Free Alive! Not Dead! by R.M. Smith

this,” he laughed.
    “Any food back there?” Cindy asked.
    “I saw some crates.  Let me go see if I can crack some open.”
    “I’ll come with you.” I said.
    “We all will,” Mindy added.
    Ski swung the door open for us as we went in.
     
    Other than Ski’s flashlight, it was completely dark.  It looked like the whole stocking area had been looted as well.  There was a crate with some leftover lettuce leaves under it, a few ripped open bags of rice, and some unopened cases of soda; but there was no real food.  There was also a smell that reminded me of either rotten eggs or meat that had been going bad, but as far as I knew, the smell was old.  It wasn’t from the lack of being frozen for a few days; it was an older smell, maybe even rotting wood?
    The crates that Ski had seen were all open.  Inside we only found wadded up balls of old newspaper.
    There was a set of double doors.  These took us bac k outside onto a loading dock.
    Back inside, Cindy pointed out a set of metal stairs leading up.  We all went up the stairs together with Ski in the lead.  Beyond a wooden door with a glass window, we found the manager’s office.  There was a great deal of dried blood on the floor.  The manager was slouched backward in his chair, a bullet hole in his head.  Blood had dried down his face.  It had dripped and dried in his long hair.  It looked like he had committed suicide when things had gone bad.  He looked like a young kid, maybe 17 or 18 years old.  He didn’t have a weapon.  Ski looked all around the floor and through the manager’s desk, but he didn’t find a gun.  I looked in the fridge for any food, but even it had been looted.  The only thing inside was an empty milk carton.
    Then someone from just outside the office door said “Well lookie what we got here!”
     
    He sat as his desk, looking long and hard at the pistol as he turned it over and over in his hands.  He knew that he would never get away with murder, but he couldn’t think of any other way to end the nightmare he had come into the night before.
    Four bullets.   One for Rodney.  One for Debra.  One for any cop that might show up; and one for him.  What was the sense of going on after what had happened? He plugged three bullets into the gun.  He put the fourth in the top right-hand drawer of the desk for later.
    That’s for later when the cops come calling , he thought.
    The night before, his wife Debra told him that she was cheating on him.   She told him “ I’ve been fucking him while you’ve been at work.  You work too long , Bob.  All you do is spend all of your time counting at that goddamn store.  It’s a fucking grocery store, Bob! And while you’re counting your fucking groceries, I’ve been fucking Rodney!”
    This morning after he got the bad news from his wife Debra, Bob Lawrence, 18 year manager and co-owner of the Connell, Washington Harvest Foods grocery store, invited Rodney Clay to come up to his office.  Rodney was the 17 year old kid with bad acne and long hair.  Rodney was the kid who started working at Harvest Foods only two months ago.  Rodney was the kid who asked to get off work early so many days – he rarely worked a whole shift.  Rodney was the kid he was planning on firing if he didn’t get his act together and start working like a regular working man – or kid - should.
    He’s been asking to get off work early so he can go to my house and fuck my wife! Bob thought.
    “Come on in, Rod,” Bob said as he heard the kid knock on his office door.  “I got something we need to talk about.”
    Rodney came in.
    Bob asked him “Why don’t you sit at my desk. Hu h? I think you deserve some recognition for all of the hard work you’ve done for us these past few months.”
    Rodney nodded with his whole body, his hair swinging.  “Ok.”  He sat in the chair, actually lounged down into it like he was getting ready to watch TV for a few hours.  He folded his hands in his