Ty continued to laugh, and Quinn glanced at her. “Yeah, wonder where?”
He scanned the street again, shooting a final look at the water tower before opening his door. Dirt crackled beneath his boots as he made his way to the Tahoe’s rear and drew out his AR-15. Checking the safety, he stopped at the driver’s side.
“I’ll go in and have a look around, and if it’s okay, we can all carry a few things out,” he said. He saw Alice’s eyes shift to a newer model Ford pickup a ways down the street.
“We’ll load our things in that truck. You can have the Tahoe back,” she said.
“No, I’ll take the truck. You guys keep this. I’d feel better about you having it.” Alice started to protest, but he held up a hand. “If I can’t come with you, this is the only way I can help. Honk if there’s trouble.”
With that, he shut the door, cutting off her rebuttal, and moved to the front of the grocery store. He had to wedge his fingers between the doors and pry them apart, but once he did, they slid aside easily. He stopped in the entryway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, his nose adjust to the stench the store held like trapped breath after the clean air outside. Quinn listened, his heartbeat the only sound in his ears. He stepped further into the store and flicked on the light mounted to his gun.
The grocery wasn’t as large as some of the big chain stores they’d passed in Portland, but it still stretched further than his flashlight could reach. Many of the shelves were stripped bare, goods busted open and crushed on the floor. Three cash registers sat in designated lanes, their drawers open like surprised mouths, cash drooling over their lips. Quinn moved forward, his boots crunching chips and walnuts.
He froze as a sound came to him. Had something clicked farther in the building, or had it been an echo of his own passage? He turned and surveyed the bright street outside. The Tahoe sat where he’d left it, Alice visible in the front seat, her gun poking out the side window. Quinn waited another span before moving forward, his light swinging from side to side.
In the third aisle to his left, he found a stack of canned goods that had tipped over and rolled in every direction. Stew, soup, corn, beets, peas, chili, and more appeared in his beam. At the far end of the aisle, two cases of bottled water sat beside a cardboard box filled to the rim with food. He shined the light across its position, taking in the careful way it was packed along with the shattered jar of spaghetti sauce, two footprints leading toward the rear of the store.
Movement came from behind him and he tried to spin, bringing up the rifle, but a cold circle of steel buried itself into the soft skin behind his ear.
“Drop the gun. Do it now or I drop you.” The voice was rough and deep, gravelly in a way that reminded him of people who smoked in the movies he’d watched.
“I just want to get some food,” Quinn said. The gun barrel dug further into his flesh and shoved his head to the side.
“Did I stutter, boy? Put the gun down or you’re dead.”
Quinn lowered the AR-15 to the floor, stooping low and waiting for the moment when the man’s gun would leave his head, but it didn’t come. Whoever he was, he was careful. When Quinn stood again, he felt a hand fumble with the holster on his leg and then the XDM was gone too.
“You alone?” the voice said.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting food, the same as you.” There was more pressure from the gun barrel and then it was gone.
“Turn around.” Quinn did as the voice asked, rotating in place until he faced the man.