The back of the store came into view. Small. Local. The hand-painted sign above the entrance had probably once felt charming—the kind of place you stopped at on a road trip for overpriced coffee and a bag of chips, just to stretch your legs. The door sat slightly recessed, sheltered, ordinary.
I reached it and stopped.
Listened.
Then I tested the handle.
It turned.
The relief hit so fast my legs almost buckled. “Thank you,” I whispered, to no one, to whoever had simply forgotten to lock it on the way out.
I pushed it open just enough to slip through, and it gave a short, sharp squeak that cut through the silence.
I froze.
Waited.
Counted to ten with bated breath.
Nothing. No shuffling of feet. No low, horrible sound from somewhere deeper inside.
I slipped in and pulled the door shut behind me.
The back room stretched out in the dim gray light filtering through from the store beyond—shelves along every wall, stacked with boxes, storage, supplies that hadn’t been touched yet. Untouched. The sight of it sent something warm moving through my chest.
Nobody got here first. Nobody cleared this out.
I moved fast.
Flashlight. Batteries. Straight into the bag without ceremony, my hands already reaching for the next thing before the first hit the bottom.
Chips. Sealed goods. Whatever looked dense and caloric and easy to carry. Three cans of peaches into the bag, followed by beans—two cans, then a third.
Living the dream.
My hands trembled slightly, not from cold, and I kept moving because to stop was to think, and thinking right now meant picturing the four faces back at the clinic and what would happen if I came back empty-handed.
Don’t.
In and out.
But the back room had limits. I zipped the backpack halfway and straightened up, taking stock. Enough for a few days, maybe. Not enough for a week. Not for four people who needed to get strong again.
My gaze fixed on the doorway leading into the main store.
Dark beyond it. Quiet.
That’s where the real supplies are. Proper food. Medicine, maybe. Everything the back room couldn’t offer.
And that’s where something could be waiting.
I stood at the threshold. Gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, thumb hovering over the switch. I thought about turning back. I thought about Finn. About Lily and Fiona. The beans and peaches that wouldn’t last three days between four people. The whole walk over here, I told myself I’d do whatever it took.
So do it then.
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“Okay, Libby,” I whispered into the dark, the sound swallowed by the silence. “Just one look. That’s all.”
