by Michael Bray
“You’re as deluded as the kid. You ought to know better!”
“Forget the denial, and look at what’s going on around you.”
“I refuse to be drawn into this fantasy of yours,” growled Bernard.
“Then step outside and make that call for me.”
Bernard grinned, his face twisting into a sneer.
“Do your own errands. I won’t do it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“Because you know you will never make it.”
The two men were now nose-to-nose, Garrett smiling, Bernard wide-eyed and glaring.
“Do it yourself. Just leave me alone,” Bernard whispered, and walked away, melting back into the group.
Garrett walked in the opposite direction, ignoring the questioning eyes of the people who seemed to be looking to him as if he had the answer to their collective problem. Mark was standing with the old couple Garrett had seen when he first entered the supermarket.
“I take it that didn’t go well?” Mark said with a nervous grin as Garrett approached.
“You could say that.”
“Are you okay, son?” the old woman said, smiling warmly.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Harwell,” said Mark, who still couldn’t quite manage to distinguish grimace from smile.
The old man held out his hand and Garrett shook it.
“Mark here has filled us in on the situation,” the old man said, subconsciously putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “This seems to be quite the situation.”
Despite his age (which Garrett put at seventy or so) the old man seemed sharp. His hair was white and wispy like cotton, and he wore his sideburns in long lamb chops down his cheeks. His eyes were the colour of lead, and his face was set in a determined grimace. His wife was shorter and a little overweight. She wore a red head scarf and wore the same frightened expression as many of those waiting to be told what to do.
“Donald and I didn’t even see the...objects in the refrigerators. We’re both vegetarians,” she said softly as she wrung her hands.
“How are you both coping?” Garrett asked.
“Okay, under the circumstances,” Donald muttered. “Any idea what we do now?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“It’s looking pretty bleak, isn’t it, son?”
Garrett nodded as he felt his stomach plummet into his shoes.
“So what did the suit have to say?” Mark asked, hoping to break the tension.
“He’s in denial. Thinks this is all a big hoax designed to make him look stupid.”
“Why is he still here then?” Mark responded, glaring toward Bernard, who was standing on his own and checking his phone for a signal, with the same success rate as everyone else.
“I asked him to go out to my car and grab my phone since he thought it was all bull, but he wouldn’t do it. I think part of him knows what’s going on here; he’s just not quite willing to accept it.”
“Want me to try it, son?” Donald asked, looking Garrett in the eye.
“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Hell, even though Bernard is a dick, I wouldn’t have let him go through with it. I just wanted to see if he would.”
“So what do we do now?” Donald asked, and Garrett found all eyes were on him. He was about to admit he had no clue when Mark spoke.
“Hey, check it out.”
They all turned to look in the direction Mark had nodded.
One of the other customers— the businessman in the brown overcoat that had been in the magazine aisle— was heading to the checkout with his magazine. Arsenio was his name, and Garrett had tried without success to convince him to join the rest of the people at the back of the store. He had outright refused despite Garrett patiently explaining the gravity of their situation. For a time Arsenio had responded with grunts or nods, then eventually stopped responding at all and stared at the words in his magazine as if Garrett didn’t exist. Frustrated, Garrett had left him to his own devices and now watched along with the rest of the group as he approached the checkout.
One of the checkout girls put down her nail polish and took his magazine, scanning and placing it into a red branded Grueber’s bag. Garrett could see them engaged in conversation, a little lighthearted banter. The girl laughed at something Arsenio had said then gave him his change. It looked for all the world like a regular transaction. No monsters, no things that go bump in the night. Garrett flicked his eyes towards Bernard and was surprised to find his gaze met. Bernard had a look on his face, an arrogant sneer which said, ‘I told you so, you dumb shit.’
Garrett looked away and exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath. They all watched as Arsenio slipped through the checkout and walked towards the door. For a split second, it crossed Garrett’s mind they might, in fact, have all been wrong, and walking out was an option after all. No sooner had the thought presented itself than everything seemed to happen.
Arsenio was almost free and clear when the mountain of a security guard stepped forward and held out a hand. He and Arsenio engaged in conversation for a moment. Arsenio tried to push the security guard’s hand away and held up his receipt. The guard— the one earlier (and accurately) referred to as Lurch, shook his head and spoke into his radio attached to the shoulder of his white shirt. Arsenio pointed over to the girl at the checkout, but she was paying no attention, too busy repainting her nails for the tenth time as she waited for her next customer to even acknowledge the commotion.
Whilst Arsenio pleaded his case, two men came out of one of the office doors and casually approached the pair. Garrett saw them coming and stepped forward to go and help when he felt light fingers on his arm.
“Don’t do it, son,” Mrs. Harwell said, her round face ashen and eyes dark with fear as she watched the scene unfold. “I think it’s too late for anyone to help him now.”
