Free Cry Havoc by William Todd Rose

plate glass window and into the darkness of Wilson's Department Store. She could barely see racks overturned, clothes strewn about the floor, broken jewelry cases, and mannequins posed in vulgar positions. Finding another shirt in this mess would be tough, but it was necessary. She needed something dark and, as much as she hated to admit it, something tight fitting. She couldn't afford for a skirt or a baggy t-shirt to get hung up on something if she needed to make a quick getaway. So she'd take her time and pick through the wreckage that used to be the women's section, find exactly what she needed and go on from there.
    The problem was everything seemed so much different in the dark. She'd been in this place a hundred times, had gotten some of her favorite bags from their purse and shoe section; but now she may have as well been picking her way along the dark side of the moon for all it was worth.
    Somehow, Polly had found her way to the hardware section of all places. Talk about an alien environment....  However, she was pretty sure that this was on the opposite side of the store. At least it was in most shops, almost like they thought if they could put enough distance between husbands and wives the two sexes would never know how much money the other was spending until it was too late. So it seemed as if she'd been going in the wrong direction all along. She cursed to herself, took a step, and then felt as if the carpet of the world had suddenly been pulled out from beneath her feet. She pin-wheeled her arms, struggling to maintain balance, but – as one of her many t-shirts often reminded her – she had to obey gravity...  it was the law. She fell to the floor and landed flat on her ass so hard that her spine jarred and her teeth clacked loudly.
    At least she hadn't tried to break her fall with her hands, though. It would've been very easy to snap a wrist that way. And that was definitely the last thing she needed.
    “What the hell?” she mumbled as she picked herself up with a wince. “What the bloody hell?”
    After a moment of searching, she found the culprit: a big, yellow screwdriver that had apparently spilled out of some overturned bin and then lurked in the shadows, just waiting to trip up an unsuspecting woman.
    “You little bastard, you won't be doing that again.”
    Tucking the screwdriver into the waistband of her skirt, she began feeling her way through the darkness again. It was a bit easier this time as her eyes had started adjusting to the gloom. She began to recognize landmarks along the way: the cosmetic counter which was now covered in a fine layer of white dust, the beloved shoes and bags, the escalator which lead up into sleepwear.
    Finally she was searching through the piles of clothing on the floor, looking for a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans in her size. As usual, finding something that actually fit her was like panning for gold; she had to sift through layer after layer of worthless silt until she finally found her treasure. Down near the very bottom of the heap. Of course.
    Stripping off her ruined shirt almost felt like shedding a skin. It was as if Richard's hands had somehow tainted the fabric; as if whatever sickness had changed him into a maniac had colonized the cotton and fibers, leaving the garment feeling dirty and almost greasy to the touch. She flicked it away between pinched fingers. The skirt had to go too. He'd been all over that piece, squirming his nasty body over it like some sort of legless fucking lizard, fumbling and pulling and yanking.
    A shudder coursed through Polly's body and she stepped out of the skirt, trying to put thoughts of the ordeal out of her head. The screwdriver clattered to the floor and she scooped it up like a bird of prey catching a rabbit.
    “Oh no you don't. Fool me once, shame on you and all that jazz.”
    She was just reaching for the t-shirt when she heard something. A slight scuffling in the store. She froze in place and listened as she