Whiteside and Brown came next, crawling across shattered glass. After a few brief moments on their knees, they were inside the gloom of the store. He heard the squeak of a sneaker on the linoleum, and he knew the dead were inside. To Brown, he said, "Shine that light, man."
Brown illuminated the gloom of the store, and they headed straight ahead down a wide aisle that would afford them visibility. The customer service desk was smack dab in the middle of the store. In the aisle, the beam of Brown's flashlight illuminated the dead, shambling and heading in their direction. Allen and Day split off to their left to round up some of the camping equipment.
"You want I should pop 'em?" Whiteside asked.
"Do it," Brown said back, his voice tight. Whiteside wondered if Brown was as scared as he was. If only there was some way to pop the roof of the grocery store off and let in the gray light of the sky.
Whiteside took aim at one of the shadows. The muzzle flash from his rifle seared into his vision, but when he looked again, the shape was on the ground. The sound of the muffled shot was loud. In another part of the store, he heard similar sounds. The dead had come to do some shopping. The two soldiers slid up the large aisle, moving around the tables of seasonal merchandise that had been set up in the middle. Summer crap like swimming pools, box fans, novelty ice trays in the shape of things like the Death Star or Disney characters all sat untouched, forgotten, and useless. When they came upon the tables, Brown and Whiteside had to split apart to go around them and continue forward. To Whiteside's right, racks of clothing hung rotting on hangers. The mannequins, with their cold eyes, made his trigger finger feel tight.
To his right, he heard a noise. He spun, getting his rifle up in time to send a round through one of the dead he had mistaken for a mannequin. It fell to the ground inches from him, its ventilated skull spilling black liquid onto the tile floor. His boot squelched as he spun to continue toward the customer service desk.
A table piled high with beach towels and bathing suits separated Whiteside from Brown when he saw the muzzle flash of Brown's rifle. "You ok?" Whiteside asked. He didn't want to have to be in here on his own. The place was damn spooky. Ahead he spotted three more of the dead stumbling in their direction.
Brown said, "I'm fine. Damn thing seemed to come out of nowhere." Then they walked together, firing on the dead, moving smoothly.
"Check your right," Brown said.
Whiteside spun to his right, prepared for the worst, but all he saw were two Annies about ten feet away. "Got 'em," he said before putting them on the ground.
They reached the rectangular customer service desk. Whiteside vaulted on top of the counter. "Shit," he said as the blood-soaked sole of his boot slipped on the counter's dusty surface, causing him to land behind the counter with a thump, his face inches from a rotting corpse. He let out a small squeak and then popped to his feet.
"You good?" Brown asked.
"Yeah, man, yeah." Whiteside shined his flashlight on the merchandise behind the counter. He smiled as the beam played over the rows of cigarettes. The major brands were gone, stolen or bought up by panicked patrons. But beggars couldn't be choosers. He located the lighters and, one by one, pulled them from the plastic tray that held them. He shoved them into his bag without worry. They could sort them out later. "You want some chew?" Whiteside asked.
Brown's only answer was three sets of muzzle flashes. He heard the faint thump of bodies dropping to the ground. "No? Suit yourself." Whiteside grabbed a carton of cigarettes and stuffed it into his bag. He didn't recognize the brand, but he didn't care.
"You get what we need?" Brown asked.
"Check."
"Let's get some food then."
Behind them, the store had filled with more of the dead as they crawled their way in, one-by-one. As Whiteside turned to scan the path they had come in on, he saw scores of them shambling down the aisle, knocking novelty ice trays to the ground. He turned away from them, knowing that they needed to be a little bit quicker than they had been. In front, he could make out the shapes of more of the dead entering from the blue glare of daylight at the other end of the store.
"Let's go," he said. The pair picked up their pace and moved to the grocery section of the store.
"Make sure you're not shooting one of us," Brown said. "Look twice."
They turned down a promising aisle filled with the remains of canned goods. They didn't take their time. They weren't choosy. If it was in a can, and it looked like food, they took it. Whiteside did the grabbing, shoving cans into Brown's backpack until it was full, and he couldn't fit anymore in.
"Good," Whiteside said and tapped Brown on the shoulder. He stepped in front of Brown, and Brown repeated the process, shoving cans in Whiteside's backpack this time. By the time they had finished, Whiteside felt like he was carrying forty pounds of shit on his back. He just hoped his carton of smokes wasn't getting crushed.
He jumped as a shape appeared at the end of the aisle. But it was just Masterson and his tired face. Whiteside gave him a nod, and Masterson headed down another aisle with Gregg trailing after him. "God, I'm going to be glad to get the hell out of here."
"Me and you both, pal," Brown said.
They cinched their knapsacks tight and headed to the staging area.
****
Day and Allen had the shit job of rounding up
