by Mark Tufo
Silence.
“Okay then,” I whisper, walking low to the end of the drink counter and focus my light down the second aisle. There’s only the front end of peanut cans, cookies, and potato chip bags shining back at me. I peek around the corner and see the side door along with the entrance to the Subway kitchen area. All clear. The third aisle in front of the cooler section to the right is blocked from my view, but a musty odor permeates the air.
A sharp corner in front leads to the Subway counter. I edge up to the corner, keeping my light alternating between the aisle, the side door, and the Subway station as more of it slowly appears. At the corner, I now play my light across the whole counter. It looks alien here in the darkened building, so different from the place I so often came to. I angle toward the counter, focusing my light on the area behind and the last aisle. I still can’t see too far inside the refrigeration units because of the glare.
Looking to the rear of the Subway, various cheeses, meats, and vegetables are strewn on the floor and counter, some squished beyond recognition. Adding to the mess, bread pans and loaves are scattered about. The once spotless plastic shield is covered with dried spots and bits of cheese. The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up as I play the light on the floor once again. There is a partial footprint in some of the cheese.
I turn my light quickly to the back of the store. Nothing. I move farther in order to see the entire third aisle. Nothing. I turn to the kitchen entrance. There is no door, only an opening. I focus on the floor near the entrance. Showing faintly on the linoleum, I barely make out greasy footprints; a partial one here, a full one there. These could have been made any time, but with the footprint in the cheese, I don’t think it was that long ago.
Unless, this was ransacked before. But why not take the stuff from the shelves and only mess with the Subway items?
I shine my light around the interior once again. Everything seems in perfect order. I have the feeling that something is here, but just out of sight or reach. It’s like when trying to remember a song or a name; it’s there and you know it, but you just can’t quite bring it to mind. I trace the prints with my light. They are very faint but head up the third aisle a few feet before disappearing. I inch over to the kitchen entrance, keeping as much distance from it as possible. The kitchen slowly reveals itself as I draw closer. I get into a position so that I can see the entire kitchen, my gun held out and ready. There is nothing but more food littering the floor.
“I’m opening the side door,” I call out, reaching for the handle to let more light in.
I close my left eye and squint with the right as I push open the door not wanting to be blinded by the light nor lose what night vision I had acquired. Light floods into the small area and I feel the warmth of the sunlight as it cascades down. It feels good, the sun in some way fills me. The fact I feel this way about being outside leads me to think there is something quite abnormal about being inside the store.
Perhaps it’s just the tension and weirdness of the past few days, I think.
However, I know that the subconscious will pick out clues that the conscious doesn’t and relate them to the mind in the form of vague feelings, intuition. A small amount of tension leaves, knowing there is another way out. Another concrete block sits to the right of the door and I maneuver it to hold the door open before heading back in.
“I’m coming back your way,” I say and walk back to Robert, clearing the aisles again as I go. Still nothing.
“Okay, we still need to check out the back and the coolers. Move up to the corner and cover the right,” I say to Robert.
“I’m heading into the back. Are you doing okay?” I glance back to Michelle at the door.
“Yes, Mr. Walker,” she answers.
“That’s Jack, remember?”
“Yes, sir,” Michelle responds.
“I give up,” I mutter and orient to the rear of the store.
Creeping past the register counter, I approach the bathroom door to my left, switching my light between the area in back and the store interior. I give the handle a twist, push the door inward, and immediately flash the light inside expecting something or someone to be hiding there. It’s a standard store bathroom with a toilet, sink, and wall-mounted paper towel dispenser that no one seems to be using at the moment.
From this position, I can see the far wall of the back room. The flashlight has an intense beam, so there is little ambient light splashing around the room, just the circle where the light hits. From this vantage point, I see the back door and part of the back wall with the room opening up on both sides. Shelves are filled with cardboard boxes, cans, and other items, with more on the floor next to them. My current angle prevents me from seeing the room entirely, although, I see the door of the cooler. With trepidation, I slowly venture up the small hallway leading to the back room. The light reflects off the cooler doors so I cannot see what is behind them. In my peripheral, the thin line of light at the bottom of the back door darkens momentarily as something flashes between me and the door.
“Oh shit!” I half breathe to myself.
“Get out! Get out now!” I yell bringing the light and my gun around.
The sound of footsteps quickly heading my way explodes into my consciousness. My light seems to take forever to sweep around, whereas, in truth, it is only milliseconds. A loud shriek pierces the once silent room and I see something large flying in the air toward me, caught in the light as my flashlight finally comes around.
I fire and shift to the right attempting to dodge the thing coming at me, the action an instinctive one. My round must have hit as the person’s trajectory alters in mid-air before slamming into my chest and left shoulder. The impact spins me around and drops me to my knees. It knocks the flashlight from my hand and I hear it hit the floor with a metallic thunk, thankfully not breaking since the light still shines. I feel like a truck has hit me and put my hand out to catch myself from falling completely over. I begin to rise and glance up only to be met with the sight of something large once again hurtling toward me. Temporal distortion causes everything to appear as if in slow motion.
