"James? James? James, wake up! Wake up!"

I claw my way back to the land of the living. My eyelids feel like they are held in place by lead and duct tape. Tiffany is kneeling on the left side of me. Her face is pale with terror.

"James. Someone's in the building. I heard cabinets being opened and shut. Like someone's going through Shrouder's things. Looking for something. Like we did."

Carla sits up on the cot. She looks from me to Tiffany.

"We know it's not one of those zombies....Or whatever you call what's going on. They wouldn't be calmly opening and shutting cabinets. It's gotta be someone else. Someone normal. We should go out there and talk to them."

I nod my head in agreement.

"I think you're right. They could know something useful. It's worth a try."

I climb to my feet and unlock the door. Kicking away the blanket I had slept under the previous night, I open the office door and peek down the hallway. Carla and Tiffany crowd in behind me. They back up a couple of steps when I glance over my shoulder in irritation.

We stand silently for about a minute. A metal object falls to the floor in another room. There is definitely someone else in the store.

I move off in the direction of the clanging sound. As we approach the front of the store, the sound of heavy bootfalls mingles with the other random noises. I motion for the two women to hang back, as a precaution. No sense taking chances. We have no idea what kind of person waits around that corner.

I put on my best poker face and take a deep breath. Fingering my pistol, hidden in the back waistband of my jeans, I step casually around the corner. I use my most welcoming voice.

"Hey, what's up? You alone?"

The young man at the counter turns so fast I am afraid he gave himself whiplash. His eyes dart from me to the front door of the store. He reminds me of a deer in headlights. Not sure whether he's coming or going. I raise both hands in the air to signal my intentions.

"Not here to hurt you, kid! I just needed to know who was out here. This was kind of my hideout....Okay? From all the craziness. Wanted to make sure you weren't one of those weirdos."

The young man suddenly grows hostile.

"I'm not! And don't call me 'kid'! I'm twenty-three. I ain't been nobody's kid in a long time."

"Okay, fine. I stand corrected. You got a name?" I reply calmly.

The young man shifts his weight and tries to look up the hallway.

"You alone?"

I offer the young man a noncommittal smile.

"Why's that important?"

"I said....Are you alone?"

I lower my hands, one hand slowly reaching for the back waistband of my pants. It is too early in the game to be figuring we know all the signs of the recently deranged. Maybe the kid is suffering from the same onset of madness? If so, I need to be ready to put him down.

"And I said....Why is that so damn important?"

The young man becomes antsy. He tries to look up the hallway a second time.

"I thought I heard voices. Before you came in. You're not alone. Why'd you come in here by yourself? You tryin' to fool me or somethin'? Think you're going to rob me? I don't have but a few dollars on me....And I doubt you'll find a working ATM, right now!"

I shake my head solemnly and drop my hand from my waistband.

"Nah. Don't have time to play games! I had to see if you were a threat. You're not a threat....Are you....Uh....I still didn't get your name?"

"Zachary....Morris....Zach. I....Uh....No. I was looking for something to eat. Or maybe a working phone. Even a radio, so I can find out what goin' on. My dad....Is Martin Morris. He owns the Toyota dealership outside of town. I was visitin' my girlfriend when my car broke down. Just stopped running on me. Hell, it's a freaking 2021...And it just conked out! I can't get hold of my girl or my parents. My phone's dead too. Got a charge on it, but won't do anythin'! No signal. No dial tone. No automated voice on the line...Nothin'! My dad and Mr. Shrouder know each other real well. We have four pitbulls, and Mr. Shrouder sells my dad their food for a really great deal. Thought I'd raid the mini fridge in the kitchenette. See what I could find."

"Sorry, Zach. We beat you to it. All that's left in the fridge is a jar of pickles. None of us were too keen on pickles....So, we left 'em in there. They're all yours!"

Zach looks beside himself with hunger. He points toward the front counter. An empty glass jar sits near the edge.

"Already ate 'em! Did that first thing. Hey....Do you know what's happenin'? It's like the whole town has gone dark! And I had to outrun some winos yesterday that were tweaked out on something. I nearly didn't outrun 'em! And we're talkin' really old guys. Guys you could normally push over with your pinky finger....They're so drunk. But, yesterday....They're chasing me like next year's Olympic champions. I tell you....Whatever they were on....I wish I had had me some in high school!"

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"No, you don't!" I mutter sarcastically. "And no, I don't know what's happening? Any more than you do. What I do know....Is that my wife is missing and that the world is going to Hell in a hand basket. Real quick!"

Zach lowers his gaze and shifts his weight.

"You know if there's someplace in here I can sleep? I'm pretty much dead on my feet. Been wandering around the streets all night. Tried to sleep in a garage I found opened, but I was afraid the owner would show up and shoot me for trespassing. I really need to catch a few winks. Then, I wanna see if I can find my girl....Ginna. But I have gotta get some sleep! Since you all are here....I guess this is as good a place as any. Safer anyway."

I touch my gun. Reassuring myself that it is there in case I need it. I nod toward the back of the store.

"Yeah. Follow me. We'll get you some blankets too. Come on."

†***********************************†

Less than an hour after Zach's head hits the cot, he is back up again. Tiffany finds him vomiting violently on the floor and seeks me out. She leads me back to the office with a worried look. I can tell by the look on Zach's face that he would rather be anywhere but here.