Garrett nodded, and feeling like some kind of awful voyeur, turned back to watch.
The two men who had come from the office were now standing at either side of Arsenio, boxing him in. All four men were engaged in what looked to be an intense conversation which wasn’t quite loud enough to be heard from the back of the store. Garrett took the opportunity to assess the men who had come out of the office. The taller of the two exhibited all the hallmarks of the store manager. He was wafer thin. Some might say undernourished His hair was black and slicked back against his head, and even observed from a distance, he carried the unmistakable air of arrogant authority. He nodded patiently as Arsenio spoke, gesticulating and again pointing to his receipt. The manager’s colleague was shorter, but broad across the chest. He stood with his arms folded and watched everything unfold with a glare which was two parts intimidating, one part amused. Arsenio shook his head, tossed the magazine down and tried to shove his way past Lurch towards the exit. The stocky man grabbed him roughly by the arm, twisting it behind his back. The store manager took Arsenio’s other arm and whispered something in his ear before the duo led him away from the exit. A few of the people around Garrett murmured under their breath as they watched the man frog march Arsenio away from the freedom of the outside world towards a plain white door labeled ‘ employees only’.
“That’s where they took the other guy,” Mark whispered to nobody in particular.
It was car crash mentality. Some of those gathered looked away as Arsenio was led from the door, perhaps assuming there was nothing more to see. Others couldn’t help but stare at the events as they unfolded. Garrett was in that second group. He had to see, had to know how it all played out. The manager plucked out a large bunch of keys from his belt and opened the door. He held it open just enough for his short companion to shove Arsenio over the threshold. Arsenio squirmed and tried to free himself, knocking the door with his shoulder and –just for a second- revealing what lay beyond the threshold. A terror even worse than the sight of the severed feet in the fridge raged
through Garrett as he saw what lurked behind that innocuous white door. Instead of the office which Garrett would have expected to see, perhaps a table and chairs where Arsenio would be held until the police arrived to question him as to what happened, the room had far more sinister décor. The floor and walls were green tiles not unlike an operating theatre of some kind, and during his brief glimpse inside the room, Garrett saw the edge of what appeared to be a stainless steel autopsy bench. Arsenio saw what awaited him and began to struggle and twist away from his captors. Nauseous and unable to believe what was unfolding in front of his eyes, Garrett watched with sick fascination as the men ushered Arsenio over the threshold and closed the door, leaving the fate of their prisoner a mystery. Garrett’s eye caught that of the taller man as he closed the door. The man smiled, and when he did, Garrett almost unleashed the scream that had been swimming around in his guts since he first saw the severed foot in the fridge.
Making Plans
Shock was a funny thing, Garrett thought as he wandered aimlessly amid the racks of leisure wear. It was one of those terms that always seemed so throwaway in the movies.
‘Oh my god, he’s in shock,’ some slick doctor would say about his patient after they had experienced some trauma during act one, which the TV star would duly fix after a few false leads and unexpected twists and turns just before the show ended. However, in reality— the reality that was the windowless building where they were now trapped— the shock was a very real, palpable thing. He walked amid the racks of clothes and felt somehow detached from his body. Everything was happening too fast, and none of it made any sense. For the first time, he was seriously considering the possibility he might never see Stacey again. He knew it was fruitless, yet he tried to call her again anyway, without success. He paused in front of a mirror, handily positioned to allow prospective purchasers to try on one of the cheap shirts or hats before they bought them. He used it now to assess himself.
Hair, sandy and full, skin pallid, but that at least was understandable under the circumstances. He looked at his reflection with blue eyes which were filled with a haunting disbelief. His stubble—grown initially for fashion— now made him look old and tired. He had a lean, thin body, and dressed in his scruffy jeans and white t-shirt. He looked perfectly… average. He thought he looked like a man in his late thirties with a drug problem, when, in fact, he was only twenty-six and— apart from a few cheeky joints when he was a student— drug free. For the third time, he passed the suit trousers, looking but not really seeing, and thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Mark approached, his agitation hard to miss.
“Hey, man, how you holding up?” he asked.
“Not too good if I’m honest. How about everyone else?”
“Well, the little show with the guy who tried to leave seemed to have convinced most people there’s something going on here.”
“Bernard?” Garrett asked hopefully, unable to shake the sense of unease that overcame him whenever he thought about him. Mark shook his head.
“He’s still having none of it. In fact, he’s out there telling people it’s all bullshit, trying to rally them together.”
“Son of a bitch. We can’t risk losing anyone else.”
Garrett cast a wary eye towards Bernard, who was deep in conversation with a heavyset man with a huge, overhanging beer gut.
“Are you sure you are okay?”
Garrett opened his mouth with every intention of telling Mark all about what he saw as the manager ushered Arsenio away, but then remembered he was just a kid and was already struggling to cope. Instead, he coughed quietly into his hand.
