Sarah stopped, faced the way she came, and squeezed the trigger. The shotgun barked. Fire flashed from the muzzle. The scattered buckshot hammered what food remained on the back walls.
The woman trailing her dove for cover.
Sarah kept the shotgun shouldered, turned toward the receiving area, and tugged on the fore-end. The spent shell ejected, clanged off the floor near her shoes, and another loaded into the action. She fired two more times at the two men rushing headlong at her.
They ducked and scattered, firing their pistols in her direction. The incoming bullets pinged off the shelves before her. She leaned away from the gunfire.
Her ears rang from the loud, harsh report of the tactical weapon. She shook her head, then opened her mouth wide.
The pack pressed to the ends of the shelves, rubbing against the blunt, hard surface. Her lips clamped shut and nostrils flared from the panted breaths that blew from her nose. Beads of sweat continued to race down her face, cooling her heated, flushed skin.
The gunfire ebbed.
Silence filled the food mart.
Sarah inched her way to the end of the shelves and crouched, trying to peer through the gaps between each one. The lights from their flashlights cut off, making it harder to track their movement.
“What did you do to our friends?” the deep voiced man asked. “Did you kill them?”
Sarah held her tongue, peering through the low light for any shadowy figures moving toward her. She turned and moved to the other side of the aisle, looking for the woman.
“I didn’t kill anyone even though one of your men attacked me,” Sarah answered, yelling.
“Where are they?” he shot back, angered.
“You toss your weapons out into the aisle here, and I’ll tell you, but not before that happens,” Sarah replied, watching for the woman.
“Don’t trust her. She probably killed Clint and Danny,” the woman said, her voice laced with venomous spite.
“Like I said, I didn’t kill anyone,” Sarah said, growing impatient. “If you want to know where they are, toss your damn guns, now.”
“Not going to happen,” the woman replied. “There’s three of us and only one of you. Tell us what you did with them and perhaps we’ll kill you fast.”
“The clock is ticking. What’s it going to be?” Sarah said, staying low.
She glanced through the opening between the shelves, staring at the entrance to the receiving area. It was close, yet so far away.
Sarah wiped the sweat from her brow with her arm, took a deep breath, and lowered her head in frustration. Her options for escape had been reduced to a rock and a hard place. She didn’t want to leave the Chevelle, or the food she’d gathered, behind, but getting to both seemed like an impossible task.
The shotgun had three, maybe four rounds left, and the Glock had a full magazine. She could make a stand for a bit longer, but was it worth the risk? Once both weapons clicked empty, she’d be vulnerable.
Sarah glanced at the floor around her feet and noticed the canned and packaged goods scattered about. An idea gelled inside her head as she skimmed over the various shadowy items close to her. She needed a distraction, something to throw them off.
The inside of the food mart grew silent once more. Subtle noises lingered in the air. The threats from the two men and angered woman had fallen to the wayside as Sarah crouched at the end of the aisle.
She searched for a small can while looking to either side of the shelves. The barrel of the shotgun dipped toward the floor as her hand swept the dimness. Her fingers grazed over the items before her, touching and studying each until she found something that would work.
Sarah pulled a small can from the murk and clutched it tight in her palm. She turned and flitted her gaze to the top of the shelves next to her in the direction of the receiving area.
A shadowy figure lurked at the other end of the aisle. She spotted the movement from the corner of her eye. The brief flash of muzzle fire lit up. The report made her flinch. She hit the floor in a blink.
The incoming bullet pinged off the shelf near her. She rolled to her feet and tossed the can at the man stalking her from the far end of the aisle.
He lowered his pistol to the floor and dodged the canned food with ease.
Sarah shouldered the shotgun and fired without aiming. The blast stopped the man cold. The buckshot hammered his lower legs from what she could tell. A painful groan fled his mouth. He screamed in pain and crumbled to the floor.
Footfalls rushed Sarah from behind. Another report fired at close range. The bullet missed her leg by a scant inch and struck the steel behind her.
She spun on the heels of her shoes and tugged on the fore-end. The spent shell flew from the ejection port as the figure closed in on her. The click of their spent pistol rang out as she pulled the trigger.
The barrel of Sarah’s shotgun was knocked down toward the floor as the weapon discharged. The buckshot hammered the linoleum near the growling woman’s feet. She shoved her back into the shelves and wrestled her for control of the weapon.
“You’re going to pay for that,” she said, her voice rising an octave.
The injured man wailed from the end of the aisle, mixing with their heated grunts and panted breaths. The woman pinned her against the shelves, grabbing any part of the shotgun she could with both hands. She twisted the weapon, trying to rip it from her hold.
Sarah kept a firm grip on the stock and fore-end, not giving the weapon up without a fight.
