Free Anyone? by Angela Scott Page A

cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed my
face against the glass window. Even though I had only seen Mr. Stanger’s dead
body and no others, knock on wood, I didn’t want to take any chances. I
doubted I could become desensitized to death and decay, and wasn’t in the mood
to find out.
    Dim rays from the late afternoon sun penetrated the interior
of the building, lighting it enough to see that, for the most part, the store
looked intact: the Photo Center to the right, the perfume section to the left,
the seasonal supplies—Christmas decorations—in the middle. Easter decorations
should have been on display now that Christmas, New Year’s, and Valentine’s had
passed. Those holidays had slipped by and no one had been back. A shiver crept
up my spine. My stomach turned to lead, and I forced myself to breathe and
swallow my rising emotions.
    One step at a time, Tess. One step at a time.
    The intensity of looking at my situation as a whole would
drown me and right now, I needed to focus on getting my hands on some
antibiotics. I couldn’t think too far ahead to phone chargers, to keys and
cars, to calling for help, to any of the hundred other things needing my
attention or I would have given up right then.
    Callie had curled into a ball on my bag, so I did my best
not to disturb her and reached inside for my gun.
    It had worked for the pet store, and since my mind was a
sick mess, I didn’t have it in me to find a different way.
    Lift. Point. Aim. Prepare for loud noise. Fire.
    The glass shattered into tiny diamond shapes that glittered
in the sun as they came raining down, covering the ground.
    Callie bolted, but her leash kept her tied in place.
    Sorry, kitty. So much for not disturbing the cat.
    The human shadow popping up from behind a display case sent
me scrambling backward, and I forgot all about my screeching cat. I nearly stumbled
over, but managed to keep upright with the gun pointed straight at him. What?
No. What?
    His wide eyes locked onto mine. “Why in the hell did you do
that?”
    A person. A living person. Why couldn’t I move? Speak? Say
anything?
    He motioned behind him with his thumb as he stepped into the
aisle. “Before you go around shooting at things, you should really check out
all the entrances first. The back door was open, you know?” He shook his dark
shaggy head. His shoulders rose and fell. “Just a suggestion.”
    I couldn’t say anything. Not a word, though my lips
trembled.
    “You think you can put that down for a second?” He nodded to
the gun. “You’re making me nervous.”
    I couldn’t quite figure out what he was making me.
    “Do you speak English? Habla ingles? ” He made some
quick motions with his fingers—sign language. “ Parlez-vous Anglais? Anything?”
    I lowered my arm, aiming the gun at the ground. “I’m sick.”
There was so much I should have asked, should have said, should have done, but
I chose, in that pivotal moment, to announce my illness to the only other living
person around. Great.
    “Sick, huh?” He took a few more steps toward me, crunching
the glass beneath his worn cowboy boots as he drew closer. “How sick?” Before I
could answer, Callie’s tugging and fighting against her harness drew the
stranger’s attention and he gave a low chuckle. “Well, a’righty then. Just when
you think you’ve seen it all, a cat on a leash.”
    His deep laugh caused my shoulders to go rigid. I kept my
finger on the trigger, but the gun pointed down. “Are you following me?”
    He returned his attention my way. “Following you?” He shook
his head. “Kid, I was here first, remember? If anything, you’re following me.”
    “But I heard you, yesterday. Your laugh. You were laughing
at me.”
    He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I was following you. Only means
we crossed paths at the same time, and your complaining happened to entertain
me.”
    That didn’t make sense. “You saw me, but you didn’t let me
know you were there? Why?”
    “Why would