by Angela Scott
I hated the reminder of how insignificant and tiny I was. I hated that I was put in this position. I really hated knowing life would never ever, as much as I wished it, be normal again.
I opened my eyes, turned from the entrance, and made my way toward the back of the store with the deer and Callie following close behind me. We passed by the bins and displays, knocking over nothing and doing our best not to run or trip into anything.
Once I found my bed, I placed the baby on one side, crawled in next to him, and pulled the blankets over the both of us.
Callie meowed near my ear. I lifted the blanket for her, letting her in. “Fine.”
She didn’t hesitate, crawling in the covers, and found her safe place near my shoulder.
The mattress shifted a little. Without much thought to how weird it might seem, I adjusted my legs to make room for the deer at the foot of the bed.
I didn’t have answers, and as much as I thought I could figure this out and come up with a plan, an idea, reality sunk in and I didn’t want to deal with reality.
Right now, I just wanted to sleep. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and I’d try and deal with it in the morning — if morning came.
I pulled the baby close, feeling his warmth against my chest and the smell of baby shampoo in his thick hair. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his.
I was tired.
I was too tired for all of this.
Chapter 26
I peddled the bike and hardly braked as it whizzed around the corner. I peddled harder and faster now that my path along the front of the store was straight and uninhibited, passing the checkout stands on my right and the jewelry area on my left. My long hair whipped around behind me.
At the beauty and home goods departments, I rounded the corner again, making sure to dodge a pile of deer poop. I didn’t want to run the tires through it and track it all over the store. I’d come back and clean it up later.
I zipped past the toy section, the furniture section, the electronic section, and the shoe section before I brought the bike to a screeching halt in front of what was once the women’s pajama and lingerie department. Now it was our own little home away from home. I’d pushed the racks and shelves aside to make our stay at Walmart a bit more cozy and comfortable. We had a bedroom, a place to bathe, a living room area with a couch, beanbags, a throw rug, and a coffee table. I made an area for cooking and preparing food, and a small dining set and a high chair to make meal times easier. Fake plants, pictures, candles, and decorative throw pillows tied it all together. I seemed to have a knack for decorating.
Having everything in one space made living in a store feel, well, a little less weird.
The baby, who I’d left to play in a bouncer exersaucer contraption, looked up at me and smiled. He pushed off with his tiny bare toes and happily bounced up and down. The attached rattles and toys shook and jiggled with his enthusiasm.
“Yep.” I climbed from the bike and pushed down the kickstand to keep the bike from falling over. “This one is definitely my favorite. It handles really well around the corners. Plus, it’s got this awesome wicker basket.” I tapped the old-fashioned basket on the front of the bike. “If we need something from the pharmacy or need a box of toothpaste or a can of soup, I can zip over to that part of the store, toss it in the basket, and be back in a jiffy. You saw how fast I was. This will save us so much time. If I get a chance, I’ll hookup one of those baby seats to the back of the bike and you can come with me too. I mean, look at this?”
I held up a tiny bike helmet designed to look like a blue monster. Googly eyes and a tuft of fake green fur on top made the whole thing extra awesome. When I was a kid, we only had basic helmets that made everyone look like nerds.
“What do you think?”
I finagled the helmet on the squirmy kid, who didn’t seem all that thrilled in having me snap the buckle under his chin. Once in place, he stared up at me with his large brown eyes. The green fur of the helmet made him look super cute. I laughed. “Oh, that’s the best! I’ve got to get a picture of this.”
I grabbed the Kodak Polaroid camera off one of the end tables next to the couch, stood back, and snapped his picture. Out of the bottom slid the undeveloped picture.
I waved it around, careful not to touch the surface as it developed. “You keep getting cuter every day.”
He jumped up and down in response. Whoever had invented the jungle gym play device that not only kept a baby entertained but trapped them in one place was a life saver. The kid loved that thing! The battery-operated baby swing, not so much.
