by Michael Bray
“There are some double swing doors up by the butcher’s counter,” he said, his eyes flicking from Garrett to Leena and back again. “My guess is they lead to storage or loading bays… or something. There were some kids in here earlier, just fucking around like kids do. Anyway, one of the staff came over to them, a broad guy with huge forearms and one of those stares that tell you he’s not someone you want to screw around with. Anyhow, the kids started to tease him. You know what kids are like, playing the big ‘I am’, especially when they are in groups of two or three like these were.”
He nodded towards the entrance. “Lurch, over there by the door, came over and he and the stocky guy ushered them through those doors. We didn’t see anything, but we were close by and we heard it. Good God, we heard it all.” His voice wavered as he said it.
“What did you hear?” Garrett asked, not liking the glassy, faraway look in Mark’s eyes.
“It was brittle and wet; the sound of tearing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sound.”
His bottom lip began to tremble, and Garrett grabbed him by the wrist.
“Hey, take it easy, okay? Just relax. Did anyone else hear it?”
“I don’t know, man, maybe. Even if they did, they probably did the same thing as the rest of us.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “We ignored it. Walked away. As long as it’s someone else’s problem, who are we to interfere, right?” His lip began to tremble, and Garrett released his grip as they approached the bottom of the store.
“You understand, don’t you, man?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Garrett said, trying to think of something positive to say.
“I would have helped, truly I would have, but look at me, I’m no superman.”
Garrett nodded. Mark had a point. He was thin to the point of being underweight. As far as any kind of physical confrontation went, he wouldn’t be much help. A thought popped into Garrett’s mind, one which almost made him laugh outright.
Not much meat on him. Might as well set him free.
He almost said it, yet somehow managed to turn it into a subtle cough.
“Come on, let’s move on,” he said instead as they entered the next aisle. As they turned the corner, Garrett discreetly looked at the checkouts and the two Slovak girls who sat disinterested at their empty tills. They were pale, with listless eyes ringed with too much thick black makeup. One of them was filing her black painted nails, the other browsing a glossy fashion magazine. They certainly didn’t look to be a threat should an escape be on the cards. His eyes lingered a little longer on the automatic doors behind them and the blessed freedom beyond. He would most likely have tried for it, if not for the hulking security guard that was lingering with intent and watching the store with unwavering sharpness by the side of the door. Mark called him Lurch, and to Garrett, that was a pretty good description. He was absolutely enormous. Garrett suspected he was somewhere close to seven feet tall. His white shirt struggled to contain muscles on top of muscles. Giant, hairy forearms flexed as he folded his arms and watched. He locked eyes with Garrett for a split second as the trio rounded the corner, putting the tantalizing freedom and the icy glare of Lurch behind them.
Garrett was looking at the dizzying selection of pasta, glad to see something normal when Leena began to whimper. Mark put an arm around her shoulder and ushered her on past the table which had been set up halfway down the row.
FREE SAMPLES! PLEASE TAKE ONE! proclaimed the hand-written sign pinned to the edge of the tabletop. On the table was a large white plate. It took Garrett a moment to understand what he was looking at as it initially didn’t compute. At first, he thought it was some kind of exotic new snack, but as the pieces fell into place, it became apparent he was looking at something almost beyond his capacity to absorb.
The plate was filled with skewered human tongues. Garrett felt his gag reflex spring to life as he cast his eyes over the macabre offering. Fat, black houseflies darted and buzzed around the plate, and Garrett could see that some of the tongues were covered in a pulsing carpet of maggots. A stack of napkins had been thoughtfully arranged on the table beside the plate.
Garrett moved his own tongue, just because he could. It suddenly dawned on him he was in a very real, very dangerous situation and his life was in danger. It was an incredibly sobering experience, one which wasn’t entirely welcome. He moved on, waving away the flies looking for a good spot to lay their eggs. With some effort, he managed to walk past the table, forcing his eyes to look straight ahead and his nose and ears to ignore the horrid stench and angry drone of the flies. He caught up to Mark and Leena, and they walked on. None of them felt the need to speak. There were no real words that seemed appropriate, each of them content to deal with the horror in the best way they could.
It was Garrett who broke the silence as they moved away from the samples.
“We need to contact the police.”
“I wish we could. We’ve been trying since we got in here.”
“Yeah, you already told me.”
“They must be blocking it somehow,” Mark replied, draping an arm around Leena’s shoulders and pulling her close to him.
“It would be easy enough to do. You can order a signal jammer on the internet easily enough. You never know what kind of range it might have.”
Trying to remain as casual as he could, Garrett took out his own phone and was dismayed to see he still had no signal. He tried to call the police anyway, and when that failed, he tried to call Stacey. After trying three or four times to get through, he eventually gave up and shoved the useless handset back into his jeans' pocket. The argument which had triggered him to walk out on her to get some air now seemed less than trivial.
“Is she okay?” Garrett said, nodding towards Leena.
“Yeah, she’s fine. It’s just a bit of a shock to her system, that’s all.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So we can’t get out, and we can’t get a signal to call anyone. What do we do now?”
