Page 49

“Hell yeah.” Kirby unfastened her seatbelt and leaned forward. “Quick. We smell so bad.”

Our tyres crunched over the remnants of someone’s shattered headlight, and Luke drove straight past the front doors to the loading area at the rear.

Four cars were back there, three at the opposite end, and one behind the store we wanted—an SUV towing a trailer.

Luke pulled in beside Walsh & Co’s roller door and killed the engine.

We jumped out and gathered at the boot to grab our weapons.

The nail gun was too awkward to lug around on a shopping spree, so I left it behind and took one of our axes.

As we turned toward the building, I waited for any smells to assault my senses, but all I detected was cardboard and the hint of moisture in the air.

Hessian recycling sacks were lined up beside the storeroom, packed to the brim with flattened boxes. To the right, someone had forced the fire door open, with a brick keeping it from closing all the way.

“People,” I whispered, as if they could hear me from inside.

We had as much right to be here as anyone else, but Jeremy’s voice came back to me, casual and carefree on the surface. I blocked it out before it could make itself at home.

With pickaxe in hand, Luke strode over to the fire door and pulled it open just enough to peer inside. Kirby and I crowded around him as voices drifted through the store, talking and laughing, echoing in the space as if a bunch of employees were on break.

He shook his head in silent warning. These weren’t the careful, quiet types like the silver-haired neighbour we’d just met. They weren’t trying to avoid detection.

He slipped inside, and with a bracing breath, I followed.

The lights were off, the interior dim and cavernous. I gripped my weapon and checked over my shoulder, relieved to find Kirby close behind.

The voices were coming from somewhere central, near the signage for Sports and Leisure—a woman and two or three men. Whether they were gathering fishing rods or sleeping bags for winter, it didn’t matter. Nothing we needed was in that direction.

Luke gestured to the women’s clothing section on the left.

Kirby whispered, “Let’s get this done fast.”

I laid my axe in the bottom of an abandoned trolley near the bedding aisle and followed Luke, stopping two steps later when the wheel turned wrong and screeched. Every muscle locked, my stomach dropping out as I looked at Kirby.

The conversation in the central part of the store faltered, and my pulse kicked hard. A moment later, a man laughed, unaware of the disruption.

Clothing racks ahead of us had been picked over, some half-emptied, others knocked on their sides. I pushed the trolley again, angling and keeping the wheels in a straight line.

Luke leaned in and said beside my ear, “Meet you here in a couple of minutes. Yell if you need me. You know our safe word.”

A shiver prickled over my skin, and I stared at his back as he took off toward the men’s department.

“I’m taking as much as I can,” Kirby said, oblivious to the reaction Luke had stirred. “We might not get another chance for a while.”

She set her weapon in the trolley and searched for her size, tossing jeans, long-sleeve tees, and a few fleece jumpers with zips into the trolley. I chose anything that looked comfortable and warm. Thermal tops, a couple of beanies, thick jeans, and tracksuit pants.

We moved on to a shoe section even more chaotic than the clothing, picking through the clutter. Kirby crouched and checked the soles of a pair of boots before adding them to the pile. I went with sneakers.

“Underwear,” I whispered.

“Yes—and I’m not wearing freaking bras in the apocalypse.”

I pushed the trolley into the next aisle, reaching for wire-free bras and crops. After we’d added them to the growing collection, I nodded at the period underwear, still fairly well-stocked when it should have been one of the first things to go.

Kirby’s eyes widened, and the two of us grabbed enough to last a week.

The voices drifted closer, footsteps steady and relaxed.