When the Polaroid came to life, showing off how adorable he was with the bike helmet on, I removed a picture frame from the small bookshelf I’d dragged over to our area, popped off the back, and took out the picture of the kid from the day before and replaced it with the new one. I looked at it, smiled, and put the frame back on the shelf. I placed the old picture in the side table drawer with all the others. I planned to scrapbook those pictures—Walmart had a great crafting area with a ton of supplies, and every baby should have a baby book—but who knew taking care of a kid was so time consuming? Seriously. I barely could get fifteen minutes to myself.
I poured some baby snacks on the tray of the exersaucer and took off his helmet so he could eat without being weighed down. He grabbed them with his pudgy fist and fumbled them into his mouth.
Callie lay on the top rung of her cat perch like a boneless ragdoll. Before sitting on the couch, I gave her a good scratch behind the ears. “Who’s my good cat?” I pet her a few times. “Are you being my good cat today?”
I left Callie to lay there like a slug, sat on the couch and added a piece to the one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle spread out over the coffee table. It was supposed to look like an underwater ocean image. After seven days of working on it, I had only managed to put together all the edges. I wasn’t much into puzzles before. They usually frustrated me and left me feeling stupid, but now, I didn’t mind it so much. The store had dozens of TVs, gaming systems, and DVD’s, but without electricity, they did me no good. Puzzles, books, outdated magazines, Legos, Nerf guns, and even playdough provided me with entertainment when I wasn’t busy bathing, feeding, or changing the kid. I had a whole new appreciation for the toy department.
“Where’s the deer?” I held a piece of the puzzle after trying to make it fit in a space it obviously didn’t. “Anyone see her?”
Neither the cat nor baby answered. I talked to them all the time, knowing full well none of them would talk back, but I couldn’t live in silence. How else would the baby learn to speak if I didn’t talk to him?
Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen the deer when I rode the bike through the store, though I had seen signs of her—fresh deer droppings. She had to be around here somewhere. All the doors were closed, so I shrugged it off. She’d find me when she was hungry. That was how it seemed to work with my two particular animals.
Thinking of the deer, I stood and left the puzzle. I poured fresh water into her bowl and made sure Callie’s was topped off, too. I gave the deer a scoop of dog food, which she seemed to like well enough, and cracked open a can of cat food for Callie.
That perked up my cat. She leapt from her perch and meowed, rubbing herself against my legs in anticipation. I set the can on the floor and got out of her way.
I turned to the kid. “You ready for a bottle and then bed?”
He smiled, a couple of tiny teeth peeking out from his gums.
I smiled back. “Yeah, me, too.”
I prepared his bottle, shook it until the formula dissolved, and then grabbed myself a bottle of warm Coke. Warm Coke was better than no Coke. Since ice and refrigeration were things of the past, to expect such luxury was greedy and unreasonable. After placing both bottles on the coffee table, careful not to mess up the puzzle, I picked up the kid and carried him to the couch.
“I think you’re getting heavier.” It had only been a little over a week since we�
�d first come here, but I could tell. Consistent food had made a difference — for all of us.
And that was why I hesitated to leave.
I smiled at him again and poked his belly. He giggled, a sound I could listen to all day. I laid him down on one end of the couch, arranged the toss pillows around him, handed him his bottle, and sat down next to him with my own bottle of goodness.
Warm Coke slipped down my throat, burning a little with each swallow but feeling heavenly. I sank back against the cushions and glanced upward at the black-splattered sky light above us.
I took another sip of my Coke.
Nothing outside could equal this.
With the lanterns turned down, I carefully lowered the baby into his playpen much in the way I’d assume an explosives technician would treat an active bomb.
Stay asleep. Stay asleep.
His pacifier balanced on his lip. I pushed it back into his mouth and covered him in his blankets.
Content that he was out for the night, I kissed the tips of my fingers and pressed them to his head. “Sleep good, little one.”
