by Lucin, David
Sam put a hand on her hip. “We need to get closer.”
Not the answer Jenn wanted to hear, but Sam’s confidence was contagious. “All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”
They reached the edge of the crowd, and Sam squeezed between two women carrying grocery bags. They backed apart enough for Jenn to move between them with the wheelbarrow. Next, Sam moved right, around an elderly man wearing pajama pants and a white Phoenix Suns T-shirt. He let them pass as well. Two young parents with a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy did the same.
Soon, people stood shoulder to shoulder. Jenn could hardly move without touching someone else. The shouting had grown louder, too, and engulfed her from all directions.
Sam tapped a thick man with red hair. “Excuse us,” he said.
The man spun around, his black tank top painted to his chest. Dark tattoo sleeves ran down both of his arms. He squared up to Sam. “Piss off, mate,” he said in a heavy British accent. “It’s a queue.”
Backing away, Sam gripped the front end of the wheelbarrow and steered it clear of the Brit.
“Everyone, please go home,” a voice boomed over a megaphone. It was deep but warm, almost pleading. “We’re working with management on a plan to open the store. When they do, we’ll make an announcement.”
A woman, her hair dyed purple, raised a fist and screamed, “Screw you, pigs!” A man beside her yelled expletives and held up a cardboard sign with “FOOD NOT FASCISM” written on it in big block letters.
As her grip on the handles tightened, Jenn looked down the nose of the wheelbarrow.
Sam was gone.
Her breath caught. She inspected each person in her line of sight, searching for Sam’s khaki shorts and blue T-shirt, then reached forward and pulled out the tire iron.
A man beside her carried a baseball bat. A woman to her right had a bulge on her waistline. A gun, probably. Everyone, it seemed, was armed. “Sam!” she shouted.
Sweat fell into her eyes and settled on her lip. Someone bumped into her.
“Sam!”
Did he go in without her? No, he wouldn’t leave her behind. Maybe the crowd had swallowed him. She tried pushing the wheelbarrow forward, but it nudged a man in the hip. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he stood on his toes and continued hollering at the people ahead. When she jerked the wheelbarrow left, she hit the woman with the bulge on her waistline. She gave Jenn the finger and swore at her, then shoved her way deeper into the sea of bodies.
Jenn considered turning around, but the crowd had encircled her. She doubted she could escape if she tried.
Then an ear-piercing bang echoed off the Go Market. Screams followed. Hands went up and shielded heads and faces. Bodies dropped to the blacktop. Jenn let go of the wheelbarrow to cover her ears but lost balance as a weight crashed into her right. She toppled over and took the wheelbarrow with her. The tire iron fell to the ground.
A body collapsed on top of her, pressing into her chest and ribs. She reached a hand out and patted blindly in search of the tire iron, but her fingers found only pavement. The shapes of legs and feet clouded her vision.
Pain erupted in her right leg and shot up her knee. Then a pressure on her stomach pushed the wind from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. When she tried calling out, she hardly made a sound.
Something hit her nose. Tears leaked onto her cheeks, and she tasted copper on her tongue. She lifted both hands to protect her eyes.
Now on her side, she brought her head and knees to her chest. She called for Sam again, but he didn’t come.
He was gone.
11
Jenn felt a hand shake her shoulder. With her limbs tight to her body, she pretended to be dead.
“Jenn!”
It sounded like Sam. When she opened her eyes, she saw a pair of knees below khaki shorts, then a blue shirt and Sam’s face.
He took her arm and helped her up. “Jenn, are you okay?”
Wetness tickled the bottom of her nose. She wiped it with her hand, leaving a streak of blood, then turned away from Sam and spat a red lump onto the ground.
“I’m so sorry.” Sam gripped the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I lost you. I thought you were right behind me.”
“It’s okay.” Behind Sam, the crowd, still thick, had rushed the doors.
Sam reached for the wheelbarrow. “They broke in. We don’t have much time.”
Jenn’s knees vibrated. So did her hands, so she shoved them into her pockets. “Where’s security?” she asked in a voice that cracked. “Where’d the police go?”