I make it to my knees, but I can’t get the gun up in time. I bring my left arm up before the impact hits me square on, blanketing me. The impact is so hard that I become airborne momentarily before slamming down on my back and skid along the linoleum with this thing on top of me. Looking beyond my feet, I see Robert and Michelle silhouetted against the light from the front door.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I yell while attempting to twist out from under whatever it is on top of me.
The flashlight, somewhere on the floor, casts a pale light around revealing the outline of a human form on top straddling me. My left arm is being twisted and shaken violently as this thing has taken hold of my forearm with its teeth. Shock must be preventing me from actually feeling its teeth ravage my arm, let alone the damage it must be doing. A dank, musty odor assaults my nose; a mixture of body odor, wet dog, and breath that hasn’t been introduced to toothpaste in some time. The weight and violence of the tugging on my arm brings the now growling thing down close to my face.
I tilt my face to the side and notice the flashlight has come to rest against the wall and is facing it. With this feeble light helping me see, I raise my gun and lock the muscles of my left arm. I need to slow down the twisting and shaking motions so I don’t actually shoot my own arm. I bring the gun closer, putting the barrel against the head of the snarling and growling thing, and pull the trigger. The muffled gunshot is followed a millisecond later by a wet sound on the floor beside me. There is a second explosive-like sound and then, the full weight of the thing settles on top of me. Something wet and warm trickles down the side of my face and neck. Gunpowder and burning hair are now mixed in with the musty body odor along with the iron-like smell of blood. There is another smell in the air. It is hard to describe but is associated with death. Not decomposition or anything like that, just the smell of death. If cold and nothingn
ess had a smell, it would be similar.
I push against its shoulder, rolling it over, and slide out from under it. Crawling to the flashlight, I shine it around, the light shaking slightly because of the adrenaline still coursing through my body. Breathing heavily, I check the back hallway and then, focus the light ahead.
The body is lying on its back against a shelf, staring with bulging, lifeless eyes at the ceiling. The exit wound just above the right ear gapes back at me. The shoulder length, blond hair is matted with blood and gore on the side. A flap of skin and hair hangs down with blood leaking out, forming a slowly widening pool on the floor. A trickle of blood runs from the nostril and over the cheek. In the light, I see this was once a woman, but the flesh appears to be a pale, mottled gray with darker veins showing through on the cheek as if the skin were translucent.
Continuing to pan my light, I see her right arm as it extends out from a red, flowered, short-sleeve blouse over tan slacks. Blood covers the shoulder of the blouse, causing it to stick to the skin. The first three fingers twitch spasmodically, and I notice the same pale, mottled skin with dark veins running down her arm. I place my fingers on her wrist. No pulse. As I rise, my light shines on the shelf above her which is now covered with a spray of blood and chunks of bone, hair, and brain. There is also a spray of white, foamy liquid mixed in and slowly running down part of the shelf.
Curious.
Raising my flashlight, I notice that a can of shaving cream has exploded, apparently having been hit with the round or part of the round exiting her cranium.
I look toward the front and see only the sun shining through the door and windows. The entrance is still open and blocked by the concrete slab. No sign of Robert or Michelle.
Good.
I’m afraid to check my arm as I don’t feel any pain or injury and flex my fingers while holding the flashlight. They appear to be working fine; however, with my arm having been twisted and gnawed like that, I should feel something wrong. I turn the light on me only to be both fairly amused and relieved.
That thing, I guess I can’t really call it a woman, had latched onto the roll of duct tape around my wrist. The tape itself has bite marks and is shredded in places. I am amazed and thank the spirits for their protection. I check the rest of my body and, except for a sore shoulder where I was first hit, and my hip where I hit the ground, I seem to be okay.
I turn toward the back room and edge once more to the hallway, slipping on the now wet floor, moving into the back, exposing more and more of the room with my light. There are only more shelves and cardboard boxes on the ground. Inside is a nook with a desk and chair against the far wall of the opening to the right. A monitor and sheets of paper litter the desk. I open the back door and notice yet another concrete block on the inside nearby. Wedging the door open, light now penetrates most of the interior. I walk to the cooler door and pull it open, ready. With the adrenaline fading, I now just want to get what we need and be gone.
Shining my light inside, cases of items are stacked against the rear walls. The cooler turns right at the end. Grabbing a case of beer, I set it against the cooler door propping it open and head toward the corner with my light leading the way.
Oh my God, there’s not going to be any more beer!?
A quick glance with my light reveals only more boxes, so I head out of the cooler and walk outside through the back door.
Walking around to where the Jeep is parked, I replace the two rounds I fired. There isn’t any sign of Robert or Michelle. I walk to the front and finally see both of them by the pumps and aiming their weapons at the front door. Their tension screams outward like physical waves. I am rather glad I didn’t come out that way.
“Expecting something?” I call out.
The startled way they jump and turn in my direction makes me glad I didn’t follow through with my thought of walking up behind them and asking what they were looking at. It wouldn’t do to go through what I had only to be shot by one of them. Plus, considering what they have both been through today, it just wouldn’t have been a very cool thing to do. It might have amused me perhaps, but in light of everything, maybe it wouldn’t really be that funny.
