dragging, floated out of the darkness. The flashlight - red light - fell to the floor. Something was moving. But it wasn't him. Timmy didn't think he'd ever be moving again.

Chapter 29.

Run, d.a.m.nit!

"Hey, kid."

Timmy almost peed himself in relief when he heard those words. 'Hey kid' wasn't exactly the Gettysburg address, which he had been required to memorize exactly two days before zombies became America's new immigration problem. What a waste of time that had turned out to be. But it was two more words than any zombie ever uttered.

He quickly retrieved the flashlight and shone it in the direction of the voice. Maybe zombies can talk, he thought uneasily.

The man, blinking rapidly against the light, was black ... almost purple. He threw a bony arm across his face. He was bald, dirty, skeletal thin, and looked to be anywhere between twenty-five and sixty.

"I'm no zombie. Lower that f.u.c.king light."

Timmy did - and almost dropped the flashlight again.

The man was barefoot and bare a.s.sed. At the best of times, being an eleven-year-old white kid, alone in a dark drug store with a naked black man, would make anyone nervous. This was a far cry away from the best of times. He took a step back and swung the light back to the stranger's head.

"Who are you? How did you get in here past -?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.nit," the man hissed, shielding his eyes again. He took a few steps toward Timmy. "I told you ..."

"Why are you naked?" And why, Jesus oh Jesus, do you have an erection? Keeping the light on the man's face, he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. No visible exits behind him. He'd have to run around the man and make for the door. Okay, the guy was barefoot and looked half-dead. Timmy hoped it would be as easy as it looked.

The man raised his other arm and Timmy noticed for the first time he was holding a bat - one of those aluminum ones. Probably got it from the summer fun aisle.

"Got dis from the summer fun aisle," the man whispered. He paused for a second, frowning. "Now why dud I say that?" He started forward again, holding the bat out in front like a torch. "You don't get to come into my stuh and ask questions." He had a bit of a southern tw.a.n.g.

"I don't want any trouble, mister. I don't have anything you want. Nothing you can't get from this store, anyway. Can I just go?" He hated the way he sounded. In his mind he was a hard case; tough and dangerous, but when the words came, they came out of a scared little boy's mouth.

The man grinned, stretching his skin even tighter across his skull and revealing more gum than teeth. He swung the bat, connecting with a display rack of greeting cards. A few cards spilled to the floor but the rack remained standing.

"No trouble from me, Timmy. Jus stand still and close t'ose purty eyes and you'll get no trouble from me."

Timmy blinked. "How did you know my name?"

"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. Open the door and there are the people." He took another half swat with the bat, forcing Timmy to take a further step back. Skull and b.o.n.e.r took another step closer.

"Listen, I don't know who you are ..."

But suddenly he did know. The man's name was Chester and he - is he going to tear that s.h.i.t up? - was originally from south Virginia. Timmy had never met him but he knew. The man had moved to the CVS when the world had taken a turn for the worse and was - going to have to kill him after. Always kill 'em after - happy spending his days and nights popping pills and eating Charleston Chews.

He glanced one last time across the room. The last gasp of daylight was slipping in the front of the store. If his luck was in ...

"I think you better call Mom," the walking stick crooned. "Better tell her you're going to be late for din -"