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His heart pounded. His mouth went dry. His lungs burned with the exertion. More feet echoed behind him as others joined in the chase.

  Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . oh God . . . fifteen . . .

  He burst through the doors of Save-A-Lot and skidded to a halt. Normally, Marcel would have spent the next five minutes trying to select the right shopping cart. But today, his disorder was all but forgotten. He felt the urge to call his doctor and tell him he’d found a cure. After all the frustration and the constant experimenting with different medicines, he’d found a way to beat it.

  He didn’t need meds. He just needed chaos. Chaos and disorder.

  Marcel stood staring at the scene inside the store.

  If the parking lot had been a battleground, this was the frontline.

  And then the war really started.

  ***

  Sammi Barberra had just closed out her register, and was getting ready to turn in her cash drawer and clock out, when everybody in the store went insane. It started with one scream, then six, then a dozen. Fights broke out across the store. There was a lot of savagery, and a lot of blood. An explosion in the parking lot rocked the building on its foundation, and for one moment, Sammi feared the ceiling might collapse. The overhead lights flickered, swaying violently back and forth, but stayed on. One of the big panel windows at the front of the store shattered, spraying shards of glass all over the floor—and all over the customers who had been fighting in front of it. Sammi ducked down behind the register, huddling into a ball and trying to remain out of sight while all around her, people slaughtered each other. She put her hands over her ears, attempting to block the screams, the cries, the impact of flesh on flesh—and the wet, tearing sounds. Another explosion rumbled from farther away. Somebody shrieked for God to come save them.

  Sammi stayed where she was, hidden from view. The only problem was, she couldn’t see what was happening now. Sammi peeked around the corner of the counter and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Mr. Brubaker’s burned head rolled slowly across the floor. Sammi resisted the urge to scream. The manager’s eyes and mouth were still open. A customer was bowling with it, using plastic milk jugs as pins and Mr. Brubaker’s head as the ball. Even though his flesh was burned, Sammi still recognized her supervisor’s severed head. It came to rest at the foot of the candy rack in her aisle. His head was upside down and she could see into the ragged stump, straight down his windpipe. Mr. Brubaker’s eyes stared at her. He looked angry, even in death. Sammi ducked back beneath the register and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Damn,” she heard the bowler mutter. “I need more balls.”

  There was a brief moment of silence. The crazy person had apparently moved on.

  She needed to pee. She squeezed her thighs together and wept silent tears. She bit her lip harder.

  Footsteps drew towards her.

  “Oh God . . .”

  Sammi jumped to her feet, preparing to flee. Before she could get out from behind the register, somebody grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward over the counter. It was Jerry Sadler, the retarded guy who collected shopping carts in the parking lot and sometimes bagged groceries for customers. Sammi didn’t recognize him at first, because one of Jerry’s ears was missing and there was a wide gash in his cheek, deep enough to reveal his teeth and gums. Pain shot up her arm.

  “Jerry,” she gasped. “Let go, you’re hurting me. Are you okay?”

  “You’re so pretty. I always thought you were pretty.”

  His words were slurred as a result of his injury, but his eyes shone with clear intent.

  “Jerry!” Sammi tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  “You’re too skinny, though. It makes you look younger. Makes you look like a little girl.”

  “Stop it!”

  “I like little girls. I like them a lot. I watch them all the time.”

  “Get off me, you freak.”

  In the next register aisle, a child in a brightly-colored Spongebob shirt sprayed a wounded, quivering woman in the face with a can of hornet spray. The chemical stench filled the air. The spray bubbled, foamy and white, mingling with the woman’s blood. The pint-sized maniac giggled. The woman screamed, clawing at her eyes. Sammi began to cry. She turned her attention back to he co-worker.

  “Jerry, you’re hurting me. Stop it.”

  “You called me a freak,” Jerry said. “I know what that is. I’m not stupid. Freak—that’s like a retard. You called me a retard.”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Sammi tried to reason with him. “We’ve got to get away, Jerry. We’ve got to get out of here. Something’s wrong. Please let go.”