They walk over. As they draw nearer, their eyes opening wider.
“Are you okay?” Robert asks, staring at my head.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, walking to the side mirror of the Jeep.
There are streaks of blood drying along the left side of my face and neck with small chunks of other matter in my hair. I walk to the back of the Jeep where I keep several rags. Soaking one with some of the bottled water I keep close by, I wipe the gore from my face.
“Better?” I ask walking back to the front. They both nod.
“The store appears clear now so let’s get some supplies. I’m going to see if I can find the keys to the Honda. If I can find them, then let’s load that one up with the supplies. Concentrate on getting canned food and water. You two get the supplies and load the car. I’ll keep watch. I wouldn’t highly recommend going up the aisle between the bathroom and the first shelf.
“Oh, and next time I say get out, do so! When I tell you to do something, do it immediately!” I tell them as we head to the door.
“What happened?” Robert asks. I give a very brief and non-detailed answer, showing them the duct tape on my arm as we walk to the front.
The darkness within is a lighter shade of gray due to the doors being propped open allowing us to see in greater detail. I walk over to the corpse lying on the ground. The fingers have stopped their twitching, and I reach down patting the front pockets checking for keys. The slacks have a hole with a large, dark stain surrounding it on the left side at about the mid-thigh. This must be where my first round hit. I feel a lump in the right front pocket and reach in, pulling out a set of keys. Along with the keys, a small amount of change falls out and a quarter rolls along the ground on its edge. I watch it as it makes a complete circle around me, falling over only when it hits the pool of blood on my other side and disappears beneath the dark liquid. In the back room, I find a couple of green aprons and cover the corpse as best I can.
Jangling the keys, I walk out of the side door to see if they are indeed for the car outside. Inserting them into the driver’s door, the lock pops open and the dome light comes on.
Excellent, the battery is still good.
I wonder what drove the woman inside to come to the store. She must have been ill. I’m guessing she came for supplies of some sort and transformed while within the store. At least, I hope that’s the case and these things can’t drive. Unlocking the rest of the car, I open the trunk and then walk around to start it. The fuel gauge shows just less than three-quarters of a tank. Alrighty then, I think, shutting down the car.
Back inside, I tell Robert and Michelle we are good to go on the car.
Passing the keys to Robert, I tell him, “You’re driving.”
The two of them pack the car with all of the canned goods, water, aspirin and other meds, beef jerky, nuts, plastic silverware, plates, cups, batteries, and other miscellaneous food items. There are several cases of water and canned food in the stock room. The single items go into empty cardboard boxes. I grab several six-packs of Blue Moon and hand them to Robert.
“What’s this for?” he asks, smiling.
“Never mind. Just make room for them,” I answer smiling back. “I have one other thing to take care of. You two wait outside.”
I walk over to the corpse and start dragging it by the heels to the back door and outside. We may need to use this store in the future and I don’t want to leave the body inside to decompose. The body leaves a wet trail behind for the first few feet like a mop that has been dipped in a dark liquid, its hair having soaked up part of the liquid pool lying around it. Hauling it outside into the shade, I head toward the trees on the hill. With the arms dragging above its head like it is reaching for the door and reluctant to leave, I see the body better in the light of the day. The skin is translucent and
light gray in color. The paleness does not seem to be totally from a lack of blood. Darker splotches blemish the grayish skin tone with the surface veins clearly visible and of the same darkish gray.
Leaving the shade of the store, the sunshine, streaming down from its afternoon westerly position, illuminates the body. The exposed skin changes from a gray translucence to a reddish color. Walking backwards with my hands pulling on the ankles, I see this transformation clearly.
Stopping in the sunlight, I set the body down and kneel by the side. Peeling the blouse sleeve up a little, I see the skin there is still the translucent gray but quickly changes to the red color once it is exposed to the rays of the sun.
Hmmmm, interesting. It almost looks like a sunburn.
The skin is cool and dry to the touch. I reach up the bottom hem of the pants to the skin there and find it is also cool but clammy as opposed to dry. Picking up the heels once again, I drag the body into the trees, leaving a faint trail of hair, skin, and blood behind as the body scrapes against the pavement, and leave it lying inside the tree line.
The car pulls around and Robert parks by the Jeep. He sits behind the wheel with the window rolled down and with Michelle in the passenger seat. The light gray interior of the car and back seats are filled with assorted boxes. It is so strange to see him driving without me sitting beside him.
“We need to get whatever gas is left in the truck,” I say, grabbing the gas cans and hose from the back.
“You get the gas. I’m going to see if some of those keys are for the store and lock it up. We may need it again, and locking it up will keep others out. At the very least, we’ll be able to tell if someone is or has been inside because they’ll have to break in,” I add, holding my hand out for the keys.
Robert hands me the keys. He grabs the siphoning gear from the Jeep and heads over to the truck, as I head over and close the fire doors. I am having a bad key day; it seems to be the last key I try every time. Luckily, though, the keys work, and I lock all of the doors.