I held her gaze a moment too long.
Then, with a sharp jerk of my chin, “Let’s go.”
Nine
And They Had Nowhere Else To Be -Libby
We prepared to move, and I forced my thoughts down.
Not the looks. Not the low, lingering warmth they left. None of it. Not now.
Finn moved first—low and controlled. I stayed close behind him as we crossed the street, the open ground pressing against every exposed inch of skin with the animal certainty of being watched from an unseen location. Each second stretched thin enough to see through.
But nothing came.
Nothing. No sound, no movement. Silence pressed outward from every direction as we crossed the remaining distance and reached the doors.
Finn’s fingers found the gap between the sliding panels and pulled. The rubber seal gave with a soft exhale that froze us both for a full second before we pushed through.
Cooler inside. Still.
The dim light came in slowly as my eyes distinguished the shapes.
Every shelf untouched. The store was exactly as it had been left.
Shelves fully stocked, displays packed tight, not a single overturned cart or broken bottle anywhere in sight. No evidence that anyone had panicked, that anyone had come through the doors at all.
It should have brought relief.
Instead, my throat tightened and stayed that way.
“Why does it look like this?” I whispered.
Finn scanned the aisles. “It spread too fast.” A beat of silence. “No one had time to loot.”
He turned to me, eyes sharp and already moving past the conversation. “High calories. Lightweight. We don’t have long.”
Rice, beans, anything shelf-stable and dense enough to justify the weight. I worked fast, shoving bags into my pack until the straps dug into my shoulders. I kept going despite it.
I cut through to produce without planning to. Grabbed apples and oranges. They wouldn’t last a week. I grabbed them anyway.
“Finn—batteries.” My eyes had caught a small rack near the end of the aisle.
“Grab them.” Immediately, no deliberation.
I swept the rack clean and moved on.
Behind me, sounds of him clearing shelves with no wasted motion, no hesitation. The sound of someone whose hands already knew what they were doing.
He stopped and hesitated at a display near the register.
Liquor. Two bottles of whiskey, snatched from the shelf and packed without comment.
I moved past him toward the door. “Planning on sharing that?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. Barely. “Carry it and find out.”
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the tunnels, the thing in the alley, the full shelves that should have been empty—I smiled.