  A man stumbled by them. He was bent over, clutching his stomach. The handle of an umbrella jutted from his back. He didn’t pay them any attention, muttering instead about wanting to go swimming in a vat of tapioca pudding.

  “Look how skinny your wrist is,” Jerry slurred. “I can snap your bones, just like a little bird.”

  He smiled. A thin line of pink drool dripped from his bottom lip and landed on the counter. Nearby, an injured employee crawled towards them on her hands and knees. Sammi couldn’t tell who it was because the woman’s face, hands, and name badge were covered in blood.

  “Jerry,” Sammi warned. “Let me go.”

  Still smiling, Jerry twisted her wrist. Another sharp jolt of pain shot up Sammi’s arm. Screaming, she slapped at him, but Jerry dodged the blow. With her free hand, Sammi grabbed her cash drawer. Then she lashed out with it, striking him in his already wounded face. Teeth shattered. Jerry let go of her wrist and moaned, shaking with rage. Sammi hit him again. He struck out, backhanding the drawer. It flew from Sammi’s grip and clattered across the floor.

  “Gonna break all your little bones, skinny girl.”

  A broken tooth fell out of his mouth as he made the threat. Jerry didn’t seem to notice. He made another grab for Sammi’s wrist, but then the crawling employee reached them. This close, Sammi could see her features through the blood. She recognized her as Hazel Stern, one of the supervisors who usually worked the service desk. Sammi didn’t know her very well. Rumor around the store was that Hazel and Mr. Brubaker were having an affair. Sammi also glimpsed the scissors clutched in the injured woman’s hand. Without pausing, Hazel stabbed them into Jerry’s leg, cooing softly as she did.

  Shrieking, Jerry turned his wrath on the new opponent. As the two employees struggled, Sammi vaulted over the counter and fled down the aisle, dodging attackers and leaping over corpses. A jar of spaghetti sauce whizzed by her head, smashing into a row of pickles. A customer tried to push a breakfast cereal display over on her, but she dodged the falling boxes and kept running.

  A little boy lay sprawled on his stomach in front of her. Blood trickled from one of his ears. As she passed by, he reached for her, his tone pleading.

  “Please, help me.”

  Sammi paused, but before she could act, an adult grabbed the child’s feet and dragged him away.

  “Come on, kid. Let’s get you on the butcher’s block.”

  The boy wailed. His eyes remained on Sammi. Weeping, Sammi kept going, heading towards the rear of the store. There was nothing she could do.

  Not for the first time today, she felt like throwing up. The only difference was that this time, she hadn’t eaten.

  ***

  And then there was Jack Bartlett, who spent his fifteen-minute break bundled up in a heavy coat, taking a nap inside the meat department’s big walk-in freezer.

  Jack missed the whole thing.

  TWO

  When Jack woke up, people were screaming.

  Several of them, judging by the sound.

  He opened his eyes and sat up straight, banging his head against the cold steel wall. Wincing, he blinked, trying to figure out what was happening. There were two women in the freezer with him. That accounted for the screaming. One of the women was about his age, startlingly skinny and wearing a Save-A-Lot uniform just like his. Her long
, blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail with a neon-pink scrunchy. The other woman was older, maybe in her late twenties, dressed in jeans and a white, spaghetti-strap blouse. Her short, brunette hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat and blood. Jack didn’t know her, but he definitely knew the skinny girl—Sammi Barberra, one of the cashiers. She was a freshman at the community college, just like him. His buddy, Phil, had gone out with her a few times back in high school. Rumor was that Sammi had bulimia. Looking at her, it was easy to believe. She was pretty, in a super-model-goes-to-Auschwitz sort of way. Definitely not his type.

  Both women continued yelling and crying, and Jack realized that they were trying to hold the door shut. Somebody was pounding on the other side, hollering to be let in. The blows echoed through the freezer, loud enough to be heard over their cries. Neither Sammi nor the other woman seemed to have noticed Jack. Their backs were to him. Both of them gripped the door handle tightly and kept pulling it shut, bracing their feet apart. There was blood on their clothes. Their panic was palpable.

