“They sounded heavy,” Ralph said, out of breath.

“Military?” I asked. We crouched behind the employee doors of the warehouse after pulling our stuffed shopping carts, looking through the small plastic windows.

“Bikes.”

We watched as six men dressed in black leather and shades combed through the store. Sawed-off shotguns and revolvers adorned their hips while rebel flags were stitched to their chests and backs. Their beards were as yellow as their rotten teeth that gave crooked smiles upon the dead man.

We crept upon the concrete floor as we exited the warehouse. With squeaky wheels and falling boxes of cereal from our carts, we managed to push our supplies through the doors unnoticed. But it didn’t stop us from hurrying when we heard the bikes rev their engines and felt the ground tremble beneath our feet.

The bikers encircled the building while Ralph and I ventured into an alley nearby. A trail of cookies and snack cakes was left in our wake that one of the bikers easily noticed. I was hunched over picking up the candy bars that fell from my pockets when a blast from a shotgun splintered the wooden fence behind me.

Sugar poured on the sidewalk as I fell to the ground frightened. Ralph dragged my cart forward and used it as cover as he took potshots at the biker. With no road to drive upon and no cover to hide behind in the open field of snow, the biker sped off.

“Come on, Sage. Greenwall Street is only a couple blocks away.” Ralph lifted me to my feet and pulled the carts down the road. Through a maze of alleys, neighborhoods, and paths dedicated to drain the Kansas storms, we were okay. But the distant thunder of rumbling engines was a constant reminder of people who sought out to do us harm.

Our bountiful haul wasn’t overflowing as it was before, but we were proud of what we scored. Some would’ve called looting on the second day of the apocalypse ‘theft,’ but I called it survival. Mostly everyone seemed to have agreed that the game of continued existence began and the rules of an archaic society were left to wither.

“I bet you didn’t expect to be shot at and hunted down this morning, huh?” Ralph laughed.

I scoffed, “I only went to the store to get milk for my cereal!”

“Yikes, tough life already. What kind was it?”

“Captain Sugar,” I said under my frosted breath.

Ralph winced and shook his head, “You definitely need milk for those. They’ll scratch the shit out of your mouth if you eat them dry.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

We caught our breath in a narrow alley and waited for the sounds of motorcycles to dissipate. Ralph and I’s houses were two streets away. We were childhood friends that grew up on the same road. He was more of Don’s friend than mine, but he was always nice to me. After we graduated high school, we didn’t talk much. Though, being with him made me feel safe through the beginnings of this new world.

The dim afternoon of a gray sky came before we reached Greenwall. A neighborhood once brimming with all families alike now sat still in the silence of winter. I missed the barbecues, the children playing, the smell of cut grass in the morning while the dew still dripped from leaves. Now, all I heard was the howling of motorbikes and the smell of gunpowder.

Ralph pushed me aside when we saw the pack of wolves speeding down the road. Our carts were stuck in the snow and we were too late to return back to the alleys before they had us down their iron-sights. Shell casings bounced off the powdery asphalt as they drove past us.

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Their aim was atrocious on their first pass, but the pack circled us like injured prey. When I peeked my head above the bullet-ridden dumpster, I saw my house not even a block away. I couldn’t tell if there were 12 or 20 in their swarm each time they drove past. They kept us pinned in the alley. Ralph’s poor accuracy with his pistol was unable to draw them away this time.

A bullet whizzed by Ralph’s ear and punctured the trash can with a metallic ting. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, feeling the side of his head for injuries.

“You okay!?” I shouted over the engines.

Ralph shot twice more into the swarming streets, “We’re fucking dead here! I’ll lead them away! You run to your house and bar the door!”

“What about you!? What’s your plan!?”

“You’ll see!” Ralph smirked. “Be sure none follow you back home!” He rushed out of the alley firing his pistol and making his way to our shopping carts. The bikers swerved. Their aim was unfocused. Between parked cars and the build-up of snow, I could see the holes in Ralph’s clothes but I saw no blood fall from him.

He pushed his shopping cart off the sidewalk and watched as two bikers sped into it. An eruption of cereal and sugar flew through the air while Ralph shot the two downed motorcyclists. I could hear the shouts and cries from the wolves when they checked on their brethren. I didn’t see if they rose from the earth but the area was painted red and their bodies were left on the street. Ralph took three more shots at the gathering crowd before he disappeared down the road. The bikers revved their engines and with a rallying cry they followed him.

I heard the echoes of the engines fade into the distant city. “Dammit, Ralph. You better live,” I muttered. I proceeded to wrangle the shopping carts from the snow and cross the road. It felt like the bodies stared at me while I pulled each of the baskets up my porch steps. I busted through my front door and wheeled them in. Puddles of water and snow littered the wood floor; I could only imagine my parents scolding me for making such a mess.

Ralph’s other cart was back across the road. I didn’t want to think of what his fate was. If he breathed frosted air and still lived. If he lay bleeding in the snow. I don’t know what gave me the courage to retrieve his items. Was it my own naivety and belief that he’d return to retrieve his property? Or was it selfishness in this frozen hell to take his belongings for myself? Either way, I betrayed Ralph and unwittingly spat on his words of wisdom when one of the bikers followed me home.

I was dragging Ralph’s shopping cart up the stairs when I heard the whooping hollering of an aged man and the screams of his trike down Greenwall. The cart’s wheel stuck between the porch steps. The bellows grew louder. When I saw the silhouette crest over the hill I dropped the basket and watched it fall down the steps, scattering supplies in the snow. I ran into my house and locked my front door but it was too late.

Between the curtains and the frame of the window beside my front door, I saw the trike pull in front of my house. It popped over the sidewalk curb and ran over my plastic mailbox. The gun Ralph gave me was held taut. Its cold steel frame grew warm in my grip.

The leather-clad biker turned off his trike, pulled the sawed-off from his holster, and unsheathed the 12-inch knife from his hip.

“I think you made a mess, little missy! Come on out and I’ll help you clean up!”

I made sure the safety was off on my pistol. When I looked back outside I saw him staring at the window I looked through. I dropped to the floor and shivered while my back pressed against the wall. I could hear each heavy footfall climb my porch. In the seconds of silence after, I only heard my own shaken breaths. He then rattled the door handle.

“Come on out missy and I won’t hurt you!” he snickered. A calloused fist pounded against the door that grew stronger and stronger. Then it stopped. The silence came. I braced myself for what he’d do next. With trembling hands, I aimed my pistol out in front of me.

The shotgun blast shook my house and sent a ringing into my ears. Splinters from the door stuck into the walls as he barged inside with a steel-toed boot. I repeatedly pulled the trigger toward the doorway with my head turned and eyes closed. Each shot forcefully pulled my wrist upward until I stopped when it felt like my tendons were going to tear.

Then the silence came again.

My ears came to and I was unable to see a body. Bullet holes riddled my walls and my front door stood crooked. I hesitantly rose to my feet while frosted winds blew through my house. Before I could take another step, I froze in fear when I heard the creaking of wood on my porch. Then my ears drowned in the incessant ringing of a silent earth while the smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils. Shards of glass pierced my skin from the shot-through window. The last I saw was the twirling snowflakes of a gray sky entering my home before a calloused hand tightened around my throat.