"Ahhh....Man. I'm sorry. Get me some towels and I'll clean it up! I'm so sorry! Had to be the pickles. I ate every frickin' one of them....And the juice. They were probably old. I was just so hungry man! That probably wasn't such a good idea! I feel like I'm gonna puke up everything I ate for the last few weeks. God, it hurts bad!"

Tiffany walks to Zach's side and begins rubbing his back. He seems to calm down a bit.

"Hey, look....Zach. Nobody's judging you okay? It's okay."

Carla brings over a small wastebasket and places it at Zach's feet. He nods gratefully.

"Thanks. Like I said....Find me some towels and I'll clean it up! It's my mess! I...I shouldn't have eaten all those damn pickles! That was real dumb!"

Carla squeezes his right forearm and gives him a sympathetic smile.

"I'll see what I can find."

She exits the room and heads up the hallway. I return my gaze to Zach.

"Whatever ails you....I think you need to rest up a bit longer. You're in no condition to be goin' anywhere. And with everything that's goin' on....I really do think we should all sit tight for a bit. Give the authorities and whoever time to sort this stuff out. Maybe even mobilize the National Guard? We go running all over, looking for survivors, and we might end up in a worse situation. I think we should sit tight for another day or so. Let things right themselves or at least settle down. God knows, we've all been through Hell. We're probably all in shock. We'll spend the rest of the day combing the shop, and the shed, for anything we can use. Batteries, flashlights, candles, radio, tools....Anything. Then, tomorrow....We look around town a bit. But in the meantime, you rest up! Okay?"

Zach moans weakly and cradles his head with both hands. He is barely able to meet my gaze.

"Yeah...Sure. Don't feel much like arguing with you....I feel like somethin' the cat dragged in. Alright. sure."

"Alright."

As I turn to leave, Tiffany races up to me. There is a concerned expression on her face.

"What do we do about food? We haven't found anything else to eat!"

I smile secretively and pat her left shoulder.

"You let me worry about that!"

†***********************************†

Carla is seated cross-legged on a nest of blankets. She pushes a piece of sauce-covered meat around on her plate. After a moment of this, she glances at me with a stern expression.

"What kind of meat is this, James?"

I pretend to be absorbed in watching the colors of the slowly setting sun. I can hear her just fine. I'm buying myself enough time to devise an answer that won't upset her sensitive stomach.

"James?"

I turn my head in her direction and act deaf and dumb.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"I asked you....What kind of meat is this? It doesn't taste like anything I've had before. It almost taste like....I guess, what you call....'gamey'? Almost like eating....I don't know....Just different. What is it?"

I pat my pistol softly and grin.

"Don't ask questions you really don't want the answer to. Take it from me....It won't hurt ya. Promise."

Zach snorts loudly, almost inhaling a biteful of food up his nasal passages, and manages a small laugh.

"Not anymore!"

I join in the laughter because it feels good to do so.

"Yeah....Right!"

Carla is not amused. She looks at us both with a mixture of sympathy and disgust. With an eye roll, and a sigh, she climbs to her feet.

"Forget I asked. I don't want to know anymore. I hope I don't spend the rest of the night puking my guts out too, though! It's probably better that I don't know!"

Carla takes her plastic cup and plate to the small kitchenette, adjacent the office, and I can hear her scraping the remaining food into the trash. Such a shame to let good possum got to waste. Tiffany offers me a sly smile.

"My old man used to make this for us all the time. Except, he always added a side of greens and a big ol' tray of cornbread....With cracklin'. You got some cracklin' hidden somewhere, James?"

I put my empty plate on the floor and stretch lazily.

"Nope. Can't say I do. Sorry, hon. Wish I did. Maybe we'll find some on our scavenger hunt tomorrow?"

Zach chimes in. The thought of food seems to reenergize him.

"I don't care what we find. As long as it's edible. And NOT pickles! I don't wanna see another pickle for....For forever! But that possu....That meal was real good! 'Specially with that smoked barbeque sauce. Never quite had it that way. Thank you for that!"

"I'm glad you liked it!" I state with a wide grin. For a brief moment, I almost forget the tragedies of the past two days. Almost. But then, the reason for being stuck in a feed store-- with three random people-- comes right on back to me. Will I ever see my wife again? And if she's dead....Like Reverend Cox suggested....How long 'til we all join her?

I glance over at Tiffany and catch her giving me a strange look. A look, I can't quite put my finger on. I decide to say nothing.

Carla rejoins us and plops down on her pile of blankets. A pocket-sized book is clasped in one hand. I beckon toward it questioningly.

"Where'd you find the reading material?"

"In the medicine cabinet....In the bathroom," Carla answers matter-of-factly. As if this is something I ought to have known.

"Did you disinfect it, first? You never know where it's been....Or why?" I offer jokingly.

Tiffany's giggle nearly drowns out Carla's deep sigh.

"Do you have to be so nasty, James? I'm trying to de-stress a little. I don't need you fillin' my head with images of dirty ol' men!"

"Who says it was old man Shrouder? Might have been his son....Or his nephew!?"

Carla's voice rises in pitch.

"James!"

"Okay. Fine. I'll keep my dirty man jokes to myself. So sen-si-tive! Jeez-zus!"

For a few moments, the world is back like it should be. A group of decent human beings sharing a moment and enjoying a laugh together. But good things....Almost never last.