by docinsano

I wondered for a while whether or not this Mac guy was legit. He talked a lot of the situation, and it sounded like devices such as that could have caused such destruction, but I was skeptical. I kept my guard up.

Gar, that dumb son of a bitch. Why did I ever let him tag along? He seemed alright at first, all jolly and drinking, then once the twinkies and booze ran out he became a stinky, selfish, shitfaced, son of a bitch. Then he goes and eats a cat with this mutated disease that gives zombie-like symptoms and Mr. Mac doesn’t even have any antidote. And what the fuck is the antidote? It better not be a suppository Mac, because good luck with that. No thank you.

Gar just sat there, his stinking ass drinking his booze. You’re welcome, you bastard. Mac and I hiked over to the pharmacy.

“Is this antidote for real?” I asked, curious of how we could find ingredients for an antidote in a regular grocery store pharmacy.

Mac dug through chunks of wall and tile, scanning the bottles, keeping some, tossing some aside.

“Yeah man. Its for real. But we gotta hurry, your friend is going to turn soon. How many hours since the bite?”

“Uhhh, lets see, probably almost a day… I think?” I said, my mind failing to remember anything time related.

“Hmmm, not good, not good. The virus kicks in from twenty-eight to thirty hours. We’ve gotta do this if your friend is to be saved.”

“He’s not really a friend,” I said as he picked through more bottles. I don’t even think he heard me, but I wasn’t going to repeat something like that anyway.

I thought about it actually. Repeating it. Just mentioning that we should just let him turn. Asking if he had a gun. Even a knife would do at this point.

I didn’t want Gar traveling with us anymore, and with Mac along, I actually had some real help and not just some drunk a-hole with booze for brains. I wanted him to die.

I don’t know why, but I had no sympathy for the guy, especially now as I watched him back near the campsite, all dirty and sweaty, getting piss-ass drunk and laughing. Laughing at what? Exactly.

Maybe Mac could decide for me, but he wanted to help the fucker. Oh well. I’ll just go with it. Gar can’t last much longer in his condition, even with an antidote. Right?

“This should be what I need,” Mac said, holding a large makeshift sack filled with bottles and tubes and containers of all sorts.

What the hell could you even make with all of that random stuff? I had to just wonder what was going to happen.

Mac and I walked back to the campsite. Gar had settled himself in for another booze nap. Smart guy, he even remembered to put the cap back on the bottle before he fell asleep.  Mac set his supplies on the ground and began digging through his bag. It was a large military-style backpack. And boy was it loaded with gear. I didn’t see any knives but there were flashlights and pouches everywhere. I’m surprised Gar hadn’t messed with it while we were gone. He was far too occupied with the booze to even care I’m sure. Along with a laboratory-style flask wrapped in foam and bubble wrap, Mac pulled out a mortar and pestle and proceeded to grind up various bottles of pills. Whatever they were, I’m sure it was good shit. Mac ground the concoction with his eyes closed in a meditative-like way. After five minutes or so, he picked up a few tubes of what looked like Neosporin and squeezed them into the mix. He ground the goo up, mixing the ointment in.

Then he pulled out this bottle that looks like some kind of liquor. “Al’s Old Tyme Herbal Cure-All” it said on the label and it looked like something from the eighteenth or nineteenth century, before the FDA and all that regulatory bullshit. And from what Mac said, this shit wasn’t just snake oil. Didn’t matter to me either way, but whatever.

He then added some more pills from several bottles. This guy didn’t even need to count the pills. It was like he knew the exact measurements just by pouring them. He ground those up too, adding more ointment afterwards.

After it was all ground up and at the right consistency, Mac pulled out a small plastic knife and scraped the goo into the lab flask. After all the goo was in the flask, he proceeded to add the herbal remedy. He swished the mixture in the flask, being sure the materials dissolved. The fluid thickened and thinned as he swished it around. He set the flask down.

“Now watch this,” Mac said, pointing at the flask as the fluid inside solidified into a gelatin like substance.

“Whoa,” was the only thing I could mutter out as I watched the process, “How do we use this?” I asked.

“It gets applied topically and taken orally. It works quickly and effectively,” he said.

Gar was still passed out drunk as Mac put on some gloves. Where the fuck did this guy get all of this shit? He damn near had a hospital worth of medical supplies in this bag. Whatever. I took out my medicine pouch once and prayed to whatever god would listen to me. I hated Gar and his ways, but I realized having him dead wouldn’t solve my problems.  Besides, we needed entertainment, and drunk assholes are great for entertainment.

Mac shook the flask. The gel turned back into a liquid state; he then poured equal amounts into two separate beakers, which solidified shortly after the fluid settled in the beakers.

“Put some gloves on,” Mac said, tossing a box of gloves to me. I looked down at the box.

“Uhhh. You want me to wh-” Mac cut me off.

“Just put them on and give me a hand.”

I hesitated briefly and then put the gloves on. I didn’t want to, but whatever. I had nearly nothing to lose. I prayed one last time, hoping  this gel wasn’t going to be a suppository.