Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(69)

“The quiet creeps me, man. I sure as hell don’t want to get my ass shot again.” Eddie lifted his chin toward the market. “I guess that’s first stop. Food before beer.”

“Food, beer, propane.” Max got out, slung the rifle he’d brought with him over his shoulder. “Let’s see what’s left in the market.”

The door, unlocked, opened smoothly. Two neat lines of carts stood across from four checkout stations. Metal handbaskets were stacked in a pyramid, as if waiting patiently for shoppers who just needed a few things. Max kept a hand on the gun at his hip as he scanned the store.

Floors gleamed clean. He could spot plenty of empty shelves down aisles, but what remained appeared to be in neat and orderly groups.

“Weird.” Beside him, Eddie fidgeted. “It’s like they’re open for business, right, and expecting the truck to roll up so they can restock the shelves. Like, you know, normal.”

“Stanley runs a tight ship.”

At that Eddie snickered. “I guess we oughta do some shopping.” So saying, he pulled out a cart with a rattle. “I’m gonna get some stuff for Joe. Bet they got Milk-Bones.”

“Take the left, I’ll take the right. We’ll work toward the center.”

Weird covered it, Max thought as he passed the produce section. Not a single leaf of lettuce remained, but the tubs sparkled clean. No milk or cream in the dairy section, but it surprised him to find butter, some cheeses.

He loaded the cart with what he judged most necessary and practical. Shelf talkers showed him what wasn’t there. Anything perishable. No fresh fruits, no fresh vegetables, but he found flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder, dried spices and herbs.

Canned goods had taken a hard hit, but he still found soups, beans, cans of tomato paste and sauce. He picked up a can of Spam, grinning as he added it to his load because he knew it would make Lana laugh.

She could use a laugh.

He moved on to pasta and rice when he heard Eddie’s voice.

“Hey! How’s it going?”

Max drew the gun from his hip, felt the weight of the rifle on his shoulder. He moved, fast and quiet, toward the sound of Eddie’s voice.

“Cool, ’cause I’m not looking for trouble. That’s some awesome dog you got there. Maybe he wants a Milk-Bone. I just got some here for my dog.”

Max heard the low growl, and Eddie’s nervous laugh.

“Okay, maybe not.”

Max eased around the back of the aisle, saw the back of a man—a boy, he corrected—and the big gray dog at his side. And though he didn’t make a sound, both the dog and the boy turned.

“I’m not afraid of you, either.”

Fifteen, maybe sixteen, Max judged, on the thin side with a shaggy, choppy mop of bark-colored hair and fearless eyes of sharp green.

When his canine companion growled again, the boy laid a hand on its head.

Going with instinct, Max holstered his gun.

“There’s no need to be, as we’re not looking to harm. We need supplies. We’re not looking to hurt anyone or take what someone else needs.”

“You’re the one with the guns,” the boy pointed out.

“Just being careful,” Eddie put in before Max could speak. “I got shot awhile back just for walking my dog.”

The boy looked back at Eddie. “Where?”

“Oh, it was back in … You mean on me,” he realized, and tapped a finger under his collarbone. “One minute me and Joe are taking a leak, you know, and walking back to the car, and bam! I’d’ve been in shit city if Lana—that’s Max’s girl—and Max hadn’t fixed me. Sewed me up with a needle and thread and took care of me even though they’d hardly just met me.”

He rolled his shoulder gingerly as it throbbed with memory pain.

“Let’s see.”

“Yeah?” Obliging, Eddie unzipped his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, tugged down the waffle shirt under it to show off his wound. “Doesn’t look so bad now, since Lana took the stitches out yesterday. Still hurts some. Back here, too.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “’Cause the bullet went clean through.”

Dispassionately, the boy studied the wound. “It’s healing well enough. Did you shoot anybody?”

“Nope. Hope I don’t never have to. We, like, you know, come in peace.”

“Where’s your dog?”

“Joe? He’s back at the…” He trailed off, looked back at Max. “It’s okay, right, if I tell him?”

“I’m not talking to him yet,” the boy said. “I’ll talk to him later.”

“Okay, well, see Max’s brother had a friend who had a place up in the forest, so Max and Lana and me—and Joe—we made it there.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Shaun— Shit, Max, I don’t remember his last name.”

“Iseler,” Max supplied.

“I know the Iselers. They shop here. We stocked the cabin like we do every year.” Obviously deciding he’d speak to Max now, the boy turned. “Are they up there?”

“They didn’t make it,” Max said. “Shaun did. We did. We’re eight.”

“And Joe,” Eddie added. “What’s your dog’s name?”