Erik sat in a lawn chair he found in the tiny camping section. He could not help but stare at the pale remains of partially severed hands and arms tacked to the plywood windows.
“Imagine, if they were human arms and not the infected. It would be cruel and unusual punishment,” he said.
“They are not human,” Jean Claude replied as he sat beside him in a simular looking chair.
“It was supposed to be a cure for Cancer. It was a mutating cell inhibitor. It was not supposed to create new cells. A new nervous system. It moved so fast. It was spectacular until it took my wife…”
A painful thump and Erik’s world went dark.
Minutes later he woke bloody and leaning against the remains of a shelf full of dusty baseball cards.
Jean Claude and the Baker brothers argued near the end of the checkout lane. Erik stood. Took a breath and then walked left toward a dirty counter that used to be the Service Center. Blood fell from the wound on the right side of Erik’s face.
Erik stepped behind the counter. He searched for the .45 he knew was behind the counter. The dusty handgun sat near a stack of boxes. Erik reached for the weapon as his head throbbed.
“This thing is huge,” he thought as he slid the weapon from the shelf.
“Where did Erik, the Horrible go?”
“I’m not Erik, the Horrible or Erik, the Terrible… I am not an animal,” Erik stood and squeezed the trigger.