Emmett cleared his throat, attempting to maintain a lighthearted tone despite the gravity of our situation. "Well, Doc here is planning to stock up on antibiotics and painkillers. You know, just in case we find ourselves in a tight spot."

Edward's lips curled into a sardonic grin as he leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. "Antibiotics and painkillers, huh? You really don't want to mess with the law, do you? Can't you just buy that stuff like a normal person? No prescription needed with a doctor in tow. And as for this guy," he gestured vaguely to the van, "I fail to see why I should stick my neck out for a stranger."

I shifted uncomfortably, not used to being on the receiving end of such skepticism, especially from someone I had only just met. But I knew how much trust was a rare commodity.

Emmett, always the diplomat, chimed in with a grin. "Well, you see, Edward, desperate times call for desperate measures. »

Emmett's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced at me, his eyes reflecting our shared concerns. It was essential to get Edward on board with our plan.

I took a deep breath, trying to explain our predicament to Edward in a way that made sense. "Edward, I understand your reservations, but these are unusual times. Normally, I would try to explain the situation to a pharmacist and hope for their cooperation. However, given the volatility of our circumstances, I fear that might not work out. We could encounter resistance, and that's a risk we can't afford to take."

Edward, still wearing his signature smirk, seemed unimpressed. "Resistance? From a pharmacist? You really think that's a thing?"

But before anyone could respond, Emmett abruptly stopped the vehicle, causing us all to jolt in our seats. The sight that greeted us outside the pharmacy was both startling and sobering.

A crowd had gathered in front of the pharmacy, their anxious faces illuminated by the neon signs that flickered above. It was clear that many people were in urgent need of medication or supplies, and the situation appeared to be escalating.

Emmett swung open the car door and stepped out, his large frame a commanding presence as he surveyed the scene. I followed suit, my heart sinking at the sight of the distressed individuals clamoring for entry. Beside me, Edward hesitated for a moment before reluctantly joining us on the and Ben joined our group as well. Eric remained in the van, still recovering from his earlier encounter with the infected.

Emmett, with his characteristic assertiveness, briskly made his way to the sisters' car. He leaned down, his voice firm but reassuring as he issued his instructions. "Ladies, keep that engine running, and stay inside. We'll be back soon."

He returned to Edward and me, and without missing a beat, began delegating roles. "Isabella, you and I will try to locate the pharmacist and reason with him. We'll also see if there are any injured people we can assist. Meanwhile, Edward, Jasper, Ben you three will scout for a discreet entrance."

I nodded in agreement, understanding the gravity of our task. Before Edward and Jasper set off on their mission, I took a moment to explain what they needed to gather if they managed to infiltrate the pharmacy before we did.

"Edward, Jasper, Ben if you can find a way in, focus on acquiring all the antibiotics you can lay your hands on. Look for painkillers, vaccines, and any first aid supplies you can find." I proceeded to describe in detail the medications we needed, providing a clear picture of our objectives.

Emmett and I pushed our way through the chaos, the clamor outside the pharmacy's glass doors growing louder. Emmett, armed with his badge, worked to make himself heard above the commotion. In an authoritative tone, he addressed the crowd, calling on everyone to step back and separate into two distinct groups. "Those who've been bitten by someone seemingly disturbed, on the right! Everyone else, on the left!"

Meanwhile, I rapped on the glass and prominently displayed my medical license card for the pharmacist to see. Inside, a man with brown hair and dark glasses began to crack open the door. His voice, weary and bored, rose as he asserted that the pharmacy was closed, and he needed to go home.

I argued, given the number of wounded individuals, this situation constituted a state of emergency. My frustration with the pharmacist's apathy was palpable. I tried to reason with him, explaining the vital nature of our needs.

Behind me, I could hear Emmett still tirelessly working to command the crowd. Then, abruptly, a scream pierced the air only a few meters away, followed by the chilling words, "He's not breathing!"

