Page 13 of The Last Sanctuary
If she found strong enough painkillers, he wouldn’t need the tranquilizer. She would get medication to ease her father’s pain. Then she would tackle the myriad chores of feeding and caring for the wild animals at the sanctuary. One task at a time.
Key fob in hand, Raven hurried out the front door.
Chapter Five
Raven drove her father’s ancient vomit-green Toyota Camry. The Camry was as old as molasses, leaked oil, and the A/C didn’t work, but it ran. Faded stickers advertising Haven Wildlife Refuge covered the scuffed bumper.
She headed west along Juliette Road, over the bridge spanning the Ocmulgee River, which traced the length of the Piedmont National Wildlife Preserve north to south.
Her hands clenched the steering wheel. To the south lay Plant Sherer, the largest coal-powered power plant in Georgia. No smoke belched from the smokestacks, darkening the sky. She didn’t want to think about what that might mean.
She drove straight through Juliette, population 250, best known for the Whistle Stop Café, whereFried Green Tomatoeswas filmed, an old movie she’d never seen and now never would. There were no vehicles in front of the café, nor the vintage clothing shop, or the Honey Comb or Moon Pies Collectibles gift shop.
About fifteen miles southwest of the town was the slightly larger town of Forsyth, with a population of 4,000. Used to be 4,000, she reminded herself grimly.
Several dozen abandoned vehicles clogged both sides of the road. A Ford F150 stood with both its doors hanging open; a gray minivan had been parked at a stop sign and left where it had likely run out of gas.
Even on its best days, no one could say downtown was busy. Today, it was a ghost town. Only a few people hurried along the sidewalks, heads down, masks covering their faces, gloved hands shoved deep into the pockets of their jackets to ward off the afternoon chill.
Most of the sagging storefronts were closed, many with two-by-fours barring their front doors. The windows of Dewie’s Barber and Shave were boarded. The ancient red-and-white-striped barber pole was knocked off its base and lay on the weed-infested sidewalk.
Driving cautiously, Raven went to the doctor’s office first, a two-story brick building on the corner of Main Street where she’d had every shot and check-up she could remember.
It too had been vandalized. Every window was shattered. The front door had been removed from its hinges and was nowhere to be seen.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot of Maxwell Pharmaceuticals, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
The pharmacy boasted zero broken windows and no graffiti on the brick exterior walls. The sidewalk was swept. A hand-scrawled sign taped to the front door said: “Still Open, 12-4 Tue-Thurs- Sat.”
She sat in the front seat for a moment as the engine ticked. Her pulse thudded against her throat. Her mouth was dry and chalky.
Forsyth was a small rural town. A safe town. Nothing like the chaotic, rioting cities. The best thing was to get in and out as quickly as possible.
She glanced at the tranquilizer gun resting on the passenger seat. She knew how to handle guns. She’d gone hunting dozens of times, but the idea of using one against another person turned her stomach.
Could she do it, if she had to? She thought she could. She believed she could.
Part of her wanted to leave the gun inside the car, but the primitive part of her brain reminded her that her father was right. She didn’t know what awaited her out in the world. She needed to be prepared.
Raven pushed her mask up over her nose and tugged on a fresh pair of disposable gloves her dad kept in the glove compartment. Tucking the tranquilizer gun into her oversized cargo pocket along with her phone, she exited the car.
Shutting the door, she locked the car and hurried past several motorcycles parked outside the pharmacy, chain-locked to a light pole so they couldn’t be stolen.
The bell above the door tinkled as she opened the door and slipped inside. The shadows were deep, but watery daylight streamed through the windows. The shop smelled like pine air freshener and aftershave. She went straight to the back counter.
Phil Maxwell, the owner, stood behind the pharmacy counter. His son, Carl, a stocky bearded man in his mid-thirties, stood next to him. They wore masks and gloves.
“I don’t have much left,” Phil said, barely glancing at her. His gaze was fixed on the four bikers who were crowded around the vending machine against the far corner. They were big, burly, tattooed, and loud, and stuck out like bulls in a China shop.
Raven scanned the nearly empty shelves. She licked her dry lips beneath her mask. “My dad is sick. He needs something that can help him.”
A flash of pity shone in Phil’s eyes. “Kioko Nakamura was a good man. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He’s not dead yet.” Her heart constricted. It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn’t help it.
“He will be,” Carl said. He was a short, toady man with a snub nose, flattened face, and dull eyes. He always stared suspiciously at everyone under twenty, like he longed to accuse them of shoplifting or some other nefarious activity. Raven disliked him intensely. “Dead as everyone else. Deader than a doornail.”
She forced her voice to remain calm. “I know that. But he’s in pain. He’s suffering. I don’t have a prescription, but…”
