Everything is too clear, too in focus. The lines on the linoleum, the people sitting just out of reach, it's hard to concentrate on anything. It's like when he would go to the eye doctor for his yearly exams. Which image is clearer, image A or image B? In the beginning, A is always the one that is a little weak, and B is too strong. Somehow, he has gotten stuck in Image B and both his eyes and mind are straining to make sense of everything.
Logan looks up from his hands clasped between his legs. Joseph is wrapping twine around a cabinet door he has removed, pushing the roll through the handle to hold the string in place as he goes around and around. When there is a thick band looping around the width of the rectangle, he slides his hand under the makeshift strap and holds it in front of himself like a shield. It looks tiny in his hands, comical, but maybe it'll protect him if things get bad.
Logan hopes it'll protect his friend. There is no use hoping that things won’t get bad so it won’t be needed.
Izzie has commandeered the short shovel and is attempting to wedge it behind the horizontal bar of an emergency exit across the room. It doesn’t seem to be moving, and he wonders if it is because her upper body strength isn’t enough, or because the shovel is the wrong shape. Maybe he should go over and help.
No, he reasons, he'll just screw it up. The blood-covered lump to his left is all the proof he needs that he won’t be able to help anyone.
Two people whisper over near the vending machines to his right. The man was yelling at him before, but he doesn’t recognize him or the young woman with him. Just past them is…is that Leslie? For a second, Logan feels the will to live welling up inside, and he quietly snorts out a laugh. Of all the people to die with, that psycho brain is on his ‘absolutely not’ list. He vows to survive at least long enough to get away from her.
A shard of guilt stabs his inflating survival instinct. Joseph said she was planning on going out to unlock the doors before, a bit of bravery he wouldn't have suspected her capable of, but Logan had pushed her out of the way while in his daze. In her chair across the room, she reaches down and rubs her ankle with a grimace. She must have gotten hurt when he pushed her. A weight presses down on him, making it hard to breathe. Even if he can’t remember doing it, it's his fault.
He swears quietly, looking down at his fingers as he links his hands together again. Somehow, in some way, he needs to make sure that everyone gets out okay. He owes them all that. He just doesn’t know how.
Movement pulls his attention outwards once more. Leslie is slowly walking toward the counter, clearly favoring her left ankle. Without hesitation, she bends over next to the bloody cover and slides her hand underneath. Shortly she pulls her hand back out with a smirk, having found what it was she was rooting around for.
A small container is clasped in her hand, but he can’t see what it is through the gore. She rinses it in the sink before opening the lid, shaking what looks like pills out into her clean hand, and transferring them to her mouth. A cupped hand fills with clean water that she slurps down before smacking the container down on the counter. She rests her hands on the counter, lifting her foot off the ground, and stands there long enough that Logan begins to wonder if she is okay. Then she places her foot back down, grimaces again, and begins to move.
Joseph stops his work winding twine around another door to watch as she grabs some unused cloths from a pile and a bottle of cleaning solution. She removes the spray nozzle and feeds one corner of the cloth in, shoving the fabric down inside until only half is sticking out into the air. A shiny silver cloth comes out from beneath her shirt and is shaken out, then pulled over her head like a poncho.
“Open the door a crack,” she orders the room in general as she pulls out a small book of what appear to be matches. When nobody moves, she faces Logan and snaps, “I am going to light this, and if you don’t have that door open by the time I do, we are all going up in flames.”
“What are you-” Izzie begins, but Leslie cuts her off.
“I need a distraction.” She strikes a match against the rough pad on the back of the book, and Logan pulls on the table as hard as he can to get it far enough out of the way. As soon as the door is cracked open she thrusts a flaming bottle into his hand. “Throw this at least an aisle or two away. Now! Before the fire hits the chemicals.”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Hissing as many expletives as he can fit in one breath, Logan yanks open the door far enough that he can chuck the bottle out over the shelves. It arcs through the air, erupting into a ball of flame before passing below the line of site. He slams the door shut again, but before he can move the table there is a scream from further in the room. Leslie has her hand twisted in the older woman’s hair and is dragging her to her feet. The man is standing with his hands outstretched but not stopping her.
“Let her go! What are you doing?”
The woman struggles to get her feet underneath her so she doesn’t fall, her scream not breaking for even a second.
“Oh, shut up already!” From behind, Logan can see Leslie jerk the arm not tangled in the woman’s hair, and the scream stops for a moment. She limps to the door, dragging the woman along with her. “Open the door, now.”
