One Second After by William R. Forstchen Page B

favor.”
    Liz fell silent, the look of gratitude disappearing.
    â€œI think we got a bad situation,” Liz said quietly. “Don’t we?”
    â€œI won’t lie to you. I think we do.”
    She looked back towards the counter, the line of customers, more coming in and queuing up.
    â€œI’ve been here all night,” she said wearily. “I live in Asheville, nothing was moving, I was hoping Jim might come to get me, but he hasn’t shown . . .”
    Her voice trailed off.
    â€œHow long before the electric comes back on?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œA month, maybe a year or more.”
    â€œMy God,” Liz sighed.
    â€œExactly, and you know what I am asking for.”
    â€œJohn, I have exactly forty vials in stock. There’s one other kid in this town with the same thing your girl’s got. Over a hundred adult diabetics with varying degrees of insulin needs.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œLiz, we’re talking about my daughter, my little girl,” and his voice began to choke.
    She pointed towards the neatly arrayed cabinets with medications.
    â€œJohn, 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.”
    â€œThere won’t be daily shipments for quite a while, Liz.”
    â€œThen 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.
    â€œSevere hypertensions, arrythmias, we got five people on antirejection 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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œMaybe 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.”
    â€œThat’s fair enough,” Makala whispered.
    Liz looked at her, didn’t say anything, then turned away.
    â€œStop 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