This is from Ivan's Perspective
As I pedaled closer to the group of gun-toting men, I found myself surprisingly less terrified than I had been of the gun-toting mobs back in the city. Don't get me wrong, the sight of guns still sent a shiver down my spine, and if my legs had any strength left in them, I would've turned around, taken a side street, and ridden all night until I collapsed from a heart attack on my own front porch. But my legs had other plans. They seemed more concerned about my heart than I was.
As I neared the posse, one of them, a man with a big hat that shadowed his eyes in the setting sun, stepped forward. "Where are you headed, friend?" he asked, his voice gruff and clear in the quiet street.
I awkwardly brought my bike to a halt, my legs trembling from the exertion. As I tried to dismount, my foot got caught on the bar, and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I face-planted onto the pavement. I straightened up, brushing off the dust from my clothes, and met the man's gaze. "Trying to get home, friend," I replied, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and lack of water. I finished my last bottle almost a mile back. "My truck broke down, and I've been riding this bike, hoping to find a working phone somewhere along the way."
The man with the big hat waved a hand. The others started lowering their guns to point at the ground one by one. "Where's home?" he asked.
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. These people weren't like the ones back in the city. "You know Woodfield Lake?" I asked.
The man in the hat nodded, his brim dipping dramatically. "Yes, sir. About 20 miles that way?" He gestured in the general direction of my hometown.
I nodded in confirmation. "That's the one."
He nodded a few more times, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Well, you're not gonna make it tonight," he said, a note of concern in his voice. "Hope you have cash to pay for the hotel. If not, I got a cell I could lend you." He chuckled at his own joke.
"I got money," I assured him, grabbing my bike and hobbling after him. The group of gun-toting men parted ways for us, their eyes following us as we made our way through.
As we began to walk, I quickly realized that the man in the hat was moving at a pace that was a bit too brisk for my weary legs. "Sir," I called out, my voice strained, "I'm not as fast as you right now."
He stopped and turned around, a chuckle escaping his lips as he took in my exhausted state. "Jelly legs?" he asked, amusement clear in his voice.
I nodded, too tired to come up with a witty retort. "Does anyone have any phones that work?" I asked, hopeful. The thought of being able to call home, to let my family know I was okay, and to get a tow for my truck. That would be the ideal end of today.
He shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Nope. Along the way, did anyone have phones?"
I shook my head, panting slightly as I tried to catch up to him quickly. "Unfortunately, no." I managed to catch up to him, and to my relief, he slowed down to match my pace. "What happened here? Why the guards at the gate?" I asked.
He glanced at me, a thoughtful look on his face. "Curious George, huh? Well, it's just in case there's someone coming from outside to hurt us. The boys were getting restless, feeling useless. This gives them a use...and the people a peace of mind."
The thought of the marauders in the city sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't blame this town for being wary. Desperate to change the subject, I asked, "Do you guys have a pharmacy? Maybe some food open?"
The man in the big hat nodded, "Not sure who's open, but you can check Peat's. It's on the way. As for food, just follow your nose. I hear everyone is having 'eat it before it spoils' specials on everything in the freezer." He chuckled, then added, "Across from the hotel is a good bar. The owner is my brother."
As we continued walking, we soon arrived at a small store with the word 'Pharmacy' displayed prominently in the window. "This is Peat's," the man in the hat said, pointing to the store. "And the hotel is half a block up that way." He gestured in the direction we were heading. "You can't miss it. Tell my aunt the Sheriff referred you." He chuckled again.
With that, he tipped his hat to me, turned, and walked away, leaving me standing in front of Peat's Pharmacy. Apparently, I earned enough trust to not be supervised anymore.
The thought of leaving my bike unattended outside the pharmacy crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. This was my best ticket home.
With a grimace, I pushed open the door, my stiff legs and aching arms protesting the movement. As I awkwardly maneuvered my bike inside, a tenor voice echoed from the back of the store, "No stealing, no new prescriptions, I won't sell you happy pills and cash only."
