Grocery Run

A short story
By C. M. Alongi
 Julia cursed as she swerved, narrowly avoiding a fallen streetlight. She always forgot that

one was there until she was inches away from running it over. Her truck could handle a lot—had

handled a lot—but these days it was better not to risk it. She was pretty sure the local mechanic

had been killed a while ago. Or maybe he’d skipped town with the rest of the evacuees.

The streets were barren, but not bare. Busted streetlights weren’t the only obstacle. She

wove through a forest of potholes, fallen streets and signs, and abandoned cars, a handful of which

had been stripped of parts by scavengers. Some had brown bloodstains, but no bodies. Those were

always picked away within a day.

She flipped through the radio stations with her gnarled fingers. Static, static, angry man

yelling about the Bible, static, static, jazz music, static, ah!

“…reports of demon sightings down south, by the Twin Cities. We’ve got a few calls about

a colossus near the strip mall, and the number of birdies out there has stayed steady since the

military left. So to anyone heading out for a supply run, you better keep your weapons close. Just

a reminder that crucifixes, holy water, and other such stuff have proven completely useless

against…”

She drove through neighborhoods and the downtown district that had once been a long

street jammed full of clothing stores, cafés and restaurants, antique stores, the library, and the post

office. All of them had at least one shattered window and most were boarded up. Several doors

were broken down or gone altogether. The ones that had sold clothing and food had long since

been raided. The antique stores had been untouched even before the apocalypse. Two blocks over

was the strip mall. That had been one of the first places raided out, every window shattered and

shelf empty, so she drove past it.

 Shadows of movement whispered through the boarded up windows of the library. Hard to

tell if they were people or demons, though. Julia didn’t want to deal with either. That was why she

lived on a farm outside of town, in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Even before the end of the

world, she hadn’t wanted to deal with the noise or traffic crunch that plagued every highway within

twenty miles of the Twin Cities. Or the people. Give her demons over people any day.

The downside to living pleasantly secluded was long, extended trips to town just to get

some damn juice.

She turned into the supermarket’s parking lot. It was one of those big, flat, ugly buildings

that the downtown people always griped about because it stole business away from them. The lot

was empty, except for a couple of abandoned cars and an absolute bloody mess near the entrance.

Sighing, Julia parked her truck and checked to make sure her shotgun was loaded.

By the door, a trio of gray-skinned demons feasted on a corpse: some sucker a little too

slow running for cover. The three lucky demons were the small, winged ones. “Birdies,” the

younger folks called them, which made Julia think of boring yard games at even more boring

family reunions or bar-be-ques. Perhaps it was fitting; if she squinted at one of them just right

without her reading glasses, it kind of looked like her late Uncle Richard. Had the same dinner

manners, too.

The demons looked up when she closed the door of her truck. One hissed at her through its

sharp, needle-like teeth.

She fired. The shotgun slug blew its head open like a grapefruit.

The other two demons shrieked. Flapping their wings like bats, they flew up and away.

Julia discarded the shell and walked into the supermarket.

 When the demons had first appeared from who knows where they’d gone after the big

cities, first. Millions and millions of them. Like packs of wolves going after the biggest herds of

deer. Places like Julia’s town had managed to be somewhat unaffected, until all the refugees

showed up. The military arrived to herd everyone away to “safe zones,” most of which quickly

turned into the demons’ buffet tables. Didn’t take long for everyone to realize that sticking together

in massive groups just put a target on their backs. So most people these days were nomads,

traveling in small caravans with their cars, motorcycles, even their own two feet, many

communicating to each other over radio, sharing demon sightings and new survival tricks, the

signals fading in and out as they passed by.

The last military group had left last week, with the rest of the town who wanted out. They’d

been followed by a fresh wave of demons looking for snacks. Now that that mess had died down,

Julia hoped to fill her fridge and cupboards for the winter.

The store’s heater was busted. Julia tightened her jacket against the early winter chill and

picked her way through the debris. Whole aisles had been knocked over in people’s repeated mad

rushes to get food, medicine, clothes, and toilet paper. The military had come with a re-supply,

using this building to store and pass out their goodies to anyone willing to follow their evacuation

orders. Hopefully Julia could find something leftover.

She hauled a cart upright and started shopping. Ignoring the cold foods aisle—the fridges

and freezers were also out, and she could smell the spoiled eggs from across the store—she hit the

soups, pasta, and canned vegetables. She had a veritable mountain of food in her cart as she finally

turned to the juice aisle. Orange, prune, cranberry, cran-apple, cran-grape, cran-fruit she hadn’t

even known existed…

 “Ah-ha!” She squealed when she saw the two-liter bottle of grape juice. Just one, though.

Barely enough for a week. Maybe there was more in the back…

Click. “Hey! Put—put your hands up!”

Julia scowled over her shoulder. A young man who she vaguely recognized as one of the

store’s clerks aimed a pistol at her. “Man” was a strong word; she wouldn’t be surprised if he had

still been in high school when the first demons showed up. He even still carried a backpack,

sensibly over both shoulders instead of the one, and was swallowed by a hoodie.

