No Ordinary Day , Tate, Harley [ebook offline .TXT] 📗

John leaned over the counter and sucked in a lungful of air. “Excuse me?”

“I’m helping another customer. When I’m done, I’ll be right with you,” a voice called from the back, not bothering to glance his way.

John turned and leaned against the counter, forcing his breathing to slow. Tank sat beside him, standing guard and lending support.

The two customers, a man in his fifties with gray hair and a round belly, and a woman about the same age, whispered in hushed tones as they stole glances at John.

At last, the pharmacist arrived. “Okay. What can I—”

John turned around and the man lapsed into silence. “I need antibiotics, bandages, and a good antiseptic if you have them.”

Judging by the sandy blond hair and faint crow’s feet around the eyes, the pharmacist was mid-thirties. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he stared at John’s sweater. “Do you have a prescription?”

“Haven’t had a chance.”

“You should go to the doctor.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

The pharmacist swallowed. “I can’t give you antibiotics without a prescription, I’m sorry.”

John leaned closer. “What if no one finds out? I’m sure you could make an exception in this case.”

“I-I get audited. I can’t make a mistake, or I lose my license.”

John tried to smile. “I don’t think that will be a problem with everything that’s going on.”

The pharmacist pressed his fingers to his lips and glanced at the customers still waiting. “This is a small town. Word will spread.”

John slammed his fist on the counter.

The two customers stood and hurried away, talking and pointing.

“Now there’s no one to see.”

“I-I can get you some bandages. And some pain killers. I-I have a package of QuikClot in an emergency kit.”

John exhaled. It would have to do. “Fine. Whatever you can give me would be great.”

The pharmacist took off, hurriedly assembling the list of items. He placed everything in a bag and slid it across the counter to John.

“How much?”

He waved him off. “I’ll say it was shoplifted.”

John pushed off the counter. “Bathroom?”

The pharmacist pointed at the far wall. “Just in there.”

John nodded and turned that way, leaving a smear of blood on the counter. He hobbled toward the bathroom, pausing at a rack of T-shirts advertising emblazoned with ‘Visit Blue Ridge’ across the chest. He grabbed on and held it up. “Shoplifter snagged this, too.”

“O-of course,” the pharmacist replied.

Tank followed John into the tiny bathroom and John locked the door.

He dumped the bag into the sink and gripped the edge with both hands. It had taken all his strength to not pass out. Now came the hard part.

He eased his ruined sweater over his body and threw it in the trash. The T-shirt had done the best it could under the circumstances, but with miles of walking, it was no substitute for a bandage.

John tugged at the knots, careful not to touch his skin. He peeled the soaked cotton away, row by row, to reveal an angry, jagged wound. With a handful of paper towels and the water running, John cleaned the worst of it, bracing against the pain as he dabbed the broken skin.

Judging by the purpling spreading across his midsection, he’d cracked a rib, maybe two. A generous pour of alcohol across the wound and John cried out.

Tank whimpered, standing beside him as he fought back the pain. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got to do it.”

He finished cleaning the wound and patted it dry with cotton before packing a QuikClot against the two holes and wrapping his entire midsection in a clean, fresh bandage. Without antibiotics, he risked infection, but it would have to do for now. He popped a handful of the painkillers and cleaned up his mess, throwing everything in the trash and rinsing the blood out of the sink before tearing the tag off the T-shirt and easing it over his head.

He took stock in the mirror, turning this way and that. The bandage wasn’t visible thanks to the writing on the shirt. If he walked slow, he might pass unnoticed. His jeans were coated in blood, but it blended with the dark black wash. He could pass as a local for now.

He emerged from the bathroom and nodded to the pharmacist, who was now busy with more customers at the counter. The man nodded back, eyeing him with more curiosity than suspicion. John headed out the front door with Tank on his heels.

At the far corner, a diner sat, doors open, sign out front proclaiming ‘Open in the dark, limited menu. Get it while you can.’

He stepped up to the front door.

A hostess stood inside, holding menus and a fake smile. “Table for one?”

John pointed at Tank. “Two if he’s allowed.”

The girl turned toward the kitchen. “Boss ain’t here. I say why not?”

She showed them in, seating them in a booth in the window. John slid gingerly into one side while Tank hopped up onto the other.

The girl handed him a menu and walked away.

Printed on laminated paper, at one point the menu was hearty diner fare, full of eggs and bacon and a variety of waffles. Now, big X marks in sharpie covered the front and back.

A waitress arrived, coffee pot in one hand and a wad of napkins in the other. She paused at the sight of Tank. “He want coffee?”

John managed to smile. “Don’t think it does his stomach any good. But water would be a good choice.”

He flipped his mug over and she poured his cup full before retreating to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a bowl full of water.

Tank took to it immediately, lapping up the cool liquid as the waitress stated, “Don’t know I’ve ever served a dog before.”

“First time for everything.” John handed her the menu. “Can we get as many eggs as you can manage and some bread, please.”

She nodded. “Eggs only come scrambled, cause it’s easier on the propane stove. That all right?”

He nodded, thankful they served anything at all.

A few minutes later, the waitress reappeared, depositing