“I’m okay I guess, I’m just thinking about my wife. I should have been home by now. She’ll be worried.”
“I know what you mean. I keep thinking the same, that we would have been fine if we hadn’t stopped here. Hell, it was only a snap decision because I wanted a couple of beers for later… look at us now.”
“How long have you two been a couple?”
“A couple of years. We’ve known each other since we were seven. We just kind of went from friends to more as we got older.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
Garrett grimaced. It wasn’t fair someone of such a young age should be dealing with a situation like this.
Mark looked Garrett in the eye and spoke in a near whisper.
“She’s actually in a bad way. She’s not coping at all. I gave her some sedatives to calm her down, but I doubt under the circumstances they will help her. I’m…”
He trailed off, staring at the floor.
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid she’s losing it. I’m scared she’s becoming one of them.”
He nodded towards the zombie-like people who were aimlessly walking around the supermarket, eyes vacant and glassy, skin pale. Those people who, when faced with the horror unfolding around them, had just ‘switched off’ and were in some deep place within themselves where they wouldn’t have to deal with what was happening.
“I think a lot of us will get like that if we don’t manage to get out of here,” Garrett replied as he scratched at his stubble.
“Any ideas?”
Garrett hesitated before he answered, then realized there was no easy way to say it.
“We might have to kill them if we want to get out of here.”
He expected Mark to rebuff the idea, or to call him crazy and talk him out of it. Instead, he nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Garrett repeated.
“If you think that’s what’s best.”
“You don’t seem so sure.”
“It’s a pretty big deal, man. Think about what we’re talking about here.”
“It’s not as if it’s a snap decision,” Garrett said, making sure nobody could overhear them. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and as best I can see, it’s the only way of getting out of here.”
“There must be some other way, something less extreme.”
“If you have any ideas, I’m happy to hear them.”
“No, I know we might have to do this. It’s just a big thing. I mean, resorting to killing people…That’s a road we can’t turn away from once we go down it.”
“You seem reluctant and I can understand that. Trust me, all that matters to me is getting out of here. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.”
“Me too. I mean, I just want to get Leena and me out of here alive, plus there’s a kid here, I promised the mother I would help them.”
“You shouldn’t do that. We can’t promise anything.”
“I didn’t intend to. It’s just…she was desperate and I didn’t know what to say.”
“I get it. I wasn’t trying to give you shit over it. We just need to be careful about giving people false hope.”
“False hope? Don’t you think we can get out of here alive?”
Garrett hesitated, which was enough.
“You don’t, do you?” Mark said.
“It’s not that, it’s just when I think about what we’re dealing with. When I think about the things we’ve seen, it makes it hard to be positive.”
“Well, we better get positive,” Mark said. “Especially if you are thinking about going to the extremes in order to get out of here.”
“I know, and I’m trying to. I get the impression you’re not on board with this.”
“It’s not that,” Mark said quietly. “As much as I can stand here and tell you I agree, I just don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with it when— if— the time comes.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Garrett. “Same goes for everyone else here I expect. But the fact is, we might have to if we want to survive.”
“Whatever happens, we need more than just the two of us to get onboard and help us put some kind of plan together,” Mark said, glancing around at the rest of the people who were now broken into smaller groups as they chatted in hushed tones.
“We'll also need some weapons, something to take the fight to them with.”
Garrett nodded. “Okay, you take a walk and see what you can find that we might be able to use.”
“I don’t think there will be much.”
“Me either, but just do what you can.”
“What about you?”
“You mentioned a butcher when you gave me the rundown of the staff. I want to find out where he is.” Garrett felt gooseflesh prickle on his arms as the words left his mouth.
“Is that wise, man?”
“Probably not, but I don’t like not knowing where he is in all this.”
“What about him?” Mark asked, nodding towards Bernard, who had now added more people to his group.
“The less he knows the better, for now at least. Let’s do this and be discreet about it.”
“We need to let the others know.”
“I agree, just not until we know more ourselves.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?” Garrett asked.
“Why us, why is it down to us?”
Mark was scared, and it was plain to see. Garrett felt an overwhelming urge to lie, if only to put the boy’s mind at ease, but no suitable deception came to mind and so the truth— as ugly as it was— would have to do.
“We were the ones who gathered everyone together. I think even without realizing, we volunteered ourselves to lead this... group or whatever the hell it is, right from the start. Like it or not, we’ve put our necks on the chopping block.”
“Hey, Garrett, can I ask you something?”
Mark was unable to make eye contact and stared instead at the floor. Garrett didn’t want to answer questions. Not out of cruelty or selfishness but purely because he wasn’t sure he would have the answers Mark was looking for.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“What do you think is happening here? I mean all this.” Mark gestured around him, his face tight and pained.
