Poor old Tim Huckabee went pale. He held his hands up and backed into a case of vitamin bottles, toppling half of them on to the floor. He looked like he thought I was going to shoot him any second.

"Ashley!" Chris said. "They're here! I know where the antibiotics are kept!" He was already in the back of the pharmacy, stuffing plastic shopping bags with boxes of antibiotics and other medications.

I jammed the pistol into Tim Huckabee's face. He whimpered.

"Test applicators!" I yelled. "Where are the test applicators?"

He gingerly pointed a gnarled, arthritic finger at a safe beneath the register.

"Open it!" I screamed, pressing the pistol's barrel against his cheek.

He sobbed. Then he bent over and threw up. I felt splashes of vomit reach my bare feet.

And then he fell forward and passed out cold.

Crap. I'd overdone it.

"You have to chill out, Ashley," Chris called from behind my shoulder.

I nudged Tim Huckabee's limp body with my foot.

There was no way he was going to revive in time to open the safe.

I looked at Chris. "Now what?"

"Well, I have a lifetime supply of contraband antibiotics." He was holding at least ten plastic bags, each stuffed to bursting. "So not bad. And I found one TGV Insta-Read test." He tossed me the test, still wrapped in plastic. "That'll have to be good enough for now. Let's not press our luck. We need to get out of here."

I nodded.

I took half of the plastic bags from Chris as we hurried from the pharmacy and back out onto the street.

Sirens were blaring in the distance. The Home Guard was on its way.

The hearse was riddled with bullet holes. Both of the front tires were flat. Gas was leaking away onto the pavement.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Chris was panicking.

The sirens were growing louder.

"It's better we're not in the hearse anyway," I said, which was actually probably true. "We'd just stand out. Follow me."

I hurried into the back alleyway behind the Bronze Dragon. My bare feet, already lacerated, were practically completely raw, but I tried to ignore the pain as I stepped quickly around the trash and broken bottles. . .

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