Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The back area of the store is darker. “Typical that the emergency lighting isn’t as bright in the staff area,” I grumble. On the way past the manager’s office, I throw the borrowed badge back on the desk and rush into the staff room.
I make quick work of opening my locker, grab my phone, and while waiting for the old handset to load—it will take an age, and I’m now regretting that I’d turned the damn thing off in the first place—I zip my coat to cover the garish bright green polo.
The left pocket of my coat bulges with a dark green woolly hat that I wear when the walk to work is windy or raining; it gives an extra protective layer.
Having wet shoes, legs, and hair while working in a supermarket is not pleasant, and you can guarantee some manager will observe your drowned-rat aesthetic and make you do a stock take in the freezer or give you a till close to a row of open fridges.
The monsters.
I pull the hat out and stuff it on my head.
It’s too warm to wear, but my bright red hair is attention-grabbing enough on an average day.
Now weird and dangerous things are happening.
I’m not going to question my overwhelming urge to blend.
I’m feeling a tad vulnerable, and I’m not going to make the mistake of not carrying a pocket full of spells ever again.
I’ll have to think of a way to disguise them, but that’s a problem for future Kricket.
At this point, I don’t care anymore if I’m caught with my specialist spells.
My hand trembles as I tuck my hair under the brim.
My entire body finds movement rough, and the strands bunch around my ears, muffling ambient sounds.
I don’t bother fixing it because my fingers aren’t dextrous enough.
They are like lumps of Plasticine. I’ll be liable to tear my hair right off instead of tucking it around my ears.
I think I’m in shock.
I know I’m in shock.
Just breathe. I take a shaky breath in, hold it, and breathe out. My chest feels tight, but I continue to take big gulping breaths, and it gets easier, even if my thoughts remain fuzzy with my panic. I need to calm the fuck down and think logically about this mess. I’m being dramatic. Right?
The world isn’t ending.
This hidden town is a glorified dragon blood protection scheme, but they won’t leave us to die, and there must be a simple explanation for those explosions: a gas leak.
We haven’t had new people for at least eighteen months.
Perhaps there has been a new intake, and something has gone wrong. Yeah, it might be a gas leak.
A small, strangled laugh comes out with my next breath. I’ve always had an overactive imagination that overrides all my common sense, and I tend to jump to the wrong conclusions. My gut feeling has always been off base.
Yeah, I’m being dramatic and need to get a grip.
There hasn’t been another explosion for a while, and I bet everything is now under control.
Everything is fine. I can’t let fear rule me.
I watch movies and read books, and I’ve seen it myself.
When people panic, they do stupid stuff.
Like the sweet eater ramming her trolley into the backs of people’s legs, hurting others so she can get her shopping out the door faster.
How silly is she going to feel when she gets home?
I check my phone. It’s still loading. The bright white logo on the screen burns uncomfortably into the back of my eyes. I wince as it imprints on my retinas and remains when I blink a few times.
Bloody thing. There is no need for that. I don’t know what the manufacturer was thinking. I bought the crappy thing, so it’s not like I need the symbol superimposed on my eyeball. I scowl and turn the mobile so the screen rests face down on my thigh.
Added to the stress I’m already feeling, I’m beginning to get a pounding headache. I rub my thumb and forefinger on either side of my nose and do more deep-breathing exercises.
In the past, new people have come into town and freaked out. Who can blame them? About ten years ago, while trying to escape, an entire family ran into the buzzing, flashing killer ward encompassing the town.
Horrific. It was horrific.
I lift the corner of my phone and peek—it’s still loading. “Come on,” I grumble, bouncing on my toes. “Come on.” I want to check in with my family.
I turned the stupid thing off before my shift ’cause I was jealous of my friends arranging a night out and the flashing notifications drove me mad.
I shuffle out of the small staff area and into the massive stock room. I check the phone and sigh in relief. The main screen is on, and the local network is still live—that’s a good sign. My heart skips a beat when I see a text from my dad. I thumb the message open.
Are you safe? Please let us know if you are safe. We are hiding in the basement. Unless you have to move, sit tight, and as soon as I can, I’ll come for you. We love you so much, pumpkin xx.
So it’s not just me overthinking things.
I prop my bum against the rough warehouse wall and quickly tap a reply.
I’m safe. Please do not come! It’s madness here…
I pause, groan, and delete those last few words.
I don’t want him to read that and feel obligated to come and get me.
He has Mum, Nan, and my two younger brothers to think about.
There’s thick smoke, so it’s not safe to drive.
I’ll wait here instead of going to my flat.
I’ll come to you when I can. Do you know what’s going on?
He immediately calls my phone, and the sound echoes in the dark, silent space. I wince. Shit, shit, shit. I dash behind a row of shelves. “Dad?”
“Kricket, okay, we trust you to be smart. But if you need us, if you need me, I’ll come and get you. I don’t care about smoke.”
