The Supermarket at the End

I was in the middle of using the restroom when I heard the announcement.

“Severe blizzard on the way. Everyone must leave the store now.”

I hurried up, but even so, by the time I made it into the main part of the store, the lights had been turned off and the doors were locked.  That was fast, I thought. I was spooked being in a dark supermarket by myself (hopefully by myself). It had been early afternoon outside, but the snow was coming down fast and the sun was dim.

I was definitely going to sue when I got out of here. Clearly, none of the employees had done a safety check. No one had even knocked on the bathroom!  I peered out the front windows and into the swirling white and shuddered. I immediately thought of Stephen King’s short story The Mist. If I was going to stave off panic, I had to believe life was real and not fiction. I considered making a break for it, but whenever anyone had done that in The Mist, they got eaten. So maybe I was better off staying inside. At least I had plenty of food. 

Maybe I was paranoid – too many podcasts – but I didn’t feel alone in the supermarket. You can bet I wasn’t going to go around shouting HELLO and then find out for sure. My brain couldn’t come up with a reason why someone or something sinister would be in my local market, waiting for just this blizzard opportunity to get me, specifically, but my instincts weren’t getting the message.

My eyes landed on the register phone and with a jolt, I remembered I had left my cell phone in the car, attached to the vent holder. I had to close my eyes for a moment at the sheer stupidity of forgetting. I lifted the landline and didn’t even flinch when there was silence on the other end. Blizzard knocked out the lines, of course. Just as I was gently replacing the phone and thinking about a weapon – knife, scissors, frying pan – I heard a noise. A soft, squeaky, ratlike noise.

Every nerve went on red alert. I didn’t want to meet a rat, but I wanted to see a rat more than I wanted the noise to be…something else. I spied a weak-looking orange box cutter lying next to the cash drawer and picked it up. It did not make me feel better.

On as silent as possible booted feet, I tried to find the noise. The tile flooring played catch-me-if-you-can with the faint squeaking. I slid around the register, next to the conveyor belt, and continued slowly walking toward the aisles. The noise wasn’t steady, like dripping water, but it didn’t stop.  Please let it be a rat. Now there’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d think.

I hit the cereal aisle and froze. It wasn’t a rat. It was a baby.

Abandoning all thoughts (for once), I raced over to the baby. Placed gently in the middle, not crying yet, making those noises I’d heard. The baby was wrapped in a giraffe blanket and wearing a blue onesie.  Did someone abandon their baby when they heard the PA? Or was a child sibling in charge and freaked out? I scooped him – assuming he was a boy based on the blue, although that was a big assumption even so – and cuddled him to my cashmere-sweatered chest. I tried to exude calm and love for the baby even though the creep factor had gone up tenfold. I hesitated in the middle of the cereal, feeling extremely exposed for some reason. The baby’s soft breaths blew against my neck. I tried to think fast. The urge to hide was strong, but I didn’t know where would be safe. My brain considered many places and rejected them at the same time.

I remembered the display up front: Super Bowl Sunday was in a couple of weeks and the store had built a kind of fort-like structure out of cases of beer and soda. I wouldn’t be as visible and I could see more from that vantage point. Plan made, baby and I swiftly walked to the display and ducked underneath without incident. I checked him – his eyes were closed but he was breathing fine and didn’t seem cold – and then rustled around in his blanket for identification, though I knew it was a long shot. Nothing. I was just glad he wasn’t crying and giving away our position as I cuddled him close.

I never had children or wanted them. But the maternal instinct to protect and love was strong despite that, because caring for this baby became my number one priority (aside from staying alive). Now that we were both relatively safe, I asked myself what the heck was my paranoia problem. My brain shrugged and offered The Mist as an explanation. I rolled my eyes. I also now had plenty of time to kick myself for not grabbing any weapons other than the lame box cutter on my recovery mission, or going down the baby aisle. This little one was going to need something when he woke up…if he was sleeping. But he was warm and still breathing and I had enough problems without imagining more.

My husband was most likely worried about me. I thought of my cell, alone in the cat, but I assumed the lines would be tied up even if I did have it with me.  My much smarter husband had warned me not to go and now here I was. The what-ifs could eat me alive. I couldn’t go back and make different choices, and though I tried to focus on the baby, it was hard because I felt compelled to watch the store for sinister movement.

The football display, since it was so close to the front, was also by the windows, which were getting dimmer by the minute. The store had a few emergency lights but they weren’t going to hold up too well if the outside was going to get very dark.  Was anyone looking for me? Did my husband think I had gotten into a car accident? I tried to tap into my telepathy skills, but apparently I had not randomly developed that most likely fictional ability.  It occurred to my brain to wonder how long I had been abandoned in here. I was thirsty and hungry but ignoring both, and I thankfully didn’t yet have to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was probably the safest place to be until tomorrow or whenever I was rescued, because it was a single stall with a lock. But it was in the back of the store, through the double doors of the stockroom, and I felt a powerful wave of dread at the thought of having to pass near that area.

At the same time I felt the dread, another feeling rose up in me. Frustration. I was sick of being trapped and afraid for no reason. I could break a window – they weren’t bulletproof – and to hell with the noise. This wasn’t a short story and I could leave. I’d rather be outside and take my chances at finding my car than spend another minute huddled against a beer fort. Filled with purpose, I lurched to my feet, baby cradled in my arms. I ducked out of the beer fort and scanned around for something to throw or hit against the window.  Duh!I almost hit myself out of sheer exasperation. The cash drawer was heavy and metal: not too heavy to lift and throw but able to break glass. I’d just heave that through the window with my adrenalin strengthened arms.

I put the still sleeping baby down out of harm’s way of shattering glass, in case it didn’t all fling outward. I picked up a register and tested its weight. Solid. Plus, I had a few of them to try if one didn’t do the trick. Apparently, the employees had been in too much of a hurry to secure them.

I tried to gather energy as if I were throwing a baseball – albeit two handed – and flung the register at the glass. It shattered everywhere with a horrific noise. I grinned, triumphant, because while I hadn’t broken the whole window, I’d broken enough to get out. I turned around to get the baby and did an automatic scan of the store for movement. Nothing, but I absolutely felt that danger was coming for me if I didn’t leave now.

Surprisingly, the baby hadn’t woken. I now began to feel stirrings of fear for his health and hustled out the window, grazing my arms on the glass. We hit the sidewalk outside and I ran toward the part of the lot that I felt I had parked my car in. Snow cascaded around us in a way I’d never felt before. Never had I wanted a car alarm so badly as I did now, but I frantically pressed my fob anyway, hoping to see the flashing lights of the doors unlocking. I even did that trick I’d heard about and stuck it under my chin for greater distance, but either I was wildly out of range or the snow was too thick to see the lights. I tossed a glance behind me as I ran, but there was nothing except snow. Boy did I hate blizzards.

I stopped for a moment to get my bearings, such as they were, and the baby squirmed in my arms. He must be freezing, this blanket is so thin, I thought, and clutched him closer to me. I glanced down as I did so, and saw his eyes were open. He smiled. I automatically smiled in response, then noticed a full set of tiny, pointed teeth in his smiling mouth. I hesitated. My brain tried to make sense of this as my gaze met his. His eyes were reptilian, and suddenly, a thin and delicate pink forked tongue peeked out of his mouth from between his teeth.

I could tell I was still smiling, and it dawned on me: the unnamed fear I was feeling throughout the store – I had brought it with me. The danger was here. It was the baby.