“Now it’s down to us and whoever else we can get onboard.”
They turned into the magazine aisle, grateful to be away from the mixture of horrific delicacies amid the normality. There were two shoppers reading magazines which they probably had no intention of buying. The one nearest to the trio looked to be some kind of business executive. He was wearing a charcoal suit and brown overcoat and had skin which was a sore looking reddish-pink from a recent suntan. His nose was buried in a copy of Time magazine, and his briefcase and umbrella were clasped between his feet like an obedient dog.
The second browser was a little further down the aisle and sported a black t-shirt with a garish print of a werewolf on the front. Even from a distance, Garrett could tell he was the typical teenage loner. Not one of the cool kids who acted all broody as some kind of fashion statement, but a genuine geek. Nerd. Whatever you wanted to call him. The clues were many. The clunky unbranded trainers, the facial hair somewhere in limbo between designer stubble and scruffy hobo, and his choice of magazine—pro wrestling—finished the look. Garrett leaned close to Mark, still speaking in a whisper.
“We need to let these people know what we’re up against. If we want to get out of here, we need to group together.”
“We can’t do that. The staff will know something’s wrong if we start walking around in a mob.”
“You might be right, but if what you said about this place enticing us in like flies, we’re dead anyway. Either way, we need to do something.”
“Maybe we can do it without being so obvious,” Mark said as he paused to leaf through a movie magazine, just to keep everything looking natural.
“How do you mean?” Garrett asked as he joined him, his eyes staring through the glossy photographs and sensationalist words within the pages.
“Well, the way I see it, there’s no sense in us swamping people with information and coming across like a pair of lunatics. As I said earlier, I’m pretty sur
e most of them already know what happened here. They should be easy enough to get onside. The problem will be those who are either in denial or refuse to believe it.”
“Okay, that makes sense. So what do you suggest?”
“The Scooby Doo method.”
“Say again?” Garrett asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Let’s split up and go at this individually. It will look a hell of a lot less like we are pulling some kind of prank, which is my main concern. At least as individuals, these people will have to take us at face value.”
“Okay, I can go with that idea.”
“I’ll take the geek; you talk to the suit over there. We can take alternate aisles. I'll do the next one over, and you skip on and do the one after that. When you hit the top of the store, you’ll be in the clothing department. I’ll meet you up there, and we can see where we stand.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s do it,” Garrett said as he started to walk away.
“Hey, man.”
Garrett turned and looked at Mark, a terrified kid who, just like him, ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“Same to you.”
Mark nodded and walked towards the pro wrestling loving nerd. Garrett watched him for a moment, still unsure how to figure him out. The crushing claustrophobia of being locked in the store threatened to overcome him, so he forced himself into action. Hoping that somewhere amongst the shoppers in the store, there was someone who could take charge and get them out of the mess they had inadvertently walked into.
Bernard
Garrett managed to keep his expression neutral as he looked at the rag-tag collection of shoppers who had gathered in the clothing department. Mark walked towards him, and they shared a look which said they were both thinking the same thing.
It wasn’t going to be enough to fight their way out.
“Is this it?” Garrett asked, hoping there would be more.
“Yeah, this is everyone.”
Garrett made a quick count.
“I’m sure you said there were more people in the store than this?”
“There are, some didn’t believe me, and some have just lost it.”
Garrett nodded. He had seen a few himself as he tried in vain to get people to believe him. He half wondered if speaking to them and looking into their dead, haunted eyes was a glimpse into the future for them all.
“Yeah, I saw a few of those myself.”
“Fuckin’ awful to see, man. I think on some level they know what’s going on, but something inside seems to have switched off. They’re walking around like fucking zombies.”
Garrett grimaced and turned his attention to the rest of the people who were milling around the clothing aisle. One of them caught his eye, a skinny, sour looking man with a flat nose, deep forehead, and a long cruel mouth. His attire—sharp black suit and tie—screamed lawyer or some other kind of pencil-pushing profession. The man caught Garrett’s eye and strode purposefully towards him.
“What’s going on here?” he bellowed, addressing Garrett. “Your friend here insisted I come with him, and now I want to know why.”
“Are you telling me you don’t know? I already told you,” Mark interjected.
“I only came in here to pick up some God-damn pills for this headache. Somebody better start talking sense to me right now, because the things you said, young man, are distasteful, to say the least.”
Garrett flicked his eyes towards Mark, who wasn’t even attempting to hide his disdain.
“Whatever, man, suit yourself,” he muttered.
“Look, please just calm down, and we will explain. It’s vital you don’t draw attention to us,” Garrett said quietly.
The man snorted and shook his head.
“Attention? You do realize you have us all standing around doing nothing at the top of the God-damn store, don’t you?”
Garrett flushed with both anger and annoyance at his own stupidity. Despite his belittling tone, the man was right.
“Mark, go see if you can spread people out. Tell them to look busy, but keep it casual.”
“I’ll try, but it was a hard enough sell getting them to believe me in the first place.”