I left one lantern on and lit a handful of candles near the makeshift bathing area. For the most part of the last week, I used wipes or a small amount of water and soap to clean my body and wash my hair. Eventually, the bottles of water would run out, even though many bottles and jugs lined the shelves in the grocery area and several pallets filled the warehouse. At some point, I’d have to find more.
But even knowing this, I prepared my bath anyway.
An extra-large Rubbermaid container, probably to store a Christmas tree, made a perfect bathtub. I limited myself to two five-gallon jugs of water, determined to make that amount work. Once I warmed the water up on the camp stove, I poured the water into the bin. I added a few capfuls of bubble bath and made sure to leave one pot of warm water next to the tub for rinsing off.
With towels and a robe on a chair, I lowered one foot and checked the temperature of the water with my toes. Finding it a little too hot but not intolerable, I climbed in. The few inches of water that covered my body felt amazing. I tented my knees, slid as far down into the water as possible, and rested my head against the lip of the container.
I ran a washcloth over my face and neck, loving the steam. I kept dipping the washcloth and running it over my nakedness, taking care to wash areas where a simple baby wipe and a box of Oxy pads couldn’t clean.
Maybe it was wasteful to spend ten gallons of water on a stupid bath, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d showered or bathed like a real person. I needed this. Even when the water cooled, a lot faster than I hoped, I continued to sit there, not ready to let go.
After a few more minutes, I bent over the side of the tub, lifted the pot of water I’d saved, and poured it over myself to rid the bubbles and soap from my skin.
That’s when I heard it.
Not a toy accidentally having its buttons pushed.
Not a birthday card that played music when opened — yes, I’d listened to them all.
I froze, pot still in hand. Recognition settled over me. Fear filled my every pore.
Someone was in the store, whistling the Simpson’s theme song.
Chapter 27
The pan slipped from my fingers. Thankfully, it landed in the tub of water instead of on the linoleum floor, muffling the noise but nicking my shin in the process. It didn’t matter. I hardly noticed the pain as I listened to the whistling intruder.
The idea that someone, a live person, was here in the store played tug-of-war with my brain. Disbelief, curiosity, excitement, and fear rushed through me as I berated myself for not blocking the entrances to keep something like this from happening.
This was how people were raped, murdered, and eaten in every apocalyptic movie I had ever seen. How could I have been so stupid to believe there was no one else around?
Maybe because it felt that way.
I clambered from the bath, splashing water all over the floor and hoping the noise wouldn’t carry. I grabbed the robe from the chair, quickly wrapping it around myself. I blew out the candles, switched off the lantern, and crouched down next to the playpen.
The baby slept, unaware. I willed him not to wake up. His cries, right now, could get us both killed.
Callie perked her ears at the noise, but she then yawned, rolled over, and went back to sleep. The deer? I hadn’t seen her all day. Her hooves clacked on the floor somewhere in the distance. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing, I hoped she’d do it quietly.
The store had an entire hunting section with guns, rifles, ammunition, and knifes. I hadn’t bothered with any of it. No, instead I had found it more prudent to my survival to spend time painting my toenails a glittery shade of blue and to take up the fine art of knitting—Walmart’s knitting tutorial books were amazing. Like the jigsaw puzzles and playdough, neither would help me fight off an unwelcomed interloper.
Unless I stabbed him with my knitting hooks.
Wait … maybe … where were my knitting hooks?
No, no, think. There’s got to be something better.
But there wasn’t.
I’d left my hunting knife in the warehouse to open plastic wrapped pallets of food. It seemed like a reasonable place to leave it. Now, not so much.
Crouching on the floor, soaking wet, wearing only a bathrobe, I had nothing to protect us. Not a thing.
It hadn’t been a thought.
Yep, I definitely deserved to be cannibalized.
But not my cat, not my deer, and not the kid.
They didn’t deserve that kind of fate because I was an idiot.
