Fallen Heroes

Chapter Three

All I had wanted out of this evening was dinner that didn't taste like purple Froot Loops.

I should have shut my mouth, stayed home, and ate the Froot Loops.

The blast—could I even call it a blast? It felt more like the onset of the apocalypse— knocked my feet out from under me. Which way was up? Down? Both directions suddenly appeared the same and also completely irrelevant as I soared backward across the store. Maybe it was a good thing I was dressed like a human marshmallow to ward off the cold. Layers of padding were the only way to survive what was sure to be a very ungraceful landing.

The beverage cooler on the back wall was kind enough to put a halt to my momentum, and as it did I had the fleeting thought of: Well, at least it wasn't the hot dog cart. The glass door shattered. Bottles fell from shelves, staining the tile floor with rivers of Orange Crush and Coca-Cola. A searing pain formed in the center of my palm, and I yanked a shard of glass from my skin. Somewhere beside me, I heard Connor shouting.

A bell trilled, unceasing in my head. The room went black. Oh, God. Please don't let me be dead. Rylan will kill me if I'm dead.

The floor rumbled; the ceiling shook. I scrambled blindly across the tile, cans raining down, pelting my shoulders and my back. Something squealed, the nails on a chalkboard screech of metal tearing like paper, and my breath was stolen as the weight of ten elephants pinned me to the ground.

Maybe the hot dog cart got its revenge after all.

Warm, sticky liquid clung to my cheek. If it wasn't Ketchup, then it was certainly blood. Neither were good options.

The building's shaking finally stopped, but the ringing in my ears wouldn't. A piercing buzz, like a nest of hornets in my brain. Suddenly the sound shifted, lowered and warped, like voices speaking underwater. Every noise, each of my breaths echoed, reverberating through my skull. The world's most unpleasant symphony.

"Help! Connor!" I braced myself, attempting to wriggle out of the wreckage. A metal shelf hung over me like a cage, and a can of baked beans rolled in front of my nose. "Help!" I tried not to panic, but of course, when you try not to do something, you exponentially increase your desire to do it. And so I panicked.

"Okay, Abby, you can do it. You can do it," I coaxed myself, scooting forward to free my shoulders from the shelf's clutches. "Connor? Are you there?"

"Mmph," a voice answered from somewhere to my right.

"Are you okay?"

"Well, I think I have some blood in my eye, but other than that, I'm fantastic. Oh, yep. Yeah, that's definitely blood."

My eyes finally adjusted enough to see some of the damage. Shelves had fallen. The slushie machine had exploded, soaking the wall above it in red and blue ice. A dusty light bulb swung from the ceiling, flickering. I couldn't see the cashier. The store was empty except for—

Crunch!

My head twisted to the side. My stomach leapt. We weren't alone after all.

"Hey! Hey, over here!"

"Abby, be quiet," Connor snapped.

"Why?"

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

"That's why."

Broken glass skidded across the tile just before a pair of boots stopped inches from my nose. I craned my neck, shifting the shelf another inch to look up, taking in everything from the newcomer's black boots, to his black pants, his gloves, his sleek black mask.