Without a second thought, I turned toward the source of the cry, my medical instincts kicking into high gear. The urgency of the situation escalated rapidly, and I knew that every moment counted.

I swiftly moved to the unconscious teenager's side in a few strides. His mother was in tears, urging me to do something. I observed that he had a wound on his shoulder and hand. Strangely, he felt icy cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the fever I had expected.

In the distance, the pounding on the glass doors grew louder. It was evident that the crowd was growing impatient, attempting to force their way into the pharmacy. I couldn't help but wonder how Emmett was handling the situation outside. Meanwhile, I realized that the teenager no longer had a pulse.

My ear pressed against the teenager's chest, and I discerned a disquieting absence of breath. Urgently, I questioned the hysterical mother about how long her son had been in this dire state and when the injury had occurred. My nimble fingers deftly unbuttoned the young man's shirt as I readied myself to initiate chest compressions and provide vital rescue breaths.

In the midst of these critical actions, an unexpected and forceful impact knocked me to the ground on the opposite side of the boy's lifeless form.

Dazed and shocked, I found myself disoriented after the sudden impact. Before I could gather my bearings, an unusual sound pierced the chaos around me—a kind of hissing with fluctuating inflections, like an alien language. This eerie noise shifted in intensity, transitioning into guttural growls and gurgles.

My head swiveled upward, and I locked eyes with a wide-eyed woman whose throat was being gnawed on by a nearby assailant, mere inches from where I lay.

In the wake of realization and shock, I found myself utterly transfixed, unable to stir a muscle. There, before me, unfolded a dreadful spectacle—the young woman's agony playing out in excruciating detail. Her gaze, eerily, remained locked onto mine, her struggle reduced to a haunting stillness.

The metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air, every anatomical nuance of her larynx and pharynx etching itself indelibly into my memory. I recalled my distant past, those years spent in the pursuit of anatomy knowledge, dissecting cadavers in the hallowed halls of academia. A recollection surfaced—one of a hesitant hand hovering over a scalpel during an early autopsy.

And then, as if guided by some unseen force, the memory of a scalpel tucked away in my pocket surged into consciousness.

Without daring to draw a breath, I slowly maneuvered my hand toward my pocket. Distant cries remained muffled in my consciousness as I became wholly ensnared in this deadly standoff. Every fiber of my being was consumed by the paralyzing fear of making the slightest move that might agitate the creature, turning its malevolent gaze towards me.

Finally, the frigid touch of the scalpel greeted my fingertips, and I gingerly extracted it from my pocket. In that critical moment, I recalled the conclusions Edward and I had reached earlier in the car: a head injury appeared to be the only means of incapacitating this assailant. My weapon was one of precision, not brute force, and I doubted I'd have more than one attempt before the individual retaliated.

Once more, my medical education came to my aid. Recollections of lectures on the vulnerabilities of the human skull flooded my mind—the orbits, the temples, the palate. I had no desire to be in close proximity to the palate, and the angle wasn't favorable for a strike to the orbit. I certainly didn't want to draw any more attention to myself.

As I poised myself for action, the unmistakable stench of decay registered. I knew that if I aimed for the temples, I had to maintain a firm grip on the skull to maximize the force of impact.

In that surreal moment, I found myself entangled in the ethical labyrinth of my profession, a predicament reminiscent of the darkest chapters in the annals of medical history. I questioned the solemn oath I had taken as a physician, one steeped in the legacy of healers who had grappled with profound moral dilemmas.

The weight of this decision echoed through the corridors of time, harking back to an era when medical science was but a flickering candle in the cavernous unknown. It conjured images of those afflicted with mysterious maladies in centuries past, when society, shrouded in fear and ignorance, branded them as pariahs, cast into dungeons and asylums.

Consider the plight of individuals afflicted with diseases like leprosy in the medieval ages, condemned to lives of isolation and ostracization. In their time, the science to understand and treat their condition did not exist, and so, they were labeled as dangers to society.

