“Me either.”
“Mrs. Repasky,” Jack said, “told us about how diseases change over time. With each generation, some new and terrible disease pops up. The Black Death, leprosy, cholera, cancer, Aids. That flu strain that killed all those people after World War One. All of these illnesses came out of nowhere, with no warning, and infected millions. So what if mental illnesses suddenly started doing the same thing? What if they mutated?”
Angie snorted. “You’re saying that all those people were infected by some bizarre new psychosis?”
“Maybe,” Jack said. “And we’re immune to it because of the Prozac.”
Sammi shook her head. “Is that even possible?”
“Shit.” Jack shrugged. “How the hell do I know? I’m just a stock boy.”
THREE
“I hope my family is okay.” Sammi’s nose had turned from red to white, and tiny ice crystals clung to her eyelashes. “I promised my little sister I’d help her with her homework tonight. She’s in eighth grade.”
Without warning, she started to cry again.
“Try not to think about it,” Marcel said. “Ain’t nothing we can do for them right now.”
Angie frowned. “That’s pretty cold, don’t you think?”
“No,” Marcel said. “It’s not cold. Just practical. I got people at home, too. And I know they’d want me to stay alive.”
“Cold . . .” Sammi sniffled. “It’s so cold in here.”
The others nodded in agreement. Jack stood up, stretched his stiff arms and legs, and crept to the door. He put his ear close to the frigid metal and listened.
“Hear anything?” Marcel asked.
“No. Nothing. It’s quiet. Seriously, guys—it’s been a while since we heard anything. Maybe they’re all gone— or dead.”
“Maybe,” Marcel said, “or could be it’s just a trap. Maybe they’re waiting right outside the door.”
“Well,” Angie whispered, “we can’t stay in here much longer. That’s for sure. We’ll get frostbite, not to mention there’s no food or water—unless you count that frozen stuff. And pretty soon, I’m going to have to go to the bathroom.”
Marcel pointed to the corner. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out. We won’t look.”
“No thanks. I can hold it a little while longer.”
“I’m staying put,” Marcel said. “You guys will too, if you’re smart.”
Jack returned to the group and hunkered down on his haunches. “Screw that. I’m not starving to death inside a grocery store freezer. I’d rather take my chances out there.”
“Same here,” Sammi said. “I want to see my family. I want my Mom.”
“One step at a time,” Jack told her. “First we have to get out of this freezer.”
Marcel sighed. “Oh fuck me running. I’m not going to be able to talk you guys out of this, am I?”
“No,” Jack said, “but we won’t blame you if you want to stay behind. We’ll send help, soon as we find some. I promise.”
Angie pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open, checking the time. “It should be dark outside. If we’re going to try it, now is the time.”
“We’ve been in here that long?” Jack was surprised.
Angie nodded.
“You know what they say,” Marcel muttered. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Jack smiled. “Does that mean you changed your mind? You coming with us?”
“I was outvoted, wasn’t I? Either way, you guys are gonna open that door. I’m not staying here by myself. There’s safety in numbers. Besides, my head hurts. Think I’m probably dehydrated, so I need to find some water, at the very least. Either that, or start licking the ice off those boxes over there.”
They fell silent. Sammi, Angie and Marcel stared at Jack, waiting for him to make a decision. It was not lost on him that somehow, he’d become their leader. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“We need weapons, just in case they are waiting for us.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box cutter. “Look around. What do we have?”
They searched the freezer, hunting through the shelves, racks and drawers, and looking under pallets. Marcel found a jagged length of wood from a broken skid. A nail jutted from the end. He swung the board through the air, testing it.
“That’ll work for me.”
Sammi found an old mop and broke the handle over her knee, creating a makeshift spear. She winced in pain, and rubbed her knee. Although he didn’t say it out loud, Jack was impressed. Sure, Sammi had muscles from her particular type of bulimia, but he was surprised she had enough strength to snap the handle. Maybe her fear was giving her extra power.
Then he noticed that she was also rubbing her wrist.
“You okay?”
She nodded, grimacing. “Yeah. Jeremy almost broke my wrist earlier. It’s just a little sore.”
Angie grabbed a pack of frozen steaks.
“What are you gonna do with those?” Sammi asked.
Angie smacked the steaks against her thigh with a loud whack. She grinned. “Knock somebody out until I find something better.”
Sammi returned the smile. “That’s pretty kick ass.
“I thought so, too.”
Jack extended the blade of his box-cutter. The dim overhead bulb glinted off the razor’s edge. He took a deep breath and shuddered.
“I hope I don’t have to use this. I’ve never . . . cut anybody before.”
“Maybe they’re gone,” Sammi said. “It’s pretty quiet out there now.”
Nodding, Jack looked at each of them. They nodded back in return.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”
“You guys sure about this?” Marcel whispered. “Maybe we should wait?”
Jack frowned. “I thought you were coming with us?”
“I am. But I’ve never been more fucking scared in my life. Just stalling I guess.”
“We’re all scared,” Angie said. “But if we wait any longer, we’ll freeze to death. Let’s get it over with, before we lose our nerve.”
They surrounded the door, weapons at the ready. Their breath clouded the air. Working as quietly as he could, Jack sliced through the strapping bands and shrink-wrap . Then, with one last glance at the others, he opened the door. It swung slowly outward. Jack’s breath caught in his chest. He shielded his eyes with his free hand. Behind him, the others did the same. The lights were still on in the stockroom, and they were temporarily blinded by the brightness.
Sammi sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
Their eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Angie gasped, dropping her steak. It thumped on the floor. Marcel retched. Turning away, Sammi put her hand over her mouth and nose. Jack stepped out into the wreckage and tried to be brave. His left shoe squelched on something—a kidney, a liver, a spleen—he wasn’t sure what. Some kind of internal organ. That much he could confirm. When he picked up his foot, there was a tread mark in the remains.
The stockroom had been ransacked. Blood-spattered boxes and cartons were ripped open. Some of the containers had been emptied of their original contents and were now filled with gore. Cases of canned goods had been dumped out on the floor. A stack of skids had fallen over. Arms and legs stuck out from beneath the wooden pallets. Blood pooled around an upended pallet jack. The lower half of a naked torso lay on the floor. Innards stretched away from the body like fleeing snakes. A dead man hung from a forklift, the prongs impaling his limp corpse. Severed hands, limbs, fingers and heads lay everywhere, along with unidentifiable scraps of human tissue —cuts of meat that mirrored the choices in the butcher’s showcase up front. The room was silent, except for the incessant buzzing of flies. It stank—blood, shit, slaughter. The unpainted concrete walls were red. So was the floor. Blood had even splattered across the ceiling.
“Well,” Angie said, “the power’s still on.”
