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neighbouring aisles.
    Maybe a group of wild boars.
    Or maybe something far worse.
    I pressed myself closer to Dad. A low grumble came from the aisle to our left. I bit down on my lower lip to keep myself from making a noise.
    A creak. I lifted my head and saw the huge shelf above us tipping over. Someone…or something…was pushing it – and it would crush us.
    Dad’s grip tightened and he dragged me after him. We ran down the aisle, stumbling over cans. Our steps echoed through the store, drowning out any other noises. Sweat drenched my body. At
the end of the aisle, Dad let go of me. I glanced at him in confusion. He shot in the direction where the grumble had come from. Once. Twice.
    A roar rang out in the store, feral and angry. It sounded big. Dangerous. Terrifying.
    “Run, Sherry!” he shouted as he shot again. “Run!”
    So I ran. And as I did, I registered movement from the corner of my eye.
    I ran faster, back towards the broken entrance of the store. Glass crunched under my sneakers and a sharp pain shot through my right foot. I ignored it and kept running.
    Three years of cycling to produce energy had made me fit, but panic corded up my body and my throat felt strangled. The sun blinded me as I rounded the building and crossed the parking lot.
    Our car came into view, finally.
    I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Dad behind me, but he wasn’t there. There was no one. Nothing.
    I was alone. My steps slowed. I gasped for breath, my eyes searching the parking lot for a sign of Dad. Or something else.
    Nothing.
    I blinked at the building, my eyes wide. “Dad?”
    Gunshots rang out in the silence.
    “ Dad! ” I screamed. Blood hammered through my veins. Before I knew what I was doing, I had run back to the entrance. My arms were outstretched, pistol aimed at the inside of
the building. It was silent again.
    My breathing was harsh and tears prickled my eyes. I took a hesitant step forward. “Dad?” I called in a shaky voice.
    No answer.
    After the sun, it seemed even darker inside than I remembered. My eyes had difficulty making out much. The back of the vast store lay in shadows.
    I took another step forward and another, until I stood in the front area of the store. Dad was somewhere in here – he had to be. And he needed my help.
    I took a deep breath, then I walked further into the store. My gun hand was still shaking. If Dad hadn’t stopped our attackers with his shotgun, how could I possibly do it?
    Calm down. Breathe.
    I headed for the aisle with the canned food, my steps slow and measured.
    I glanced over my shoulder. Had something just moved? I turned and pointed the pistol in that direction.
    A rack of cotton nightgowns spun very slowly. There was no wind in the store, so why was it turning?
    I wiped sweat from my forehead. Get a grip, Sherry.
    I took another breath and moved towards the aisle where Dad and I had heard the noises. The shelf hadn’t toppled over, it still stood in place.
    I slipped on something. My right leg gave way and I landed with a heavy thud on my backside. Pain shot up my back. I’d dropped the pistol. It lay next to my left foot. I scrambled to my
knees and reached for it.
    Then I froze.
    The gun lay in a little puddle of blood. With shaky fingers, I grabbed it. The blood was still warm.
    Oh God.
    I took a deep breath. With a little retch, I wiped the bloody pistol on my jeans.
    A rustling caught my attention, and I tensed. I couldn’t tell where it had come from. Slowly, I straightened up. Something rushed past the end of the aisle. I released the safety catch, my
breath coming in little gasps.
    “Dad?” My voice quivered.
    Clicking, not unlike the sound of Grandma’s knitting needles, came from nearby. Clicking – like claws on tiles.
    “Dad!” I cried desperately.
    The clicking came closer and I stumbled backwards. Something appeared at the end of the aisle. In the dim light, I could just make out a silhouette. It looked like a human, but was hunched