“If anyone gives you any trouble, show them the free samples.”
Garrett was surprised at how easy the words came, and he saw a disturbed look flash up in Mark’s eyes.
“Got it. I’ll do my best,” he said before walking away, dragging Leena in tow.
Garrett felt a light hand on his elbow, guiding him away from the group. The skinny businessman spoke quietly as he led the way.
“Look Mr…"
“Garrett.”
“Look, Mr. Garrett. I think we both know what’s going on here.”
“Yeah? Speak for yourself,” Garrett grumbled, looking the man in the eye.
“Come on, isn’t it obvious? That kid is obviously on something. Waster kids these days are on all kinds of drugs. However, you, you at least seem sensible. So please, man to man, tell me why you are going along with this deception?”
Garrett disliked the man. He was normally not one to judge, and was a firm believer in giving people a fair chance, but everything about him from his overpriced suit to his patronizing tone was rubbing him up the wrong way. Worse than that, he could already sense the man could—given the chance— stir up trouble. Garrett lowered his voice and turned away from the crowd.
“Do you have a name?”
“Winthorpe. Bernard Winthorpe.”
Garrett nodded. The name fit like a glove.
“Look, Mr. Winthorpe, here’s the deal. Something is going on here, and in truth, I’m still having trouble believing it myself. But I need you to keep calm and most of all help me to get the rest of these people onside.”
“Onside with what? You still haven’t told me what’s going on.”
“You haven’t seen it, have you?”
“Seen what?” Bernard hissed.
“This place, what it really is underneath.”
“This is preposterous and I think I have heard enough. I’m leaving.”
Bernard turned to leave, and before he could stop himself, Garrett grabbed him by the elbow and spun him around.
“Listen—”
“Take your damn hands off me,” barked Bernard, a flush of color rising up into his cheeks.
Garrett looked at the milling crowd, who was now watching the pair with nervous interest. Garrett released his grip, and Bernard smoothed down his suit.
“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to get a grip—”
“No, you need to get a grip. You and that kid are obviously trying to play some kind of joke. Well find some other scapegoat because I won’t play along with it.”
“Just look around you, for God’s sake.”
“No,” Bernard said, shaking his head defiantly. “I won’t play along with these games. I won’t be part of the joke.”
A flash of anger raged through Garrett. He could feel his hands shaking, and had to ball them into fists to stop himself from lashing out and hitting Bernard in the face.
“All right,” he hissed, “If you don’t want to listen to me, then don’t listen to me. Go see for yourself. Check the meat aisle. Even better, check the special freebies in aisle four.”
Bernard grinned an ocean of white against his cocoa skin.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, your joke-shop props won’t work on me. This isn’t the God-damn movies. By all means, you go ahead and do whatever it is that you feel the need to do, just leave me alone.”
Bernard made to leave, and for the second time, Garrett grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.
“So you do know? You’ve seen what’s going on here?”
“If you mean the rubber feet and pickled baby props, then yes. I’ve seen them. And frankly, I’m not impressed. This joke is in incredibly poor taste,” he shot back, pulling his arm free.
Garrett saw it in him then. Saw that behind the defiance and the blind anger, Bernard was as frightened as the rest of them. He just hadn’t figured out a way to deal with it yet. Hoping to diffuse the situation before it escalated out of control, Garrett lowered his voice.
“Look, I know this situation is messed up. Hell, I’m having trouble dealing with it myself. Either way, what’s happening here is real, and like it or not we need to deal with it.”
“Do what you want as long as you keep me out of it.”
Despite knowing Bernard was just a man afraid, Garrett’s dislike for him didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew. He leaned close and grinned, wondering if it looked as insane on the outside as it felt as it stretched across his face.
“Okay, point taken,” he whispered. “You don’t believe any of this at all. I get it. If that’s the case, then you wouldn’t mind doing me a favour.”
“I hardly think—”
“My car is parked out front. It’s a red Toyota pickup. I’d like you to go outside and grab my spare phone from the passenger seat.”
“This is ridiculo—”
“Don’t bring it in here,” Garrett continued, not letting Bernard get a word in. “Nobody can seem to get a signal inside the building. When you’re out there, call the police. Tell them to send everything they have down here to help us because even if you can’t or won’t see it, we are all in a dire situation. I’d go so far as to say we’re in the shit up to our necks, maybe even higher. So, what do you say, Bernard? You fancy giving it a go?”
Garrett stood tall and held his car keys out to Bernard, horrified to find the sick grin wouldn’t fade.
“No, I’m not ready to go yet.”
Garrett could see a light sweat forming on Bernard’s brow, and even though he knew he was being cruel, he couldn’t help turning the screw a little more.
“Come on, Bernie, what is there to be afraid of? This is a big prank, after all, remember? Yep. Me and all of these other people were so intent on playing a prank on you— a man I’ve never met and would have nothing whatsoever to gain from fooling— that we rented out an entire supermarket, which we staffed and then filled with severed body parts, all in the name of comedy. How about you get your head out of your own ass and pay attention to what’s going on here?”