“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” she scolded. “I ain’t going to hurt you, and there

is plenty here for the two of us, so you have no reason to hurt me. Now shoo.”

The boy frowned as she loaded the juice onto the bottom of her cart. Her knees groaned at

the movement, but she firmly told them to suck it up. They could relax when she got back home

to her soft, brown recliner.

“Mrs. Vinegar?”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “My name is Julia Barnes. Don’t know who Vinegar

is. Seems like a stupid last name.”

He turned bright red, finally lowering the gun. “That’s, uh…that’s the nickname me and

my…other workers gave you.”

“How uncreative. I’ve been called a hundred better names.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” he groused. “I’m Tom.”

“Good for you. You got more grape juice in the back?”

“Uh…maybe?”

“Don’t you work here?”

 “Sure, but I haven’t been back since…” He motioned to the mess around them, turning a

little pasty when he saw a hole in the ceiling, dangling cords and fluffy insulation. Sunlight

streamed through it now, but Julia would’ve bet good money the hole had been created by a hungry

birdie.

She grunted, motioning for him to lead the way. He stuck close to her, eyes flicking around

every which way. They had to go the convoluted route, on account of her cart not able to jump

over broken glass and fallen aisles.

“I thought you lived on a farm,” Tom said. “Don’t you grow your food?”

“It’s December 2nd. What the fuck do you think I’m going to be growing when we get

buried in snow next week?”

He turned red again. He looked like a tomato when he did that. A tall, lanky tomato.

“Shouldn’t you be pushing a cart, too?” she found herself asking. “This food ain’t going to

be here forever.”

“We’ve got plenty of food at home. Dad’s always been a ‘worst case scenario’ guy. Our

whole basement is designed to keep us safe from tornadoes, pandemics, invasion…I’m here for

medicine.” He patted his backpack. Something light and cardboard clanked against each other.

“Medicine?” She looked him up and down. He seemed fine, not at all like he was about to

pass out from the flu.

“My sister has asthma. She’s just got the one inhaler left.” His grip on the backpack straps

whitened, like he was afraid she was going to take it from him.

“Then why didn’t you go with the military? I’m sure they’ve got plenty of medical

supplies.”
 “Not really,” Tom said bitterly. “Besides, my mom’s in a wheelchair. They refused to take

her because she’d ‘slow them down.’”

“Ah.” She didn’t ask about his father, why he wasn’t here instead of the teenager. Everyone

had lost someone to demons or idiot humans reacting to demons.

Well, everyone who had anyone to lose.

“We’re here,” he announced.

Julia had never been to the back of the supermarket, that forbidden area beyond those black

swinging doors that read employees only. Somehow it was even colder back here than the customer

part. All the lights were off and, unlike the front of the store, there were no big windows, forcing

them to bring out the flashlights. Hundreds if not thousands of boxes greeted them. Some had

managed to stay stacked on top of each other, especially the ones stored up high. Others had been

ripped apart, bits of cardboard and plastic peanuts scattered everywhere. They were close to the

dairy section, the scent of souring food cloying in her nostrils.

“This is why I have my own generator,” she grumbled.

Tom led her through the tall iron aisles. “Shelved beverages should be over—”

Something skittered. Julia grabbed the boy and ducked for cover behind her cart, shotgun

raised.

“What is it?” he asked. His pistol shook in his hand. “Birdies? Colossus?”

“A colossus would’ve just stepped through the roof,” Julia hissed. She peaked around her

pile of groceries.

More skittering. A can fell over, clattering against the cement floor.

A rat twitched its whiskers at her.

Julia sagged. “False alarm.”

 Tom groaned. “I’m not cut out for the apocalypse.” He curled around himself, knees to his

chest.

She prodded him with the butt of her shotgun. “…you all right? Kid?”

“Grape juice is the next aisle over. Should be on your right,” he said to his knees.

Deciding to give him a minute, Julia left him at the cart and went hunting. She saw a few

more rats and a puddle of what could’ve either been tomato sauce or fresh blood, she didn’t get

close enough to investigate.

Finally, she saw it: a whole pallet of grape juice as tall and wide as she was. Enough to last

her years.

“Oh, if only I could get you onto my truck,” she crooned, petting the plastic.

Unfortunately, she also had to get all the food in there. Promising herself that she’d come

back next week, she peeled open the plastic covering and grabbed an armful of 2-liter bottles. It

was a struggle, especially with a shotgun. By the time she’d staggered back to her cart, Tom had

come to his senses. He helped her load them up and navigate back to the front of the store.

They cautiously poked their heads out the doors. Finding only an empty parking lot, they

hurried to her truck and loaded everything.

“Can I get a lift back to my place?” he asked. “It’s just a few blocks over.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She didn’t want the kid hanging onto her like an

old dead goose. But he was giving her such a hopeful, puppy-dog look, constantly looking over

his shoulder and at the sky as he helped her load everything.

“Fine,” she said. “Don’t touch my radio. And keep your feet off the—”

Thump.