I parked my bike against the wall by the door, placing my bags on the floor in front of it. I fished out my wallet from my pocket, held it up, and called out to the dimly lit store, "I've got cash, and I'm looking for a consultation."
Suddenly, a man appeared from behind one of the aisles. He was older and significantly shorter than me, with a no-nonsense expression on his face. "What do you need?" he asked, his tone businesslike that reminded me of Boston. It was like he had seen it all, and the current crisis didn't seem to faze him.
I quickly explained my situation to the pharmacist, my words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm trying to get home to Woodfield Lake. I've been riding this bike all day, and I walked half the day yesterday. I'm in pain from head to toe, and it feels like it's seeping into my soul."
The pharmacist listened attentively, his eyes cold and measuring, "Woodfield Lake is a beautiful place," he commented when I finished. "I participate in both fishing competitions there. It's a shame about Boris. May he rest in peace."
A pang of sadness hit me at the mention of my uncle. "Yeah, Uncle Boris was great at organizing those events. I was planning to try to organize the summer one this year."
His eyes widened slightly, the first sign of emotion I'd seen from him. "You knew Boris? He was your uncle?" I nodded in confirmation. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "You must be Andrew then. Your uncle spoke highly of you."
I blinked in confusion. I didn't know any Andrew. My father's name was Andrew, but there were no other Andrews in the family.
"No, sir," I corrected him, "I'm Ivan. We don't have any Andrews in the family... not anymore."
The pharmacist nodded, the smile fading from his lips, but his eyes softened. "I know," he said, his tone gentle. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't lying. Come on." He gestured for me to follow him, and I did shakily.
"I'm not going to give you a lot of pills. They're addictive, and you don't have a prescription, and I don't want to get in trouble. But you sound like you're in pain. I'll give you enough for a few doses. I also highly recommend you get some over-the-counter stuff." As we walked, he grabbed a few items off the shelves.
"I'll give you two types of medication: one is a muscle relaxant, which I think you'll need, and a strong painkiller. Don't mix these with the over-the-counter stuff, and don't drive under the influence. Not that there's a chance of that happening right now. And don't mix these with booze. That'll be $40, even."
We reached the back of the store, where he stepped behind a counter, his arms full of items. After a few moments, he reappeared, everything neatly packed in a paper bag.
I opened the bag and peered inside, recognizing the over-the-counter items. I pulled out two pill bottles with scribbles in permanent marker on them. "Which one is which?" I asked, squinting at the illegible handwriting.
The pharmacist smirked. "What, can't read English? Give it here." He took the bottles from my hands and scribbled something on them. Handing them back, he said, "PK is for painkillers, MR is for muscle relaxants. Take one of each before bed, and you'll sleep till next week."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet as he dropped the bottles back into the paper bag. "Thank you very much," I said sincerely. "This will help a lot." I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him. "Keep the change," I added, grabbing my bag and hobbling towards the door.
The moment I stepped out of the pharmacy, someone messed with physics. When I was trying to pick up my stuff off the floor, it felt as if gravity had decided to play a cruel joke on me. The bags felt like they were filled with lead, and my bike seemed to have gained a few extra pounds. I grunted as I heaved them off the ground, my muscles screaming in protest. The door, which I had pushed open so easily just a few minutes ago, now felt like a solid wall. I stumbled out onto the street, my legs feeling like I was a walking octopus.
I shifted the bags around, trying to find a more comfortable position. I tucked the pharmacy bag inside one of the others, hoping to distribute the weight more evenly. But even with this minor adjustment, I moved at a turtle's pace towards the hotel.
I hadn't even covered a hundred meters when a breeze hit my face with a tantalizing aroma. The smell of grilling meat filled the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. My mouth watered uncontrollably, saliva pooling at the corners of my mouth and dribbling down my chin. It was a primal, visceral reaction to the promise of food, and it hit me with the force of a freight train.