So, I’d stay right here. I’d fight, I’d scratch, I’d kick and bite. I’d use those knitting needles to protect us all. Knitting needle ninja.
I crawled to the couch and felt my way around my sleeping cat. My fingers brushed against my partial potholder. I yanked the whole thing to me. I quickly unraveled the yarn from the long metal knitting hooks, held them close, grabbed a Nerf gun from off a side table, and crawled back to the baby.
I had a plan. Not a great plan, and probably a plan that would most likely get me killed, but it was a plan, and that was something I didn’t exactly have sixty-seconds before. If the intruder came our way, which I really hoped he wouldn’t, I’d pull the trigger on my automatic multi-bullet blaster Nerf gun, hopefully stunning him for a moment—because who wouldn’t be stunned by something like that—and then I’d go for the neck and pow-pow, two knitting needles to the jugular.
Yep, a horrible plan. But a plan.
Sweat ran down my temple and trickled down my back. I strained to hear his footsteps.
The whistling stopped, and I held my breath.
I heard nothing but my own hammering heart.
Where is he? Where is he?
I vowed that if we made it through this, I would visit the hunting section pronto and create my own armory of defense the whole freakin’ way — guns, knives, everything — I’d never allow myself to be this vulnerable again. I’d be like Lara Croft, but less sexy.
Walmart was my home. Mine.
And as soon as the intruder left, I planned to Home Alone the shit out of it.
I crouched on the floor next to the playpen, armed and ready. The one thing we had going for us in this crazy mess was the complete dark. The dark was our friend. It provided the best cover for a soaking-wet, bathrobe-wearing, Nerf gun-toting dumb girl.
A beam of light from a flashlight danced across the back wall of the store but disappeared, casting everything into darkness again. He had a flashlight. If I could see it, however briefly, that meant he was too close. Much too close.
The whistler’s Simpson’s tune stopped. I tensed.
Where is he? Did he know we were here?
I couldn’t see a thing, but I cranked my neck, willing my eyes to do the impossible. I couldn’t see anything more than a couple of feet in either direction.
Where are you, asshole?
I had no idea t
o his character. Asshole or not, he was trespassing on my turf, so that made him a bad guy.
I held the Nerf gun in one hand and both the knitting needles in the other, feeling badass but also like I might pee myself.
He started whistling again …this time it was Michael Jackson’s Thriller.
The whistling grew closer.
Crap, crap, crap.
Since my sense of sight was less than stellar, I depended upon my hearing to step up. In my panic, my hearing failed me, too. I turned my head trying to follow the whistling but then I second-guessed myself and turned my head the other direction. I couldn’t be sure.
A beam of light lit up the main aisle in front of us.
There’s nothing down here you need. Nothing at all. Go away.
I willed him to stay where he was.
Don’t come down the aisle. Don’t.
If he walked our way, he’d see us on his right. He’d see the moved clothing racks, my parked bike, our beds, our living room. He’d see us.
For a moment, I contemplated scooping the baby out of the playpen, grabbing my cat, and making a run for it. But that would mean going outside.
With nothing.
No food. No supplies. No clothing except my bathrobe.
That would be instant death, too.
As dangerous as it was inside with the asshole-Thriller-whistler, going outside would be much worse. Outside was terrifying. Outside held uncertainties. Outside sucked.
Don’t come down this aisle. Don’t you dare come down this aisle.
I shifted my crouching position, preparing to stab someone. Really stab someone.
I ran my fingers over one end of the knitting needles. Blunt. So very blunt. I touched the other end. Not sharp at all.
Oh, jeez.
The baby shifted in his sleep. He let out a tiny, barely noticeable whine, but I noticed. He couldn’t wake up. Not now. I put him to bed maybe two or three hours before, so it wasn’t time for him to wake up. Not yet.
There was always a first time for everything, though. He could totally wake up and get us killed.
Not if I could help it.