They both paused, the last of the canned groceries in Julia’s wrinkled hands.
 Thump!

Tom’s eyes widened, the whites almost glowing.

Julia tossed the cans into the trunk and slammed the door closed. “Move!”

THUMP!

They piled in. “Start the car!” Tom hissed.

“Shh! Get down!” Julia shoved them both to the floor. A lone red M&M glared at her from

behind her brake pedal.

THUMP!

They didn’t know how demons hunted. Some people said it was through smell. Others

claimed it was hearing and motion, possibly even eco-location.

Everyone agreed that calling attention to yourself—by, say, starting a very loud truck

engine with a colossus only a few feet away—was a bad idea.

Tom whimpered, curling into a ball on the floor of the passenger seat. Julia raised her head

just enough to see out the window.

The first thing she saw was its chest, its navel clearing the roof of the supermarket by

several feet. It had the same gray skin as its birdie cousins, massive fingers ending in claws. She

shifted to see further up: the nipple-less pecs, shoulders, neck…

And clear white eyes staring directly at her.

She twisted into her seat, turned on the truck, and floored it.

Tom yelped, tossed around the car floor as Julia spun and went for the street.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

“It’s following us!” he shrieked, pulling himself onto the seat.

 “Shut your hole!” She swerved, narrowly avoiding a big gray foot. The impact of the

colossus sent gravel spraying everywhere, almost tipping over the truck.

She spun and hit the emergency brake. The colossus passed right over them, momentum

keeping it going until it managed to stop. By then, Julia had shot forward, going the other way,

toward the downtown area.

“Where are you going?” Tom demanded.

“Parking garage.”

“We don’t have a parking garage!”

“I was in this town for decades while you were in your father’s nut sack. Shut up and let

me drive!”

THUMP! THUMP!

Julia glanced at the mirror, giving her an excellent view of the green sheen of the colossus’s

toenails.

She pulled a hard right, heading straight for the closed garage door of the strip mall, really

just a collection of brick buildings squished together to form one block-long monstrosity. She

braced herself for impact.

The truck smashed through the door. She barely got the headlights on in time to see the

cement wall. She spun to avoid it. The pavement went down, into a small parking garage barely

big enough to hold a dozen cars.

A big gray fist destroyed what was left of the door, trying to grab them. Julia shifted in

reverse and backed the truck as far into the garage as she could.

The hand creeped closer, pushing further in. Dark green claws shredded concrete floors,

each one almost as big as a person. Julia held her breath, trying to find the garage door that led up
into the building. It was so dark, she couldn’t see anything except those claws. Was it to the left

or right?

Bang!

The sound of gunfire made her jump. Tom had left the car and fired his tiny, puny pistol at

the massive hand trying to grab them.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Four direct hits. The colossus growled.

Shocked out of her stupor, Julia grabbed her shotgun and followed suit.

BOOM!

A chunk of gray flesh blew away. It was only the tip of the colossus’s finger, but Julia had

gotten up close and personal with the kitchen knives before—had the scar on her index finger to

prove it—and knew how delicate that part of the body really was.

The demon roared, shaking the stones. Julia and Tom covered their ears, and she prayed

that the vibrations didn’t bring the building down on their heads.

The hand withdrew.

THUMP!

THUMP!

Thump!

Thump…

After a solid minute of listening to the footsteps get farther away, Julia went back into her

truck. Tom eventually followed suit. They were both pale and shaking.

Without a word, Julia took one of the closest grape juice bottles from the back and cracked

the lid. She helped herself to several long draws before offering it to Tom. He drained half of it.
 “I didn’t think guns would work on that thing,” she admitted. “Nothing short of a tank,

anyway.”

“Me, neither,” he said. “I just panicked.”

“Good panicking.”

“How’d you know about this place?”

“Employee parking. I used to work in one of the businesses here.” She took the juice back

and put it away. “Come on.”

“Hold up. We should make sure it’s gone.”

“That thing’s not exactly quiet.”

“Just…” He pulled off his backpack. “If I get eaten, make sure this gets to my sister?”

Julia blinked. “Kid—”

“It’s the blue house, intersection of Third and Washington. Thanks Mrs. Vi—Julia.” Before

she could argue, he was gone.

“Dumb kid,” she grumbled, putting the truck back in drive. It was nice to see him grow

some balls, but she did not want to have to tell a mother and sister that their idiot teenager got

himself killed being the hero.

Tom came back a moment later, announcing an all clear. The drive to his house was

surprisingly calm.

“I hate grocery shopping,” Julia said.

He burst out laughing, an edge of hysteria to it. “Waaay too much of a hassle, right?”

“Absolutely. This is you?”

“Yeah.” He beamed as she parked in the driveway. “Did you want to come in? You could

even stay the winter if you want. Strength in numbers and all that.”
 “Bah. We’d all kill each other in a week.” She eyed him. “Don’t bother me unless

someone’s about to die.”

He shrugged. “Door’s always open. Thanks, Mrs. Julia.”

She watched him jog up to the front door, making sure he was inside and hugging his mom

before driving away.

***

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