  Jack sat up the rest of the way and said, “Hey.”

  Ignoring him, they kept their attention focused on the door.

  “Pull,” the woman shouted. “Pull!”

  “I’m trying,” Sammi sobbed. “Oh my God . . .”

  Outside, whoever was pounding on the door hollered, “Let me in, god damn it! They’re gonna kill me.”

  “Stay out there,” the woman yelled. “Don’t you come in here.”

  “Please, listen to me! I’m okay. I’m not like the others. You’ve got to let me in!”

  “Just go away.” Sammi grunted, pulling harder. “Leave us alone!”

  Jack stood up. His heavy freezer coat rustled.

  “Hey,” he tried again. “What’s going on?”

  The women screamed in unison. Sammi let go of the door handle and turned around. The other woman held tight but looked over her shoulder. Smiling in confusion, Jack took a step towards them, hands held out in front of him, palms up, to show that he meant no harm.

  Sammi’s eyes grew wide. “Stay back. Just stay away from us. Don’t come any closer!”

  He stopped. “Sammi, it’s me—Jack. Phil’s friend? What the hell are you doing? What are you afraid of?”

  Before she could answer, the door was wrenched out of the other woman’s hands. A black man ran into the freezer. His clothes were also spattered with blood.

  “Shut it,” he yelled. “Shut the door, quick!”

  “Are you one of them,” the woman demanded. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Do I look like I’m trying to claw your eyeballs out? I told you before, I’m, not like the others. Now shut the god damn door.”

  Jack heard more screams from outside the freezer. Lots of them. Wide-awake now, he took another cautious step forward while the woman slammed the freezer door shut again.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked. “Is somebody hurt?”

  “Who the hell are you?” The man whirled around, fists raised.

  “Who the hell am I? I work here. My name’s Jack. And unless I’m mistaken, customers aren’t allowed in the freezer. So who the fuck are you?”

  “Marcel. And you just stay right there, man. Don’t make me hurt you. I’ll mess you up.”

  Shaking his head, Jack turned to Sammi. “What’s going on?”

  “They . . . the people . . . Mr. Brubaker . . . Jerry tried to . . .”

  She broke off, sobbing.

  “Somebody help me with this door,” the other woman said. “Is there a way to lock it?”

  “It’s a safety door,” Jack told her. “Can’t lock it from the inside, just so nobody accidentally gets trapped. You can lock it from the outside, but even then, somebody inside the freezer can still open it. But why do you need to lock it?”

  “Duh. So they don’t get in. Haven’t you been listening?”

  Jack took a deep breath. “Who? Who is they? Where did all this blood come from? Who’s hurt?”

  Sammi wiped her nose on her apron. “A lot of people. Hurt or dead.”

  “Look . . .” Jack ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand this. What the hell is happening?”

  “First the door,” Marcel said. “Otherwise, we’re not going to be around long enough to tell you.”

  A quick search of the freezer turned up several lengths of plastic strapping bands that had been used to fasten boxes to skids. There was also a large roll of shrink-wrap. While the women held the door closed, Jack and Marcel tied it shut with the plastic bands and makeshift shrink-wrap rope—running them from the doorknob to a nearby shelf, thus making it hard for anyone outside to pull open the door. As they finished, someone else pounded on the door. Unintelligible moans and shrieks accompanied the blows. Fingernails screeched across steel. The four survivors stared at the door, not daring to speak, barely breathing. After a few minutes, the sounds faded.

  “Sounds like a zombie movie out there,” Jack said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Marcel replied.

  “Jesus,” the older woman panted. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Quiet,” Sammi whispered. “They might still be out there.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  Sammi shrugged. “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

  “Angie. Angie Waller.” She winced, gently rubbing her side.

  “Are you okay?” Sammi asked.

  Angie nodded. “I’ll be fine. Some old lady kicked me in the ribs, but I don’t think they’re broken.”

  “I’m Sammi. This is Jack.” She turned to the black man. “And what did you say your name was?”