“No idea. Probably inside. Here.” He held out the tire iron.
“Sam, I—”
He pulled a hand from her pocket and placed the tire iron in her palm. “If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now.”
She tried to move but couldn’t.
Sam gripped her shoulders and shook lightly. “Hey,” he said.
After a hard blink, she met eyes with him.
“You can do this.” He locked his gaze on Jenn. “Gary and Maria need you to do this.”
Sam was right. She couldn’t return to the Ruiz house with nothing. Now, with the floodgates opened and the crowd spilling in, the clock was ticking. If they didn’t act, they might miss their chance.
She thrust the tire iron through a belt loop on her jeans. “Okay,” she said.
Sam took the wheelbarrow and led them to the rear of the mob, where more bodies soon piled in behind and squeezed Jenn as she threaded the doors. They jostled her left, then right, and almost knocked her down. Someone stepped on her toe. Another elbowed her in the breast. She shut her eyes, put a hand on Sam’s back, and let him lead her inside.
Glass crunched beneath her feet. Then the bodies crushing her scattered. She expected a wall of crisp air-conditioning to greet her. Instead, the air was thick and clung to her tank top. The stench of body odor assaulted her as the roar of shouting echoed off the high ceilings. Sunlight poured through the tall windows and spotlighted the checkout tills near the door. The shapes of aisles loomed beyond.
She wiped her palms on her pants.
Ahead, by the tills, a man in a yellow windbreaker, the white tag dangling from the sleeve, tumbled over and spilled a bag of canned goods and vegetables. He crawled forward, cradled them in his arms, and scrambled to his feet before running past Jenn. A woman, her hair frazzled, pushed a cart filled with a wild assortment of items: vacuum-sealed dinners, a bottle of bleach, a forty-eight pack of toilet paper, among other things.
Jenn reached for the flashlight in her pocket. “This way,” she said and led them left.
They passed a man carrying a basket. Inside were loaves of bread and two bags of dog food. A line of blood trickled down his chin. He eyeballed Sam from head to toe as he rushed past and made for the exit.
At the edge of the produce section, Jenn stopped. The islands that normally housed cheap vegetables like onions, tomatoes, celery, and mushrooms were bare. As usual, the fruit stands stood empty. Plastic and paper littered the floor. The locusts had descended and left nothing in their wake.
Jenn made for the deli in hopes that it and the nearby bread aisle hadn’t been picked clean yet, but Sam held out an arm to stop her. “There!” he shouted, then darted forward a few bounds. He bent down and reached for the bottom shelf of a fruit stand. Potatoes. Jenn followed him and gripped the top of a ten-pound bag in each hand. She tried lifting them, but they slipped through her sweaty palms. One fell to the floor. The other she cradled in her arms.
Sam retrieved the wheelbarrow and pushed it closer. Jenn laid her bag inside as Sam picked up the one she’d dropped. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Jenn said. “This place looks empty.”
Sam adjusted their loot in the wheelbarrow. “Everyone wants fresh food. The stuff that’s expensive, like meat and fruit. But it’ll rot in a couple days anyway.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Follow me.” He spun
the wheelbarrow around.
Jenn’s vision adjusted to the darkness as they crossed the store. On their left stood the freezer aisles. Most of the glass doors hung open. The light from outside reflected off pools of liquid on the polished concrete floor.
A few steps later, five or six people scurried across Jenn’s path. One had an armful of potato chips. Another carried a basket filled with bottled water.
In the next aisle, a woman had climbed the shelves to pull items from the top. Beneath her, a man held her hips to keep her from falling. Opposite them, two women stood over a cart and shouted at each other. Behind, farther into the aisle, two men locked together. One had his arm around the other and tugged him to the floor. They both collapsed, drawing the attention of the woman on the shelf, who jumped down and hurried away.
Sam made a sharp left at the next aisle. The shelves closed in on Jenn as the light from the windows faded. She clicked on the flashlight and shone it ahead. On both sides, people pulled down boxes, bags, and bottles.
Sam stopped, then reached up and snatched four or five items, which he dropped into the wheelbarrow.
