He put the box down. “Sure,” he said, and reached back for her. She took his hand again, and her fingers felt good against his, not like holding his mom’s hand, where he wanted to hold her. More like he wanted her to hold him.
“I’m seeing a little better now,” she said, and Eric let go reluctantly, suddenly embarrassed. “Thanks,” she added.
He still moved carefully. Goods lying on the floor were indistinguishable from shadows, and both looked more like holes he was about to step into rather than things to step over.
“Think we can go back to sporting equipment?” he asked. Hammers hung to his right next to saws. On the next aisle, camping gear blocked his path. He rummaged through the pile, searching by feel for a small pack for Leda. Finally he found one that might work, though he couldn’t tell if he’d grabbed a day-pack or a duffel bag. Padded straps gave him hope it was what he wanted.
“No guns in any of the stores, if that’s what you’re thinking. The guard and police cleared ’em out weeks ago. First thing people went for when they got scared.”
Eric shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Shot for the slingshot,” he said. “If they’ve got it, and a slingshot too for you. I don’t like guns.”
“Here’s what we want,” she said triumphantly. He heard a click. “I’m glad they sell these with batteries in them now.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Eric turned away. “Great, I’m blind.”
“Sorry. Here’s another.” She handed him a flashlight. “I’m going over to clothes. Do you need anything?”
“No. Take this,” he said and handed her the pack. He shone his light on her, and she blinked at the brightness. Curls of her dark hair fell across her face, and her eyes glittered behind them.
“Um,” she said, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Maybe it’d be a good idea if you looked for something new to wear too.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, I mean, something fresh.” She blushed. Eric stared at I her. He’d never seen anyone blush so brightly. Even beneath the grime of a half-day’s walk and everything that happened before, in the sharp cone of flashlight her skin glowed all the way to her hairline.
He sniffed. “Oh, jeeze. Do you think they have a shower? An employees locker room?” Shielding her eyes, she said, “Not that I ought to be talking. If the water’s still running…” She hooked her thumb toward the back of the store. “…It’d be there.”
Through a pair of swinging doors, Eric entered the employee area. By flashlight he read notices on the bulletin board. One in bright orange said, “STAY FREE FROM DISEASE: WASH YOUR, HANDS.” And another read, “BE A PART OF THE WAL-MART: CULTURE: WE’RE FAMILY.” Styrofoam cups, dried coffee in their bottoms, littered a round table in the center of the room. He ran his hand across a plastic-backed chair’s top. Another swinging door led to a small lock area and a shower. Since the door didn’t have a latch, and feeling slightly absurd, Eric propped his pack against it. He showered in the cold water by the light of his flash he’d placed on the floor. While the water pounded down, and he lifted his face in the cold stream, he marveled at himself: how mundane everything seemed. Even now, the world as dead as dead could be, his father gone (maybe needing rescue!), he could still take a shower, raise his hands above his head and stretch. Palms on the wall, head down now, the water ran off his back. He could almost feel layers of dirt peeling away, and it was normal. He remembered a friend of his telling him once, after going to his grandmother’s funeral, how everything seemed so weird. He’d said something like, “They’re putting her in the ground, and my mom’s crying and stuff, and all I could think about was how nice it was they covered the grave dirt with artificial grass. My grandma’s dead, and I don’t feel a thing. I just looked at that astroturf like nothing special is going on. You know what I mean?” Eric hadn’t then, but now it made more sense. When he finished, he turned the water off. Shivering so hard his teeth ached, he rubbed vigorously with a towel he’d plucked off a pile in a canvas hamper. “Shoot,” he said explosively. “Nothing to wear.” His kicked his dirty clothes aside and rummaged through the lockers. In one he found a clean pair of overalls. A draft caught him, and he shivered hard again, but this time it wasn’t cold. The room suddenly felt spooky. He rubbed his hands down his legs, and he wondered about who the clothes belonged to. Who’d worn these before? Would he mind? He picked up the light and shined it around the room: lockers, shower, changing bench, towels, and door. Something wasn’t right. Something was different. Backing to the wall he looked again. What had changed? Then he saw it: his pack. It had fallen over and was a foot from the door. Slowly he approached it. Shadows bent and moved with the light. Falling over, I believe, he thought, but then it slid a foot? No way.
Then he thought, did I actually leave it against the door? I might have thought about putting it there, then didn’t. That’s more likely.
But why was he so sure there wasn’t someone else in the store? It was a big place. A natural safe haven. Plenty of food, albeit mostly candies and cookies, and there was that normality he’d thought about in the shower. The world might be falling apart, and all of your friends could be dead, but at the Wal-Mart you could still find queen-sized comforters and camcorders and bicycle tires and Sam’s Cola. Sure, a person might come here to save his sanity, he thought. He could sleep on a brand new mattress every night. He picked up the pack, then cautiously pushed the door open, the flashlight gripped like a club. Grit scrunched under his bare feet; the floor needed sweeping. Nothing. The employee lounge looked the same. Past the double doors, he saw Leda’s light. Moving quietly, light peering around every corner, he found her in the clothes section. She’d draped a blouse over her arm, and was stuffing a pair of jeans into the backpack.
“Doesn’t hurt to have a spare,” she said, then pointed her light at him. “Nice overalls, but do you think something that long will be good to hike in?”
“There might be somebody else in the store,” he said. “Did you hear anything?” She shrugged. “Was there a noise?”
He didn’t want to tell her about the pack now. It seemed childish. The feeling he’d done it himself came back even stronger. I’ll bet I moved it without thinking. “No. I guess not.”
“Then don’t worry. It’s a big place. Bound to make someone nervous. I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s no way anyone is in here. They’d be crazy to go into a store.” Eric’s jaw dropped. “What?”
She smiled, “They shoot looters. Didn’t you know that? Now, be a pal and find me some toothpaste and a toothbrush. I’ll go shower.”
While he wandered through each department, his light showed the odd interests of the last “shoppers.” All the electronics were gone, even the display models that had been anchored to their shelves by stout plastic-coated wire. The neatly snipped pieces showed someone with foresight enough to bring wire clippers had been there. In sporting goods, as Leda had predicted, there were no guns. He doubted anyone had waited five days for a government check-up on their fitness to be gun owners before walking out of the store with these weapons. Anything else that might shoot was gone also. No bows, or slingshots. No shot either. A pair of glass cases, their lids shattered, were all that remained of the knife displays. He sighed. A heavy duty knife might have been good to carry.
He pirouetted. Was someone behind him? In the aisle he’d just come down, fishing poles criss-crossed the path like long toothpicks. No one could walk through them without making noise unless he had a light to direct his steps. Broken display case glass on the tile all around made it seem unlikely that he could be approached soundlessly. He thought, I’m just getting the creeps.