He hesitates for just a moment and Leslie jerks, causing the woman to cry out. A trail of blood flows from her neck, and he follows it up to where Leslie’s hand is digging something grey and reflective against her neck. He tries to steady his voice and asks quietly. “What are you doing, Leslie?”
“I said I need a distraction. Two will be better. Now open the door or this one will be wasted.” She pushes a little harder and the trickle of blood flowing out quickens.
Logan squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe the fire will pull enough of the creatures away. Izzie said they hunt by heat. Maybe the woman will be alright. If he doesn’t open the door, though, Leslie will definitely kill her. The hand holding the little knife doesn’t waver. He opens his eyes again and pulls the table back far enough that they'll be able to fit through, then opens the door.
“No! Don’t open that door!”
Hands yank him back, and he watches as the middle-aged man puts his hand on the door as if to shut it. Leslie sighs, and the sound is filled with so much boredom that Logan can’t help but stare at her. “Either you get out of the way and she might survive, or you close that door and she dies right here, right now. Make your choice fast or the fire outside might go out before we can make use of it.”
Hands shaking, the man raises his arms and backs away, swearing emphatically to the woman that he will save her. Leslie kicks the door open the rest of the way, stopping it with her foot when it bounces against the table and tries to close on its own. Then, turning so that her silver-clad back is facing outward, she backs out the door, pulling the woman with her.
The room is silent. Logan listens to his heart beating loudly in his ears. Four, five, then the man surges forward and out the door after them. The spell broken, Logan reaches out and slams the door shut.
“What do we do? We need to help her!” Izzie calls out, rushing for the door, but Joseph reaches out and intercepts her.
“We can’t! You saw Leslie, she didn’t hesitate to push that knife into her neck. And what if the fire didn’t hit something flammable? Even if the monsters are drawn to it, it doesn’t mean it's safe out there! She’s protected by her cover, but the rest of us will be throwing off heat signatures like fireworks in the night!”
“So, what? We should let her kill them, and hope it’s enough to get the doors open?” Izzie’s voice is getting more shrill as she speaks, and she is almost screaming as she gets to the end. She pushes at Joseph’s arms, trying to wiggle free from his grip.
Logan steps in front of her, dodging his head to avoid her swings. “Izzie, he’s right! If you go after them, you are as good as dead-”
A scream from somewhere in the store cuts off his words. Izzie goes limp, clutching onto the arms around her. Someone is shouting, and then the screaming gets louder, a deeper voice joining it. Joseph lets go and picks up his makeshift shield, sliding his right hand into it, then thrusts the one he just finished toward Izzie. She grabs it and hands it to Logan along with his shovel, then picks up her little pike from where she dropped it before.
The screams taper off, and a low, grinding noise replaces them. It takes a moment before Joseph exclaims, “That’s the grates! She got them open!”
Logan watches as his friend runs to the emergency exit and pushes on the bar. It gives easily, and grey light slides into the room. Joseph whoops and waves his shielded arm to call them over.
“We need to get out of here, now! Check for your keys, and let’s go!”
“Wait! Close it most of the way!” Izzie stops them with a shout. She runs up to Joseph and hands him her weapon, then runs across to the wall next to the bathroom and picks up a fire extinguisher from where it has been discarded on the floor. She takes a moment to check it, pulls the pin, and grips the nozzle with one hand while holding on to the handle with the other. She runs back to them, calling, “Stay together! My car is right near the end of the lot close to the entrance, we all get in my car instead of trying to make it to the rest!”
“You think there are more outside?” Logan shifts his hand to grip the shovel more firmly.
“Even if there weren’t any out there before, the ones inside might have run out when the gate opened.” She pulls in close and gestures with the fire extinguisher. “This is full of a chemical that is really cold when it comes out. I might be able to blind them with it, so everyone needs to stay close so we're a smaller target.”
Logan nods, his heart in his throat. He’s never been an impulsive person, preferring to spend the hour before a game calming himself and rarely taking chances outside of football plays. It feels as though only minutes have passed since he woke up with the remains of his girlfriend in front of him, and he hasn’t shaken off the guilt or despair that has taken a firm grip on his mind. He tries to say something inspiring, but the words can’t make it out of his mouth. Joseph looks unsteady as well, but he takes a deep breath and raises his new weapon in one hand, the shield aloft in the other, and pushes the door open swiftly with his hip.