Jenn scanned the other side of the aisle. Rice. Spaghetti. Macaroni. The flashlight in her mouth, she found two boxes and a bag. She wasn’t even sure what they were. Whatever. After depositing them in the wheelbarrow, she seized another handful.
A body slammed into her. She staggered but found her balance.
Dark figures poured into the aisle. Sam manned the wheelbarrow again. “Let’s go!”
She threw the boxes in with the others and followed Sam, who led them toward the checkout stations. After two sharp lefts, they entered the next aisle.
Jenn made her way into the darkness. She shone the flashlights on the shelves: vanilla extract, tinfoil, and cooking sheets. Ahead, Sam had stopped. He lifted a bag from the bottom of the shelf and heaved it into the wheelbarrow. Then a second.
A few more steps and a yellow bag caught Jenn’s eye. Cornmeal. Her father used to make cornbread every Saturday. Maria had never made it, but Jenn could show her how. The recipe only called for cornmeal, salt, and baking powder. It didn’t even need an oven, just a pan to fry it in. Maria had the baking powder and salt. She only needed the cornmeal. Jenn clamped down on the flashlight with her teeth and clutched a bag in each hand.
“I found flour,” Sam said with a huff.
Jenn laid the cornmeal into the wheelbarrow, which was over half full. “Cornmeal.” She took the flashlight out of her mouth. “There’s more.”
“Grab it.” Sam wheeled past her and pulled two more bags from the shelves.
A gun barked, and Jenn crouched. A bead of sweat rolled into her eye as her vision narrowed. Her fingers tingled and the pain in her nose vanished.
It was time to go.
She stood but something gripped her ankle and jerked her leg out from under her. She lost balance. For a moment, she was airborne. Her knees hit the floor first, followed by her elbows. The flashlight fell from her hands, skipped ahead, and came to a rest with the beam of light shining into her face.
A man sporting a thick beard and shaved head stood above her. He wore black pants, and his shirt, blue with a collar, was unbuttoned and untucked. She recognized the uniform immediately—Go Market security. But no gun. Not that she could see.
As he stepped around her, she reached out to grab his ankle but missed. Sam, silhouetted by the tall windows behind him, clenched his fists. What was he doing?
Sam swung with his right hand. The security guard ducked and delivered a blow to Sam’s ribs. Sam doubled over but stayed standing. Readying a second attack, he spun, but a jab to his jaw sent him to the floor. Then the man darted for the wheelbarrow.
Jenn’s stomach dropped. She didn’t have a second cart or even a basket and had no time to locate another one. They were already taking things like potatoes, flour, and cornmeal. Once everyone realized that the vegetables, canned goods, and soy meat products were gone, they’d come here. That wheelbarrow was their only chance.
Sam, a hand on his face, struggled to stand. He’d taken three punches in less than a day: one for Jenn at Minute Tire and two for the Ruiz family at this dark Go Market. In a way, though, these last two were for her as well. He was here for Jenn, not for himself or anyone else. After Sam gave himself to defend their wheelbarrow, she couldn’t let that security guard steal it. She needed to fight for Gary and Maria the way Sam fought for her.
In one smooth motion, she pulled the tire iron from the belt loop on her jeans. A short nod from Sam signaled his approval.
In pursuit, she pictured the empty cupboards at the Ruiz house. Then she imagined this thief eating their food while Maria, already little more than skin and bones, went hungry. The thought made Jenn’s blood boil. She fantasized about cracking her weapon across his temple as he begged for her to stop.
At the end of the aisle, he turned right, toward the exit, and moved quickly. But Jenn was faster.
As she came around the corner, it felt like the store had emptied out and everyone had gone, leaving only her and him. The shouting quieted to a hum.
She had to take him by surprise. He was too quick and agile to confront head-on. Should she hit him in the knees? No, she wouldn’t have the time to strike both. If he could stand, he’d overpower her. Maybe his ribs. She might knock the wind out of him, but would that be enough? No, he had to go down and stay down.
Jenn zeroed in on the base of his skull, a couple of inches above the neck of his shirt.
Then she raised the tire iron.
