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She was looking for trail mix. It wasn't very hopeful. The shelves were pretty bare, and had clearly already been ransacked, stripped of most anything useful. Zach was off looking for something else. It was okay. The store was empty. No one would want to linger here. It was not particularly defensible, and certainly lacked the comfort of home.

She traced her hand along the shelves, swirling the dust with her fingers, wondering what this store had been like before all of this. She looked at some of the things, the silly little things for sale, cans and cleaners and such, and wondered where they would have been had the island still been inhabited. Still, no nuts, no raisins, no cereal. No M&Ms. She was looking at the floor, thinking that maybe someone had dropped a bag, when all of a sudden there was a loud noise and a great force and she found herself face down in the aisle.

Her legs were hurting, and badly. Her lower back hurt some, too. Had... had someone shot her? It was the quick conclusion, but no, no, that couldn't be right. It couldn't happen right out of nowhere. No way. No.

Zach was there, right? He was somewhere back there. But, no, she'd gotten too far ahead. She'd left him behind again. She'd split off, and now she was paying. This wasn't right. They were supposed to be camping. They were supposed to be having fun.

She wasn't having fun. She'd definitely been shot, and badly.

But she wouldn't, couldn't go down without a fight. She had her gun, and she painfully flipped herself over, firing an unaimed shot in the rough direction of her assailant, feeling the kick, and calling over it, "Zach!"
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No One Here Gets Out Alive · The Residential Area