“People,” Charlie said. “There are people up ahead.”

We walked another block, the voices getting louder until we saw a drugstore with the door standing open, the heated conversation obviously emanating from there.

We stepped through the doors of the dim store. “It’s been four goddamn days,” someone said. “My boy needs a new inhaler.”

“I understand the situation, Jeb,” another man said. “But we don’t keep much stock here and even if we did, I can’t dispense medication.”

“My mom needs her pills,” a woman said. “What are we supposed to do?”

We all walked farther inside, and I took in the state of the store. Most of the shelves at the front were bare.

We turned down another aisle—makeup and skin care—and that one was almost completely stocked. And yet the refrigerators along the wall a few aisles over were dark and empty. People had obviously bought—or taken—things in a hurry.

More people started shouting about the items they needed from the pharmacy, voices rising in pitch, obviously scared and desperate.

“Enough!” the man with the deepest voice yelled. “This is not my doing. My own boy’s arm is broken and all we’ve got is Tylenol. I’m working around the clock to try to keep this town safe, but there are some things that we’re going to have to do without.”

“Do without, Sheriff? Brent’s not gonna die of a broken arm, but that’s not true of everyone who needs medication. Doing without some things is a matter of life and death!” a woman said.

We continued through the store, and I looked at a shelf at the end of the aisle that was completely empty of product, only the logos remaining. Batteries.

“Lorena, like I said, your mother’s medication isn’t stocked here, and the last shipment was a week ago. I’m sorry. Jeb, when Kari gets back, I’ll ask her if she knows anyone else in town who might have an inhaler to loan you,” the man who’d been addressed as “Sheriff” with the deep voice answered.

“When’s Kari getting back?”

“I don’t know. She’s doing what she can at the hospital. Things there aren’t good.”

“Things here aren’t good,” someone else said.

As I turned the corner, I saw the group of people gathered near the pharmacy. Like the shelves at the front, the ones back here were virtually empty too. I read the price tags under the barren spaces. Pain relief. Bandages. Eye care. Vitamins. All but wiped out.

A man in a sheriff’s uniform caught sight of us, his expression registering surprise. “Who are you?” he asked as the others turned to peer at us.

I looked among the people, their worried expressions morphing into curiosity and some wariness.