Or reflect upon the tragic tale of those deemed "hysterical" during the Victorian era, a vague diagnosis that often led to institutionalization, their suffering misunderstood and medical understanding sorely lacking.

These historical echoes reverberated within me as I confronted the wretched creature before me, its humanity obliterated by forces beyond comprehension. It was as if I stood at the crossroads of time, facing a chilling convergence of past and present, where the lines between healer and arbiter of fate had blurred into an uncharted moral quagmire.

In a world careening toward an unknown abyss, where chaos usurped reason, I grappled with the legacy of my calling. The imperative to heal, to mend, and to save clashed with the stark realities of this new world, where once-unfathomable horrors now demanded unimaginable choices.

In that fraught moment, the eerie quiet of the scene shattered as a volley of gunshots pierced the air, disrupting the horrid tableau before me. The creature, distracted by the cacophony, released its grip on the victim and turned its head toward the source of the disturbance. This was the moment I had been waiting for, a brief respite amid the chaos.

With a surge of adrenaline, I swiftly regained my footing and scanned my surroundings. Horror clawed at my senses as I witnessed the unimaginable. The adolescent I had been moments away from rescuing now feasted upon the belly of his mother, who continued to weep and plead, her trembling hands caressing the very being that was her devourer. The scene was nothing short of macabre, a ghastly mosaic of despair.

As panic rippled through the crowd, a mass exodus ensued. Frightened souls scattered like leaves in the wind, and lifeless bodies lay strewn across the ground, a chilling testament to the horrors that had unfolded.

Near the entrance, I spotted Emmett, his firearm raised, firing at the staggering figures advancing toward him. Without hesitation, I propelled myself forward, my feet pounding against the unforgiving floor, racing to join him in the grim battle against the encroaching darkness. As I sprinted toward Emmett, my heart racing in my chest, I could feel the tension in the air. Each step brought me closer to his position, and it was then that I heard his voice pierce through the chaos.

"Get inside the pharmacy, Isabella!" he bellowed, his tone urgent and filled with a raw, unyielding command.

Without pausing, I obeyed his command, my legs carrying me to the entrance of the pharmacy. The glass doors beckoned, a thin barrier separating the horror outside from the relative safety within. As I pushed through the entrance, the world outside seemed to blur into a surreal nightmare.

Inside the pharmacy, I spotted the familiar face of the pharmacist, who was huddled against a wall, his hand bloody, shouting for his assistant, Maria, to bring him aid. His voice was a mixture of fear and frustration.

"Maria, come here, bring me the kit! What's wrong with these people, biting when I say no? Do I not have the right to go home when my day's over? What's become of this society, filled with dependents?" he lamented, his words a blend of exasperation and disbelief.

I approached cautiously, taking in the chaotic scene in the pharmacy. Shelves were overturned, and medications were scattered on the floor. Some injured customers lay on makeshift stretchers fashioned from shopping carts, while others anxiously milled about, their faces etched with fear.

Edward's voice, laced with his signature sarcasm, chimed in from behind. "Well, Doc, while you were busy being Florence Nightingale, Jasper and I took the liberty of filling up the van. Time to hit the road. We 'll make a discreet exit through the back this way."

I turned to face Edward, my brow furrowing in concern. "But what about the pharmacist? He needs medical attention."

Edward's reply came quick and sharp, his wit undiminished even in these dire circumstances. "Trust me, doc, he's not worth the trouble. Besides, we've already loaded up all the able-bodied folks who wanted to join us, including Maria, his assistant."

Emmett entered the pharmacy with urgency, his voice tinged with panic. "We've got a swarm of those things closing in from all sides. There's no way out through the front; we need to move, now! The doors won't hold much longer."

A wave of fear rippled through the people in the pharmacy. Edward swiftly grabbed me, lifting me as he hurried us toward the back door, Emmett following closely behind. We found Jasper waiting by the exit, his expression tense with anticipation. Without wasting a moment, we sprinted toward our vehicles.

Emmett's voice echoed through the pharmacy one last time, a desperate plea: "Follow us!"