Free Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution by Sean Schubert Page B

a time. The office at the top of
the stairs was open and empty. The plush chair behind the
heavy-looking desk would have been more at home in a working
family’s seldom used and secondhand furnished living room. The
other chairs had likely been abducted from the break room
downstairs. The office light was off but the room was partially lit
by the daylight finding its way into the room through a pair of
windows looking out toward Prince William Sound. On the wall
opposite the two windows was another window, which looked out over
the store’s sales floor. This was definitely a manager’s perch.
    Danielle saw the phone on the desk and
immediately went for it. Nothing. No dial tone. No busy signal. No
pleasant but annoying voice. She scanned the office in search of
anything useful. She saw a mug of pens, a stapler, an empty coffee
mug, some loose papers, and a pile of various sized yellow sticky
notes. All worthless. Nothing to help her at all. Danielle had
given up when she saw behind the door and leaning against the wall
a thick wooden club whose short shaft widened exceptionally the
further it got away from the leather-wrapped handle. The splotchy,
brownish stain patterns suggested it had been a well-used club,
subduing many a stubborn game fish in its prime.
    She hefted the tool and was not surprised by
its significant weight. Unsure how much she would be able to use
it, Danielle nevertheless felt more comfortable with the instrument
in her hand. She no longer felt defenseless. There was a certain,
if somewhat medieval, comfort that accompanied such an
armament.
    The moment was short-lived. A scream and the
sound of breaking glass from the sales floor below interrupted her
returning serenity. Danielle ran to the window and looked down upon
the shadowy store.
    The front doors still looked shut and
blocked well enough by the book rack, and the windows Danielle
could see from her limited angle were still intact. Despite the
darkness, she thought she saw some hurried movement in one of the
aisles but was unable to discern who or what it was. She leaned
closer to the glass, hoping for a better glimpse but her vision was
impeded by her own hazy reflection.
    There was another crash and more sounds of
struggle. Danielle saw someone run toward the front door, but the
barricade placed to keep others out served double duty and became a
barrier to escape as well. Desperate to get out, the person tried
to move the display, but was tackled violently. The teetering rack,
upended and now on its side, and the two people wrestling with one
another all became entangled. The frantic struggle that followed
was loud and messy. Bags of chips, loose greeting cards, and other
sundries spilled and scattered across the floor. Shadows again
engulfed the melee as the battlers slid further into the dark.
    Then there was quiet again. Danielle focused
her eyes and tried to turn off her other senses the way her father
had taught her when she was younger. It was no less difficult than
it had been in her past. She squinted her eyes into narrow slits
and then opened them wide, inviting in the scant light in a rush.
She thought maybe she could see someone or something. Then she was
worried that it was a body. It might have just been a pile of
merchandise, but the legs emerging from under it convinced her
otherwise. If it was a body, then it was likely a man judging by
the size of the boots and width of the legs. But who was it?
Suddenly, she knew. It was the father in the red, down-filled
jacket. It had to be him, but she wondered what had attacked him.
He was a big guy; as big as or bigger than anyone else who had
ventured into the drug store with Danielle and everyone else.
    Besides, why would anyone be acting that
way? They had all just run away from the
people doing those kinds of things. She wondered what was going on
down there.
    Worried by the events unfolding in the store
below and concerned for Kameron, probably vulnerable to being
victimized again,