of crates, and those big, black magazine return boxes. And all the glass down here, from when it used to be a bar, is bullet-proof. We’ve been able to keep them out. They’ve tried, though. Believe me, they’ve tried.”
“Who else is here?”
“Oh. You mean, besides the customers? Mary and Louis. And Daniel. Though he came by before running up to his mom’s. It’s his day off. But he’s here, too. Came in almost with the disease itself.”
Today Kenny—an ex-World War II veteran—was playing the role of bagger, a role I took up in the afternoons and evenings. “Kenny?”
George shook his head. “You know Kenny. Ever since the second Great War and Vietnam, he’s had that fighting spirit.”
Diane said, “He kept them away from us as we made our way to the lobby. He sacrificed himself.”
“I’ll tell you,” George said, “that I’ve seen a lot of crap in my life. I was a medic in Vietnam, I know what it was like. But nothing, Austin, nothing , compares to this… this… I don’t even know what to call it. But nothing compares.”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
66
Diane said, “It’s like the end of the world.”
I reminisced on my thoughts under the deck, and the magazine Les had been reading before we were overtaken at AmeriStop. I pushed it out of my mind. “I don’t like standing here by the door.”
“To the lounge we go, then.”
We walked between aisles of storage. Bananas, green peppers, onions. Stacks of soda. Cereal. Paper towels. Les spoke up. “How’d you know we were down there?”
I said, “They have some windows up there, poking over the roof. Probably saw us, right?”
“Yep,” Diane said.
“And you knew the Jeep was mine.”
She shook her head. “No. The diseased, they just don’t drive.”
We went up a ramp. I had gone up the ramp a million times before, each time looking at my watch to see how much longer until I could clock off and take a spin to freedom, to drop into bed and fall asleep, Dad coming in to say goodnight, Mom scratching my back and pecking me on the cheek, Ashlie lost in the hardcore music floating from underneath her door, sometimes mixed with the curling smoke of incense. My eyes watered, as they often did when incense burned too long, but this time it was sorrow. I wanted to see my family. Wanted to know if they were okay. Wanted to embrace them, and hold them. And I prayed they were safe.
George said, “Saw how you did in that woman. Want another shirt?” He pointed to the blood stain.
“This is my second pair today.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Same thing.”
Diane led the others down a flight of steps to the bathroom level. The men’s bathroom and women’s bathroom hooked to the corridor. Diane took them up a parallel flight of steps and out of sight. The steps led to the Meat Department, and the lounge door was hooked onto that. From the first steps down you could look up and see a grill, and behind the grill was a fan, which blew cool air into the lounge. I could see brief figures and some huddled conversations, a few tears. George took me in the other direction, to a storage room next to the employee bathrooms.
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
67
He rummaged around. Stacks of paper, some manila envelopes. Some paper bags filled with folded plastic sacks for bagging. “Ah. Here.” He pulled out a red envelope and tore it open. A Homer’s Grocery shirt slid out. “What size are you?”
“That’ll work,” I said.
He tossed it to me. “It’s a Medium.”
“Perfect.”
“All right. Well, you know the way.”
“I do—did—work here.”
George paused for a moment, then, “We had a television before the power went out.”
“When did that happen?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“Oh.”
“But did you see the TV news? See what the news anchors were saying?”
“It’s all over the place,” I said, nodding. “The world is getting caught up in the disease.”
“They had to go to the emergency
“Who else is here?”
“Oh. You mean, besides the customers? Mary and Louis. And Daniel. Though he came by before running up to his mom’s. It’s his day off. But he’s here, too. Came in almost with the disease itself.”
Today Kenny—an ex-World War II veteran—was playing the role of bagger, a role I took up in the afternoons and evenings. “Kenny?”
George shook his head. “You know Kenny. Ever since the second Great War and Vietnam, he’s had that fighting spirit.”
Diane said, “He kept them away from us as we made our way to the lobby. He sacrificed himself.”
“I’ll tell you,” George said, “that I’ve seen a lot of crap in my life. I was a medic in Vietnam, I know what it was like. But nothing, Austin, nothing , compares to this… this… I don’t even know what to call it. But nothing compares.”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
66
Diane said, “It’s like the end of the world.”
I reminisced on my thoughts under the deck, and the magazine Les had been reading before we were overtaken at AmeriStop. I pushed it out of my mind. “I don’t like standing here by the door.”
“To the lounge we go, then.”
We walked between aisles of storage. Bananas, green peppers, onions. Stacks of soda. Cereal. Paper towels. Les spoke up. “How’d you know we were down there?”
I said, “They have some windows up there, poking over the roof. Probably saw us, right?”
“Yep,” Diane said.
“And you knew the Jeep was mine.”
She shook her head. “No. The diseased, they just don’t drive.”
We went up a ramp. I had gone up the ramp a million times before, each time looking at my watch to see how much longer until I could clock off and take a spin to freedom, to drop into bed and fall asleep, Dad coming in to say goodnight, Mom scratching my back and pecking me on the cheek, Ashlie lost in the hardcore music floating from underneath her door, sometimes mixed with the curling smoke of incense. My eyes watered, as they often did when incense burned too long, but this time it was sorrow. I wanted to see my family. Wanted to know if they were okay. Wanted to embrace them, and hold them. And I prayed they were safe.
George said, “Saw how you did in that woman. Want another shirt?” He pointed to the blood stain.
“This is my second pair today.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Same thing.”
Diane led the others down a flight of steps to the bathroom level. The men’s bathroom and women’s bathroom hooked to the corridor. Diane took them up a parallel flight of steps and out of sight. The steps led to the Meat Department, and the lounge door was hooked onto that. From the first steps down you could look up and see a grill, and behind the grill was a fan, which blew cool air into the lounge. I could see brief figures and some huddled conversations, a few tears. George took me in the other direction, to a storage room next to the employee bathrooms.
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
67
He rummaged around. Stacks of paper, some manila envelopes. Some paper bags filled with folded plastic sacks for bagging. “Ah. Here.” He pulled out a red envelope and tore it open. A Homer’s Grocery shirt slid out. “What size are you?”
“That’ll work,” I said.
He tossed it to me. “It’s a Medium.”
“Perfect.”
“All right. Well, you know the way.”
“I do—did—work here.”
George paused for a moment, then, “We had a television before the power went out.”
“When did that happen?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“Oh.”
“But did you see the TV news? See what the news anchors were saying?”
“It’s all over the place,” I said, nodding. “The world is getting caught up in the disease.”
“They had to go to the emergency
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