No Ordinary Day , Tate, Harley [ebook offline .TXT] 📗

they approached the door, a man with a clipboard propped on his belly held up a pen. “Morning, morning. Whatcha fine folks here for?”

Emma took a step forward. “Shoes and socks.”

He ran his pen down a list where every other item was slashed with a red line. “Looks like you’re in luck. Now if you need heaters, propane, freeze-dried food, any of that, forget it. All cleared out as soon as we opened this morning.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

“Yes, sir. First thing.” He glanced at Tank standing beside Holly and let out a low whistle. “He sure is handsome, but no dogs allowed, I’m afraid.”

Holly began to protest, but John held up his hand. They didn’t need a scene. “Understood.” He turned to Holly. “Can you stay out here with Tank?”

Emma cut him a glance. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Tank stood tall and alert, as if already knowing his role. “I think Tank’s got it covered.” He bent down to the dog. “You’re in charge, understood? You keep her safe until we get back.”

Tank sat beside Holly, head swiveling as he watched the road. Good dog. John stood. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Thirteen

Emma

The second the door to the small sporting goods store opened, Emma’s stomach lurched. People milled like frantic ants, carrying six times their body weight in coolers, sleeping bags, and everything else not nailed down. She leaned toward John. “Maybe we should go.”

“Nonsense. We’re here now. We’ll get you some shoes and we’ll get out.”

Emma sucked in a breath. I can do this. She scanned the signs hanging above the aisles, searching for footwear. John found it first.

His fingers slipped around her arm just above the elbow and he steered her toward the aisle. “Stick close to me. This could get dicey.”

“Get your hands off my deep fryer!” A woman in sweatpants and a fuzzy sweater covered in hearts cursed like a sailor as she yelled. She held onto the sides of a stainless steel deep fryer so hard her knuckles turned white. “It’s mine!”

“Is not! I saw it first.” A man in his sixties, Emma guessed, with a grizzled beard and caterpillar eyebrows, refused to budge. He gripped the other end of the deep fryer with both hands. “It don’t matter if you saw it first, I touched it first.” He widened his stance. “Seeing as how I’m bigger, I’m just gonna take it.” The man yanked on the fryer and the woman stumbled forward, fingers still curled around the lip.

“Oww! You’re hurting me!”

“Then let go, you stupid cow.”

John eased around the fighting pair, pulling Emma with him.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Emma cast a wary glance at the older man as she scooted past them. “She’s going to get hurt.”

John dropped his voice to a whisper. “Not if you value your health and safety. That fight’s no business of ours.”

While John had a point, it didn’t sit well with Emma. Surely the pair could be reasoned with. But before she could come up with anything to say, John had steered her clear out of the aisle. A man burst by, half jogging with an arm full of stadium blankets, and the wool scraped across Emma’s face. What on Earth?

People were acting like it was the end of the world. She thought about the conversation out in the road and unease pricked her skin.

“They’re just over here.” John pointed at a display on the far wall. Where new shoes used to line tidy shelves, only a few castoffs remained.

Emma’s shoulders sagged. “We’re too late.”

“You don’t know that.”

She crouched in front of the ransacked shoe display and picked through the boxes. Too small, too big, missing one. John stood like a sentry, hands clasped in front of him, feet shoulder width apart. “You know, you could come down here and help me. It would probably go faster.”

He spoke without turning his head. “You’d rather I kept watch, believe me.”

Emma suppressed a shiver. First Zach, now this insanity. She had to believe this was temporary. That people had lost their minds over the blackout, but that when the power came back on, everything would go back to normal. She clung to that hope and she resumed her search. At last, she found a pair. Neon yellow with bright orange laces. Not the most attractive, but they beat sensible pumps for a ten-mile hike any day.

She held them up to John. “As long as we’re not trying to be stealthy, I guess these will do.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Emma shrugged. “Maybe I can find some matching socks.” She hurried to the end of the aisle where a handful of socks remained scattered on the floor. She grabbed two pairs. “Let’s go.”

Together, they made their way toward the checkouts. People queued in tight-packed lines, crowding in anticipation.

John eased up behind a man in the shortest line holding a basket full of runners’ goo packets. From the flip-flops and cut-off shorts to the beer belly, he didn’t look like a seasoned athlete.

Emma leaned close to John and whispered, “You really think he’s that into running?”

“My guess is that’s the only food left in the store.”

Emma pulled back and looked around. Every person stood with pensive, worried expressions. One woman clutched a sleeping bag to her chest while she held a grubby toddler’s hand. Another carried a cooler and a bundle of waterproof matches. The man who fought over the deep fryer gloated over his prize with his chest puffed out and his hands on his hips.

They inched forward one customer at a time, until it was their turn. The clerk took the box of shoes and socks and punched the prices into a handheld calculator. “That’ll be $87.90 please.”

Emma reached for her wallet and pulled out a credit card.

The cashier tapped on a piece of paper taped to the counter. Cash Only!!! was scrawled in marker.

Emma’s cheeks heated. “I never carry cash.”

John reached for his pocket. “I’ve got it.” He fished out a handful of twenties and held them out for the cashier.

“You