“No, Dad, I’m fine.” I can take care of myself.
“Why are you whispering?”
I roll my eyes. “The duty manager is mad.” Dad clucks his tongue, and I head him off before he starts on a rant. “Do we know what’s happening? Is it an attack?”
“We don’t know. There’s no news, but you know how paranoid your mum can get.” Mum is like me—an overthinker. I smirk when I hear her in the background. “Oi,” my dad dramatically yelps.
I imagine she’s giving him a dig in the side.
I close my eyes at the sound of my mum’s voice. “It’s not paranoia if things are getting blown up. I don’t like this, Kricket. I have a bad feeling; be smart. We love you, sweetheart.”
“I will. I love you too.”
“Oi, give me that. Let me talk. Can I talk to our daughter without you assaulting me?” The phone rustles. “We’d prefer you to come here rather than go home, but only if it’s safe. We are in the basement, and we’ve used one of your wards. Keep in contact and keep your head down.”
“I will. Love you all.” I get mumbled replies of love in return. “I need to save the battery. Talk to you soon. Bye-bye.” I flick the phone on silent and shove it back into my pocket.
Thank fate, they’re all safe.
I puff out my cheeks. I lied when I said I’d keep my head down.
If I wait much longer, my dad’s going to come and get me, and it will be my fault if he gets hurt.
There’s no way he will leave his little girl stranded at work, and like my mum, I can’t help the niggling feeling that things have gone horribly wrong.
Sometimes you must keep moving, as staying in one place can be a mistake.
I need to get home.
I adjust the hat, pushing loose strands of escaped hair back under, and stare out into the warehouse.
It’s empty of life. The staff back here have long since cleared out, which is what I need to do once I get up-to-date information on what’s going on outside.
My hand drifts to my phone, but I shake my head and let my arm drop uselessly to my side.
The phone is out because the town council strictly controls all our information online. They wouldn’t want any of this known. They’ve always gone the gaslighting denial route. It’s hard to cover stuff up when there’s a record.
My eyes drift up to the mezzanine area containing the pricing office.
It’s where they print off all the barcodes, offers, labels, and merchandising designs.
I narrow my eyes, and it takes me a second to determine why I’m staring up there.
The frightened, lizard part of my brain catches up with my intelligent, logical side.
There’s an access door to the roof.
The roof! That’s it. My stomach flips, and I don’t waste another moment.
As I clatter up the metal stairs two treads at a time, a plan forms in my mind.
The supermarket is high up or higher than the other surrounding residential buildings, and from what I remember, the creepy magic smoke seemed to cling to the ground.
If I can get above the smoke, I might be able to see what’s going on and find a way to get to my family.
It’s usually a twenty-minute walk to my parents’ house, but perhaps I can knock that in half to ten if I run, and if I’m lucky, I’ll see which route to take and which streets to avoid.
And find out what the hell is going on.
I fling the office door open and dash towards the handy compact kitchen.
This is step one in my plan. I dig through the fridge and cupboard, sighing in relief when I find salt and water bottles.
I pour a huge amount of salt into the water of each bottle, shake them, and stuff two of the bottles into my coat pockets.
The third I keep ready on the side. Magic and salt aren’t friends.
Salt breaks down the structure of most common spells, and depending on the magic’s strength, it can take minutes, days, or years.
It doesn’t break down my spells.
The bottled solution should work with the smoke magic outside.
I find a clean tea towel in the bottom drawer, drop it into the sink, and pour the saltwater solution over it until it’s soaked.
When I leave, I need to get through the streets fast. The acrid air blowing through the store’s front doors was almost unbearable.
If I stop every thirty seconds to hack up a lung, that won’t be good.
I might as well protect my airway now if I’m going anywhere outside.
I fold the tea towel into a layered triangle and tie it around the lower half of my face, covering my mouth and nose.
There, that’s step one down.
I weave around the desks and slap the metal bar on the burgundy fire door with both hands, shoving it open with my shoulder when it sticks a bit. It swings open, and I’m about to sneak out.
I stop.
What are you doing? Sloppy, Kricket. Sloppy. I can’t leave the roof door wide-open. If there is another explosion, the building shakes, the door closes, and I’ll be locked out.
Stuck on the roof isn’t a good time.
I eye the fire extinguisher on the wall and dismiss the idea of using it to wedge the heavy door; the weight might knock it out of the way.
Instead, I search the nearest desk, grab a thick piece of cardboard, and wedge it into the door-locking mechanism.
The cardboard will stop the latch from clicking closed.
As an extra precaution, I snag some brown tape and scissors, cut two strips to make an X, and stick the cardboard and tape ensemble down on the doorframe.
With a worried flutter in my stomach, I check to see if it works. It closes almost flush, but the lock doesn’t engage. Great. It works. My hands shake as I bury my nerves and the horrid, nagging feeling I’m wasting time and could already be halfway home.
I step onto the wide, flat roof.