Ember and Grace

The store smelled like old coffee and floor cleaner. And Noah pushed the mop across the tile for the third time that hour, not because it was dirty, but because it gave him something to do with his hands. The clock behind the counter read 11:42 p.m. 18 minutes left on his shift. Three guys stood by the snack aisle, laughing too loud for a*****e this empty. One of them, Deshawn, leaned on the counter Noah had just wiped down, leaving a fresh handprint on the glass. "You working this dead-end job, Reed? Man, you gotta get a life." Noah didn't answer. He kept mopping, working the strip of tile near the register like the conversation wasn't happening. Bro's too soft to say anything back, another one said, nudging Deshawn. Watch, he will just smile and take it. He always does. Noah did smile. Not because the words didn't land. They did. But arguing with Deshawn wasn't worth the energy, and he had a bag to pack before his ride showed up outside. Do you want anything? you are just here to talk? Noah asked, setting the mop against the wall. Deshawn grabbed a bag of chips and tossed a few crumpled bills on the counter. Keep the change,Mr Moneybags. The three of them left, still laughing at Noah, the bell over the door clattering behind them. Noah checked the angle of the security camera in the corner it hadn't worked in three weeks, but the manager never fixed it, and Noah never told him it was broken. He crouched below the counter and packed a black plastic bag, two loaves of bread, a carton of eggs, a can of soup, a small bag of rice. He had pay for it out of his own check later, like he did every week. His mom and sister needed it more than the store needed the money, and nobody ever checked the register close enough to notice. The bell above the door rang again. Grace walked in fast, like she was already late for something bigger than a convenience store run. Cigarettes. And the strongest painkillers you've got. She was already digging through her bag for cash. My neighbor's been sick for two days straight and won't go to the hospital. Stubborn old woman. Noah grabbed both off the shelf behind him without asking which brand. He had seen her come in before, always in a hurry, always short with the cashier before him. He remembered what she bought last time. She counted her cash out on the counter, frowning at the total. This town slow as hell. Even the checkout line moves like it's asleep now. Register fast tonight, Noah said, scanning the items. You are the one in a hurry. She looked up at him then actually looked, like she was seeing him for the first time instead of just the uniform. A smile crossed her face before she caught it and killed it, like she didn't have time for smiling tonight. Cute,she said, grabbing her bag off the counter table. Doesn't fix the line, though. Line's got one person in it. You are the line. That got a real laugh out of her, short and surprised, like it had escaped before she could stop it. Whatever, store boy. She headed for the door, glancing back once before she pushed it open. The bell rang as she left. Noah watched the door for a second longer than he needed to, then turned back to finish counting the drawer. The lights flickered. He looked up at the ceiling fixtures. They flickered again, buzzed low, and went out completely. The refrigerators along the back wall clicked off one by one, their hum dying mid-cycle. The store went quiet in a way Noah had never heard it no hum, no compressor cycling, no buzz from the sign out front. Just silence. Outside, a car alarm went off. Then another, further down the block. Then a scream, sharp and short, cut through the parking lot and stopped just as fast as it started. Noah walked to the front window, still holding the drawer tray in his hands. He set it down slowly on the counter without looking at it. The streetlights were dead too the whole block dark, no glow from the gas station sign across the street, nothing. A man was on his knees in the middle of the road, doubled over, like he couldn't get a breath in. Then the man's head snapped up too fast, too sudden for someone who'd just been struggling to breathe. He stood in one motion, unsteady on his feet, and started walking toward a parked car with his hand out, fingers curled like he meant to tear the door off its hinges. Down the street, headlights swung wide and a truck plowed straight into the front of a nail salon. No brakes. No horn. Just impact, a wall of glass coming down, and silence after worse than the crash itself. Noah's hands were already moving before his brain caught up. Flashlight from under the counter. First aid kit from the shelf behind the register. A case of water bottles from the back aisle, torn open, bottles spilling into a bag. He didn't think about any of it. He just did it, the same steady way he packed that bag every night without being told to. The door burst open behind him, bell slamming against the frame. Grace stumbled in, breathing hard, one hand pressed against her side, the other covered in blood that clearly wasn't hers. Something grabbed me, she said, voice shaking despite how fast she was talking. Out there. A guy normal looking, just walking he grabbed my arm and I hit him with my keys, right across the face, and he didn't even flinch. He didn't feel it, Noah. People don't just not feel that. Lock's busted on this door, Noah said, already dragging the metal shelf unit away from the magazine rack toward the entrance. Help me with this. Grace didn't argue, didn't ask why. She grabbed the other end of the shelf and pushed, her boots sliding against the tile as they wedged it against the door frame. Through the front glass, shapes were gathering in the parking lot, drawn by the noise or the light from Noah's flashlight, moving in that direction like a pull he could feel in the air. Two, then four, then more walking wrong, too fast for a stroll but too stiff for a run, straight lines, no hesitation, like something had switched off whatever part of them used to feel fear. One of them slammed into the door. The whole frame shook, metal shelf scraping an inch across the tile before it caught. Grace looked at Noah, eyes wide, chest still heaving. That wasn't a person hitting that door. That hit like a car. Something hit the door again, harder this time, and the glass cracked from the top corner down to the handle, a jagged line spreading slow across the surface. Noah grabbed a second shelf unit, wedged it beside the first, and looked at Grace. We need to block the back door too, he said. Now. She was already moving.