Her grip tightened. With a grunt, she swung it down.
It didn’t make a sound.
The man stumbled, lost balance, and collapsed. The wheelbarrow went with him. Its contents spilled onto the floor.
Sam ran past Jenn and stood up the wheelbarrow.
She held out the tire iron in search of blood.
“Jenn!”
The guard lay motionless. Her stomach lurched and jumped into her throat.
She let the weapon go, and it landed with a pang.
“Jenn! Come on!” Sam weaved the wheelbarrow between two checkouts, and Jenn followed.
The man on the floor hadn’t moved.
But he didn’t have her supplies.
12
Gary turned into the driveway and put the Tesla in park. Jenn, still seated behind the passenger seat, stared out the window. She hadn’t spoken since they loaded up the supplies, strapped down the wheelbarrow, and drove away. Gary prodded, clearly sensing something had gone amiss, but Sam answered for her. What could she say? Before today, she’d never hurt anyone. Now she had and couldn’t take it back. The last thing she wanted was to recount the experience to Gary.
She jumped as her door popped open and Sam reached in to undo her seat belt. There was blood on his lip, and a bruise was forming below his eye.
“Let’s get this loaded up,” Gary said from behind the car.
Inside, Maria appeared in the hallway leading to the bedrooms and Gary’s office. “You’re home!” she exclaimed as Ajax rubbed up against Jenn’s ankles.
“We’ve got an oxygen compressor and some batteries, dear, and a few other things.”
Maria touched Jenn’s cheek and inspected her face, then shuffled over to Sam and did the same. “Your faces! Are you hurt? What happ—”
“It’s okay,” Gary interrupted. “A little trouble at the Go Market, but everyone’s all right.”
Jenn wiped a glob of dried blood from her nose. She could tell the whole story, but if Maria knew the truth, she might not want to keep this food. Or maybe Jenn feared reliving the ordeal. Maybe a bit of both.
“Okay,” Maria said. The oxygen compressor hissed with each breath. “I’ll believe you, even though you’re not telling me something.” She peered at Jenn over her glasses, then pushed them up and turned away. “Now let’s see what you’ve brought me.” When she peeked into the wheelbarrow, she exclaimed, “We can make cornbread! Gary loves it, but I hardly e
ver make it anymore.”
Gary patted his belly. “It’s true. But not as much as donuts, right, Jenn?”
She managed a wooden grin but nothing more.
“There’s also rice and pasta in there,” Sam said. “I even snuck a few jars of sauce. That should keep you guys set for a while.”
Wiping her eye, Maria opened her mouth to speak but swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve done so much for us.”
“Of course,” Sam said.
“Here.” Gary pulled out two seats at the dining room table. “Sit.”
“You look exhausted,” Maria said. “Can I get anyone anything?”
Jenn plopped herself into a chair. Sam took the seat next to her. “A glass of water would be nice,” he said. “I’m parched.”
“Coming right up.”
Sam rested a hand on Jenn’s thigh. “Let’s stay here tonight,” he began. “We should help Gary and Maria a bit more and have some rest. Then we’ll make a plan for leaving tomorrow.”
“Sure.” That was all she mustered in response—her first word since the Go Market.
“I have something better than water,” Gary announced from the fridge. He held up a can of beer. “I know you’re not twenty-one yet, Jenn, but that’s never stopped you before. Plus, it’s a special occasion, so I think I’ll make an exception.”
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I’ll start putting this stuff away while you guys relax,” Maria said. Both of her hands were on the wheelbarrow as if she planned to push it, but she apparently realized she couldn’t do that and tow her oxygen cart at the same time.
Sam manned it instead.
“What a gentleman.” She patted him between the shoulders. “Maybe you can lift those heavy bags for me, too.”
Gary set the beers on the table and sat. “Thank you for what you did. It means a lot to us.”
Sam returned and took a can from Gary. After a healthy swig, he smacked his lips. “That’s good stuff,” he said.
“Sorry,” Gary started. “It’s a little warm.”
Sam belched and lowered himself into a chair. “Good beer was meant to be enjoyed at room temperature.”