  “Marcel.” He moved past them and checked the door, fingering the bands and shrink-wrap ropes, making sure they were tight and secure. “Marcel Dupree.”

  “It’ll hold,” Jack said to Marcel. “I was in the Scouts. I know how to tie a knot.”

  Marcel didn’t answer. His attention remained focused on the door.

  “So,” Jack sighed. “Are you guys going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

  “How can you not know?” Angie asked.

  “I was taking a nap. What did I sleep through?”

  They told him.

  THREE

  They remained inside the freezer for the next hour, huddled together for warmth and whispering, careful not to attract attention. Occasionally, someone on the outside would try the door, but the makeshift bonds held. Eventually, the screams and cries subsided. Angie, Marcel, and Sammi all had cell phones with them, but when they tried to dial for help, none of them could get a signal since they were surrounded by steel walls.

  Shivering, Sammi clasped her arms around her shoulders. “It’s cold in here.”

  “It’s a freezer,” Jack said. “It’s supposed to be cold.”

  Their breath hung in the air like wisps of fog when they spoke. The compressor hummed softly on the other side of the wall.

  “Besides,” he continued, “it could be worse.”

  “How?” Sammi asked. “What could possibly be any worse than this?”

  “The lights could go out.”

  “Actually,” Marcel said, “that’s a good point. We know the power is still on. Otherwise the freezer wouldn’t be running. So if the electricity is still on, then maybe this didn’t happen everywhere. Maybe it was just confined to Save-A-Lot.”

  “I don’t know,” Angie said. “Even on the way here, people seemed angrier than normal. On the highway. I didn’t realize it at first, but looking back now, I remember it. There was a lot of road rage. And we all heard fire sirens and police cars. They weren’t all coming here. If they had been, we’d have seen them arrive.”

  Marcel snorted. “So everybody all over the world just went insane at the same fucking time? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “Maybe not all over the world.” Angie shrugged. “But at least here in town. Could be it’s some sort of localized thing.”

  “Yeah,” Ja
ck said, “but what kind of thing? I mean, what makes everyone go bat-shit crazy all at once and start killing each other?”

  “Terrorists.” Marcel got to his feet. “Al Qaeda, or maybe some homegrown group like those Sons of the Constitution motherfuckers. Maybe they dropped some gas on us.”

  “How?”

  “They could have used a crop-duster or something. Like what happened in that little town in Pennsylvania a few years ago. That chemical got released from a hot air balloon and made the rain purple, and then everybody died? Supposedly they all went insane before they were killed. Remember that?”

  “I do,” Sammi whispered. “I had nightmares about it for weeks. Those poor people . . .”

  “It couldn’t be gas,” Jack said, watching Marcel as he crossed the freezer and checked the door again. The man seemed to be counting his steps under his breath. “If it had been, you guys would have smelled it when it came through the store’s ventilation system.”

  “Not necessarily,” Angie said. “Gas can be odorless and invisible. But I agree that it wasn’t gas. It was windy outside. If they’d used gas, some of it would have blown away. If that happened, then it wouldn’t have been as effective in the parking lot, and the way Marcel talks, things were just as bad out there right before he came in. And besides, if there was gas, then each of us would have breathed it and gone nuts, too—and we’re okay.”

  “Maybe we’re immune,” Jack suggested.

  “You can’t be immune to gas.”

  “The water, then.” Sammi’s teeth chattered as she spoke. She rubbed her arms briskly. “Somebody could have spiked the town’s water supply.”

  “Maybe,” Angie agreed, watching Marcel. “But I drank water from the tap today, and took a shower, too, and I didn’t go crazy. How about you?”

  “I don’t drink city water,” Sammi said. “I only use bottled spring water.”

  “But you showered, right? Brushed your teeth?”

  Sammi nodded. “Yeah, after my morning run.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  Jack noticed Sammi’s face turn red, as if she were embarrassed. He wondered why. Sammi looked away from them. Jack turned his attention back to Marcel. He was checking the straps again.