I cast about the parking lot, and my eye fell on a cigarette receptacle. It was heavy, but I managed to lift it and swing it clumsily.
The glass door shattered in a glittering hail. My blood pounded in my ears. I couldn’t believe the destruction I’d caused—not even when the alarm went off.
The screech of the alarm caused me to jump back, and my first instinct was to flee, but I fought that down. If the alarm brought police, that was good. They could look for Seth and Joseph. They could get Alex to a hospital. At the very least, they could tell me what was happening.
My shoes crunched in the broken glass as I walked into the fluorescent glare of the store. I picked up a large backpack in the school supplies area and began to shop.
I bypassed the makeup and glossy magazines, the bubble bath and the candy, veering toward the back of the store where the actual health items seemed to be hidden. Strange arrangement for a store that had a purpose to sell medicine.
I picked up rolls of gauze, sterile bandages, antibiotic cream, ibuprofen, and hydrogen peroxide, stuffing them quickly into the bag. As I worked my way farther back, I found myself staring at the closed window of the pharmacy counter.
Antibiotics would be there. I tried to lift the steel curtain covering the window, but to no avail.
I set my bag down and began to think. There must be something to pry it up. I grabbed a cane from a nearby display and succeeded in wedging it beneath the steel curtain, bending it back enough to just allow space for me to jump the counter and wriggle through.
I knocked over scads of plastic baskets and rattling pill bottles before I found the light switch behind the pharmacist’s counter. I was surrounded by a bewildering array of shelves of bottles and boxes. I had no idea what purposes the vast majority of them were used for. I picked up bottles at random. I didn’t understand the labels.
There had to be some kind of tool here for pharmacists to tell . . . I went to a desk in the back that held a large red book. I opened it. To my relief, it was an index of drugs. I searched for “antibiotics” and carefully wrote down the names of several on a nearby notepad. The terminology was largely unfamiliar to me, but I could read through the lists and copy the information.
Carefully scrutinizing the shelves, I was able to find most of them: a bottle of erythromycin, packets of something called Zithromax (which sounded like a comic book superhero), and some similar odd packages called Bactrim. I crammed as many as I could into a plastic bag and squirmed out under the counter.
I paused to think, my mind and heart racing. I might not get another chance to be Outside again. What else did I need? I wandered down the battery aisle. Several chargers and batteries that worked for cell phones were arranged on a plastic display. I knew that Mrs. Parsall’s cell battery had been getting low. I’d taken a good look at it last night before we went to bed, memorizing the model number printed on the back. I found two extra batteries and a car charger that were supposed to work for that model.
Last, I went down the dog food aisle. I scooped all the cans of dog food that would fit into the backpack. I hesitated, then went back for a second backpack and filled that with dry food. I knew as well as anyone else that when food went short, the animals would suffer most. Not if I could help it.
On the way out, I emptied my pockets of all the bills I had and placed them next to the cash register. I had no idea how much the medicines cost, but knew that it wouldn’t anywhere near cover the damage I’d done to the store.
I glanced longingly back at the pharmacy counter and the pet food display, briefly thought of loading up with everything I could carry. But I knew, deep down, that I should not take more than I could pay for.
Still feeling guilty, I stepped through the shattered door to my bike. I nestled one backpack in the basket and slung the other on my back. I began to push away from the curb, when something caught my eye.
Something red and white and delicious.
The glow of a Coca-Cola machine beckoned behind the door of the Suds ’n’ Duds, the bar and Laundromat next door. I’d always thought drinking and laundry were a strange combination, but I had noticed that many people Outside required constant stimulation. Odd.
I looked away from the Coke machine, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
But I couldn’t help glancing back at the seductive glow. Like a moth to the flame, I drifted toward it. In the bottom of my pocket, I fingered some loose coins. They clanked together, slipping against my sweaty palms.
The doors opened at my touch, and I stepped inside. Unlike the drugstore, the Laundromat advertised that it was open twenty-four hours. The washing machines and dryers lining the walls and aisles had long since fallen silent, and the fluorescent lighting buzzed and flickered overhead. I had never used machines like that. We used simple tubs, washboards, and lye soap. I couldn’t imagine not having anything to do while laundry did itself. The cracked tile on the floor looked grimy, and I smelled a combination of stale beer and perfumed laundry soap. I stepped around abandoned plastic baskets full of clothes on the floor to stand before the warm red glow of the Coke machine.
I fed the machine a dollar in quarters and nickels, then punched the glowing button to release the soda. The machine clunked inside, and I reached down to retrieve my treat from the receptacle.
But nothing came out.
Gritting my teeth, I reached up into the mouth of the machine, trying to feel if it had gotten stuck. My fingers wiggled in air and darkness.
I stood back and pressed the button again. Nothing happened. The machine had eaten my money.
I dug into my pocket. I only had two dimes left.
My hands balled into fists. This might be the last chance I ever got to taste a Coke. Whether it was because of what had happened Outside, or my parents’ rescinding of Rumspringa, I wanted the syrupy taste of this small rebellion. And this stupid machine was denying that bit of freedom to me . . . just like everyone else.
I slammed my hand against the face of the machine. It was the first time I’d ever struck anything or anyone out of anger. The blow echoed against the plastic, startling me with the force of it traveling up my arm to my shoulder. But the machine was unmoved. It continued to hum as if nothing had happened, smugly digesting my change in the face of my pathetic assault.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, I turned to walk away. The drugstore had caved under the force of my criminal will, but the Coke machine was virtuous. Inviolate.
I paused, glancing over the rows of battered washing machines to the bar. It wasn’t much, just a long counter with chipped, mirrored shelves of bottles behind it and wobbly stools before it. But it was apparently enough to keep the folks entertained while they were doing their laundry. A television perched above the bar was tuned to the soft snow of static. They must have served some food here too, since flies swarmed over a paper tray of french fries abandoned on the counter.
My eyes narrowed. There might be Coca-Cola there.
And, after all, I had paid for it.
I circled behind the bar, scanning the bottles and cans. The spirits were colorless, brown, amber, and red. I didn’t know why one would drink something called “extra dry.” Nor did I understand why someone would drink something violent, as suggested by the “brut” on the label. And “Irish Rose” sounded entirely unappetizing. Flowers, in my experience, tended to taste bitter. My gaze roved over cans stuffed into a small refrigerator under the bar. Just beer and wilted lemons.
I frowned. I’d tasted beer once before and hated it.
I really wanted a Coke. Just a Coke.
At the end of the mirror behind the bar stood a shiny steel metal door. I grasped the latch. It was cold—I expected that it was a refrigerator of some type. A walk-in cooler that might contain what I was looking for.