It was hard not to imagine shopping as a family. When the kids were little, my ex and I shopped together. Actually looked forward to it. The kids acted like they were at Disney World. We’d stop at the bakery first. Pass up food we planned to buy, in order to get to the bakery. Charlene and Cash wanted their free cookie. There was a Tupperware container by the loafs of fresh baked bread. It contained cookies for kids under 12. The Cookie Club. Not to start there would have been devastating to toddlers. While I was a bit older than 12, I considered myself an honorary Cookie Club member. Used to make the ex laugh when I’d say, “One for you. And one for you, and one for me.”
Even the kids laughed.
They knew I wasn’t supposed to get a cookie. Silly, Daddy.
Once the cookies were distributed, the shopping began. See, it was easier and cheaper giving the kids a free cookie to munch on. For us at the time, anyway. The kids were distracted, and happy. They weren’t pointing at high priced items on the shelves. The ex and I could actually buy what needed buying. And only what needed buying. Usually.
I shook my head. No time for memories. They didn’t help. They clouded judgment. I needed to be clear. Ready.
“You good?” Allison said.
“I am. You ready?”
“All set.”
We had a lot of ground to cover, with no idea what to expect. I didn’t like it, and therefore, I did not have a good feeling about this. Not at all.
“Stay close,” I whispered. The kid was practically up my ass. He breathed heavy. Uneven breaths. I knew he was scared. We all were. I think he felt especially vulnerable. A broken wrist will do that in a situation like that. He had his gun. It was just going to offer very limited resources if we ran into monsters. Way I felt, there was no way around it. No way was this store empty of those things.
Part of me expected to see long lines, customers unloading groceries onto black conveyors and cashiers sliding bar codes over laser readers before bagging the items. None of that existed. Might never exist again. I used to consider the process slow and chaotic. Never realized how organized a method it really was until now, with it gone. All gone.
We snuck past the scratch off Lottery dispenser machine, and customer service desk. I didn’t see or hear anyone else in the store. Not even Allison or Dave. I was thankful Josh was in front as lookout. The closer we got to the bank, the better I started to feel. There might be a chance we could pull this off without incident.
At the last register, I squatted. The kid did, too.
“What?” he said.
I shook my head, tried to swallow. My mouth was dry. “You want to wait here? I can see the first aid stuff,” I said, pointing toward the aisle. “I’ll be quick.”
“I’m coming,” is what he said. His eyes shouted, “ain’t no way you’re leaving me the fuck alone.”
“We’re going to be fast, grab the stuff, then look for the others. You be my eyes while I get everything. Okay?”
“I can do that,” he said.
I nodded, not a hundred percent convinced. I was at a point where I trusted myself. No one else.
The plastic bags were hanging by the edge of the conveyor. I took a few. Allison was going to try to locate a backpack, but she wasn’t with us, so for now, I’d fill these.
We stayed low, bent forward as we walked the length of the conveyor toward the front of the check-out. I looked both ways, amazed not a soul was in sight, alive or otherwise. The place was a goldmine. Forget the produce and meat that would go bad soon, it was the packaged items that would last years that sat stocked on the shelves that had me excited. Figure out a way to keep the sliding doors shut, clear the place of any zombies, and we had a safe haven that might just last until the epidemic was put under control. Assuming it ever would be.
We made a dash for the health aisle. Didn’t need to, no one was around. Once in the aisle, I snapped open a bag. I first grabbed bandages, alcohol, ointments and hydrogen peroxide. Then it became a free-for-all. Aspirin, Benadryl, cough syrup and anything else that looked helpful. I filled two bags before I stopped and listened.
“What was that?”
The kid’s eyes were wide open. He stared down the aisle toward the beer coolers. “A ball. It just bounced by the--”
A small child ran after the ball. Arms out.
“What the fuck,” I said and held my finger up to my lips to shush myself.
“She look sick? Like a zombie?”
“Couldn’t tell,” I whispered. “We’re out of here. We have what we came for.”
“But if she’s not a zombie, how can we leave her?”
The ball bounced by again, going the opposite way. We waited. A second later, we heard a laugh, a giggle really, and the child ran past the aisle toward the ball.
“We’re out of here,” I said again. My heart thumped around inside my chest. I was officially freaked out. This was like something in a horror movie. Life was, actually, but this -- the child running back and forth, it was too much.
“We have to see. If she’s alone, she’s got to be scared.”
“I’m scared. I’m leaving,” I said, and turned.
At the edge of aisle, I snuck a peak right and left. Still no one. “Let’s go,” I said.
Nothing.
“Kid,” I said.
I turned. He wasn’t up my ass. He was halfway down the aisle, as if he were going to investigate the condition of the child.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Kid? Kid? Jason!” I said. I wasn’t about to yell. Why he was going to check on some child who more than likely was a zombie playing ball in an empty grocery store, was beyond me. It didn’t make him a hero, just like wanting to flee didn’t make me a coward. I don’t think.
I cursed under my breath, tied the plastic grocery bags into a knot and hefted my shovel. Fine. I’d follow.
With quick, quiet steps, I caught up to the Kid, and tapped his shoulder.
He jumped.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he said.
I wanted to thunk him on the head with the spade, but refrained. “Are you kidding me?”
He shushed me this time.
He was going to get a thunking. If not now, as soon as we were out of the store. This was plain and simple crazy.
We stood at the end of the health aisle. Neither of us saying a word. Felt like we’d been statue-still for hours. I knew what we were doing, what we were waiting for. The ball.
Only it didn’t come.
We kept waiting.
I was keeping an ear open for Allison and Dave. They had to be close to wrapping up on their hunt for supplies. They hadn’t screamed. Yelled. Nothing. I assumed that meant they were getting along fine. Gathering, as instructed. Ready to meet at the first check-out as planned. Unlike us. The Kid and I. We were looking for a four year old.
“Where’d she go?”
“To find her parents,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
The giggle. It was close. Possibly. Hard to tell exactly where it came from. The sound echoed. Bounced off the emptiness of the store.
“Jay, I’m not messing around. We have to get out of here. The others are waiting,” I said. No idea if they were.
He took a tentative step forward. I did, too.
We rounded the corner. The end-cap stocked with shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream, and anti-perspirant. I wish I hadn’t tied off the bags. Those seemed like necessary items. Toothpaste and toothbrushes and mouthwash. All necessity.
“I don’t see her,” he said.
I worked at the knot on the bags. It made way more noise than I’d hoped, but came loose. Untied, I dropped the additional items in. A few of each. The bags became very, very full. I didn’t want them to break. Maybe we didn’t need the mouthwash.
“I’m leaving, Kid. You can stay. Stay as long as you want.” I’d whispered, my mouth at the back of his ear. “Good luck.”