“I’ll go check it out. You two stay here and watch the front.” I nodded at the front entrance of the store.
Jake kept a tight hold on Abby’s coat. He pulled her out from behind him, then pointed at the register near them. “Get over there, sweetie, and stay low.”
Abby moved to the shadows that lurked between the two check-out lanes and hunched down.
Jake dug his hand into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small-black flashlight. “Here. You’ll need this. It’s pretty dark back there.”
I dismissed the offer, pulled the Maglite from my coat pocket, then thumbed the button on the bottom of the casing. A bright, white light shone from the lens. I trained it down the open space in the direction of the receiving area.
“Stay quiet. No noise. I’ll be right back.”
Jake nodded, then moved toward the entrance of the store. He stood, shoulder resting against the side of the door as he looked to the street.
Abby shot me a quick look from the depths of the check-out lane. A portion of her face hid within the shadows. She appeared to be calm and collected. No visible tremble of fear resided on what little I could see of her young face.
I tilted my head at her. “It’s going to be all right. Just wait there.”
The noise grew louder. I advanced toward the stock room, moving fast but staying vigilant. I closed in on the black swinging doors, sweeping the nearby aisles and shelves stocked with an assortment of canned and bagged food.
I toed the outer edge of the stock room, leaned in close, and trained my ear to the narrow opening between the doors. My fingers squeezed the dagger tighter as I listened to the banging and contorting of metal.
My shoulder nudged the door open. I slipped inside the dark room. The light washed over the steel shelves, various canned goods, and other non-perishable items scattered across them.
An office came into view on the far wall, the door wide open. The office window facing me had its blinds down. I craned my neck and trained the light at the empty office chair that rested against the white-concrete wall.
A dense thud echoed through the enclosed space. I turned away from the office, then shone the light at the exit door along the back wall. The door shuddered.
I slipped past the few pallets of product and cases of water, moving fast toward the exit. The small roll-up door to the side of the gray-steel exit lifted off the concrete an inch or so, then dropped back down. I stood to the side of the exit, wedged between the jamb and fire extinguisher that hung on the wall.
The door moved, then popped open. Hinges squeaked. I thumbed the switch to the flashlight, turning it off, and waited to strike.
A dull gleam shone from outside. I pulled my feet back into the darkness, away from the opening, then pocketed the flashlight. The dagger sat ready in my hand.
The door flung open. A beam of light shone from outside to the floor of the stock room. I couldn’t gauge the strength of their numbers from where I stood.
A set of boots toed the entrance. I caught the faint glimpse of what looked like a crowbar flash in front of the opening, then vanish. The light scanned over the receiving area from side to side.
I waited for the threat to present itself. The curved head of the black crowbar breached the opening, followed by the man wielding the steel piece.
As he stepped inside the building, I grabbed his arm wielding the crowbar, and jerked him around. He flinched, then looked my way. The dual-filter painter’s mask he wore had been painted red. Goggles covered his eyes. A black beanie shielded his head and ears.
I jabbed him in the side of the neck twice with the United Cutlery Push Dagger. The tip ripped through his flesh with ease. A muffled groan seeped from the mask. His legs gave. He crumbled to the stock room floor.
I caught a flash of black moving around the door and through the ash, heading for the opening. I turned, took a step back, and brought my arms up in front of me.
A taller, thicker masked man, wearing much the same head gear as the dead soul on the floor, rushed the entrance with a switchblade clutched in his gloved hand. He breached the building and lunged at me, swinging the blade at my midsection.
I took a step back, avoiding the lethal blow. A throbbing pain lanced through my hip from the sudden movement, causing me to stop and lose my balance. He attacked again, slashing at my chest.
The blade sliced through a portion of my coat and up past my shoulder. I jabbed him in the sternum, then followed with a right cross that landed on the side of his face. My knuckles hit the filter, bones aching from the impact.
The glancing blow stunned him. His hand palmed the center of his chest. He stumbled back.
I jabbed him again in the side with the dagger, then moved. He swung his arm in ponderous slow motion, missing me by a mile. He bent over, struggling to keep upright. I struck the side of his neck like a cobra, then shoved him to the floor.
The switchblade fell from his hand and hit the concrete. He landed on his side and palmed his neck. His body twitched for a moment, then stopped.
My chest heaved. The discomfort in my hip lessened, allowing me to stand and walk without limping too much.
I dipped my chin and looked at both of the dead men sprawled out on the
