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every time he took a shambling step. He appeared to be
having some trouble walking. Rudy wondered if he were simply drunk or retarded.
Either way, he hoped the man was gone when he got out of the convenience store
because he looked like the type of person who would ask for spare change. Rudy
had no change to spare, out of principle rather than shortage.
    The store's
bell rang as he entered the store, but there was no one behind the counter. He
didn't mind. He hated the way they stared at him as he walked through the
convenience store's cramped aisles. Maybe it was his red hair or the fact that
he weighed close to three bills, but every time he had used this particular
convenience store, which was quite often, the owner had always stared at him,
watching his every movement, his eyes squinted and locked on Rudy the entire
time. The feel of the store owner's eyes boring into his back always left him a
little unnerved. He probably had some sort of shotgun underneath the counter,
just waiting for the right person to fuck with the wrong man.
    The store
wasn't big enough for the amount of inventory they had on hand, so Rudy had to
turn sideways to make it through some of the aisles due to all the warm beer
and sodas still packed without rhyme or reason in boxes and crates. The cold soft
drinks were located in the back of the store; along the way, he grabbed a
couple of candy bars and a bag of chips. After all, what good was Code Red if
you had nothing to wash down your gullet?
    When he
pulled the door of the cooler open, he heard the door chime again. He paid it
no attention, as his eyes were affixed to the 20 oz. plastic bottles full of
glowing red liquid at the end of the store. He grabbed one and shoved it under
his armpit. With his free hand, he grabbed another bottle and let the door of the
cooler shut on its own. The intensity of the door's slam over the hum of the
coolers suddenly made him realize how quiet the store was.
    He didn't
know why he did it, but he looked up at the circular security mirror to see the
man from outside approaching his position. The man bumped some stacked
six-packs of Genesee Cream Ale, knocking the green cans to the ground, but he
didn't seem to care. He continued his approach. Rudy looked over his shoulder
to see if the owner was visible yet, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    Rudy turned
to the approaching man and said, "Hey, how's it going?" His adrenal
glands had dumped their contents into his circulatory system, and he felt the
impending doom of a fight or flight situation coming on, as he was not
especially skilled at fighting nor flighting. The man simply looked at him, his
head down and his arms outstretched towards him. His fingers clawed at the air.
    Rudy backed
up against the wall as the man slipped on a can of Genesee that he had knocked
over. He tumbled forward, cracking his jaw on one of the aisle's metal endcaps.
There was little room to maneuver or run, so Rudy began to slide sideways down
a narrow aisle that would take him to the counter and near the front door. He
was at the counter when the man in the back of the store finally got back to
his feet. His jaw was crooked, and blood dripped down the front of his shirt,
but he kept approaching, clumsy and plodding, but with a determination that
made him seem more like a robot than a man. Rudy had images of The Terminator
dancing through his head.
    The man
came closer, and Rudy looked at him, fear bubbling up in the back of his
throat. He fumbled around in his pocket, and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.
He crumpled it up and threw it on the counter. "Keep the change," he
yelled as he bolted for the front door, the bell again chiming.
    If Rudy had
bothered to walk behind the counter, he would have seen the store clerk lying
on the ground in his own blood, bite wounds covering his throat and arms. But Rudy
didn't see him; he ran out of the store, clutching his Code Red, chocolate
bars, and a bag of chips in the chill night air.
    "What
the