World of the Dead

A Poorly Executed Escape

With a jerk, Quinn woke up to find herself in a cramped position and covered by something that smelled like gasoline. For a moment she began to panic, thrashing her arms up against the smelly objects before remembering where she was. Then the memories of how she got there returned, causing a wave of dread to wash over her. But after a moment she remembered that she was still pretty safe, which helped her relax. Not a lot, but now her muscles were slightly less tense.

Sighing, she repositioned the coats back over her-in her panic she had uncovered her legs- and tried to get in a more comfortable position. That was hard though, as the bags of water and food took up a large amount of space on either side of her and the mop bucket and clothing hamper weren't helping either.

After a moment of shuffling around she managed to pull her phone out of her pocket. It was four in the morning, and she had no notifications or missed calls, letting her know that her dad, if he was still alive, hadn't contacted her yet. Distressed, she slipped it back into her jacket and blinked away the tears that were trying to gather.

 As she lay in the dark, she began to wonder why she had even woken up. Her sleep had been rather peaceful up until then after all, so what could have-

Her question was swiftly answered when she heard the sound of shattering glass from the front of the store. She went rigid and nearly stopped breathing when she heard footsteps and muttered conversations entering her hideout. Quinn wondered if she should show herself, but quickly shoved the idea out of her head. After the looting she had witnessed, she didn't have much hope that these people would be friendly. She instead chose to listen before taking action. Maybe they would just grab what they could and leave.

"Christ almighty look at this place. Looks like a stampede came through." a raspy male voice.

"Probably exactly what happened. Remember all the shit goin' down in the Safeway? Had ta' nearly kill a bastard cause' he just couldn't listen." another guy, this one with a reedy voice.

"Talk later dumb fucks. We need to make sure there aren't any infected or zombies or whatever we're calling 'em. Hank, you check the back. Jed, cooler." A third man, who sounded like he gargled nails in whiskey every morning.

"Aw come on Darren, why do I always gotta check the back? I checked the back of the pharmacy, the liquor store, the sporting goods-" Hank was the guy with the reedy voice. Quinn wondered if he was a younger dude given by the way he talked.

 "Its cause I'm the one with the fucking gun you brat. Not only that, I saved your ass yesterday so you'd better learn quick how to be a little grateful." She could her him load what sounded like a shotgun threateningly. "Now get off your ass and get to it, else you want to be on your own."

Hank let out a few grumbled curses and a laugh came from who must have been Jed. Quinn went as still as she possibly could as she heard Hank's heavy footsteps enter the back area. She could see his legs and feet through the gap between the bucket and hamper. His pants were splattered with mud and blood, and his shoes were just as, if not more, filthy. She could see him dragging his feet as he made his way through the back and opened the bathroom door. He peered into it for a while before turning around and opening the fridge. He muttered about how useless the stuff was before making his way back to the front. She let out a soft sigh. 

"Nothin' back there. Just ovens, a fridge with crap that'll go bad super-fast, and a bathroom." Hank reported all of this with an annoyed tone.

The gun guy, Darren, huffed. "See now, was that really so bad? And watch the tone boy, I'm not in the mood for any more of your bull."

A few more footsteps and the sound of something being kicked. "Looks like not much is left."

"You can say that again. All this junk is either crushed, ripped open, or just gone. Are you sure there wasn't anything back there?"