Read The Dead Saga (Novella Part 2): Odium Origins for Free Online Page B

I grab a basket and carry it to the first aisle, picking up the groceries on the list. There’s nothing terribly urgent but I get it all anyway. At least I’ll have more time tomorrow to get the smell of cigar smoke out of the sofa.
    The radio is playing softly in the background, and I hum along to it, lost in my own thoughts as I collect my groceries. I walk to the checkout, and the young girl behind the till blows a bubble, letting it pop loudly before offering me a small smile. She’s young, can’t be more than twenty, with a blunt black bob and deep blue eyes.
    “Busy night?” I ask politely.
    She doesn’t answer, but shrugs and continues to ring up the food. I bag it all up into brown paper bags, pay the young girl, and head for the exit. As I’m going out, a man is coming in. His hood is up, covering his face from view, and if it weren’t for the God-awful smell I probably wouldn’t have even noticed him. I prefer to keep my head down and keep to myself, especially at the time of night it is.
    However, as I pass him, he reaches out a hand and I yelp, turn, and quickstep to my car across the parking lot, trying not to drop my bags as I fumble in my pocket for the keys without having to stop.
    His hood is still up and it almost sounds like he’s growling as he stumbles after me, so I quicken my pace, imagining the absolute worst possible scenario of being attacked and robbed by a junkie. I glance behind me seeing, that he’s still following—though his pace is slow, and since I’m now flat-out running, he’s lagging behind. I drop the bags at the side of my car and hit the unlock button, open the door, and quickly throw the groceries inside before climbing in and slamming the lock down on the door.
    The hooded man reaches the side of the door, but it’s too dark to see his face. Strangely he doesn’t go for the handle but bangs his hand on the window and makes me scream. I start the engine and peel away from him as quick as I can, feeling almost certain that I just ran over his foot. Yet when I look in my rear view mirror, I can see that he has turned and is headed back to the store without even a limp.
    “Shit.” I slam on the brakes, making them squeal loudly on the blacktop. He doesn’t notice, though, and continues. I pull out my phone with shaking fingers and dial 911, but the stupid phone won’t connect and just keeps on giving me a busy signal. I slam my hand on the wheel and curse again before turning in my seat to look at the hooded man headed back into the store. The cashier is in there—there should be a security guard somewhere, but I hadn’t seen him when was inside.
    My chin trembles and I take a great gulp of air, almost choking on it because it seems not to want to go down my throat to feed my burning lungs. Tears well in my eyes, and before I can change my mind I slam the car into gear and reverse all the way back to the front doors of the store. It’s light inside, almost glaringly bright compared to the suffocating blackness outside. I scan the store, looking out of the right-hand passenger window, not spotting the bubble gum chewing assistant or the creepy hooded junkie. I try my cell phone once more but it beeps at me, and I throw it on to the passenger seat in anger.
    Unclipping my seat belt, I take a deep breath, knowing I can’t leave that poor woman in there alone without any warning. We women have to stick together—and what sort of human being would I be if I didn’t at least warn her? I scan the floor, looking at my discarded groceries and wondering if any of it could be used as a weapon. I rummage around, hastily pushing the things back into the bag, and check out the floor, finding Ken’s tire iron under the passenger seat. I grip it firmly and slap it against my palm, cringing at the mild pain it causes.
    I suck in another shaky breath and release it slowly while I watch the illuminated storefront and get ready to get out of my car. I consider the idea of just