At the End - a post-apocalyptic novel (The Road to Extinction, Book 1) by John Hennessy Page A

you find?” I asked
Jelly.
    “Uhrm. Pain relievers, adhesive bandages,
topical healing creams, hydrogen peroxide, a bunch of inhalers. I
think stuff we’ll need.”
    “Sounds great,” I said. “All the maps have
been taken, so it looks like I-5 is our only option, unless we want
to get lost.” They all nodded in silence. We exchanged what we had
collected, to make sure nothing was forgotten, as best we could
anyway. “Before we go, I have to pee.”
    “All right, we’ll go across the street to
the sporting goods store, see if any guns are left. Maybe some
camping stoves.” We had gathered up a lot of the cookware, but had
nothing to use them with.
    “Don’t leave me alone, that’s stupid. I’ll
only be a couple of seconds.”
    “I’ll stay,” Tortilla offered.
    My heart leapt, some alone time at last.
Even if it only lasted a minute or two, it would be nice.
    “Yeah, okay. We’ll be right across the
street,” Jelly said. They left and took a few of the duffels to put
next to the Trackster.
    “I’ll be quick,” I told Tortilla. “So we can
talk about . . . you know, what to do and all.”
    He held a cleaver in his hand. “I’ll be
right outside.”
    The bathroom was cleaner than I thought it
would be, which was nice, a real bonus for the day. I laughed when
I noticed that the toilet paper was out. The place had only
electric dryers, too. Luckily, I had some face tissue in my
pockets. I hated blowing my nose in anything else. When I came out,
I didn’t see Tortilla.
    “Tortilla?” I said loudly.
    The bathroom was in the back, down a hall.
When I made it to where the hall joined the main store, I saw a
sliver of Tortilla, across the walkway, one aisle back from the
aisle in front of the hallway. He slowly crept to the edge of the
shelves, and put his index up to his mouth as we made eye contact.
He pointed to my right, and I spied an alion crouched low, sniffing
at two of the leftover duffels, filled with cookware.
    Its powerful nose detected us. It knew we
were there. After a few more sniffs, the alion jerked its large
head our way, sighting us instantly.
    “Run!” I screamed, terrified. But Tortilla
was horror-struck, petrified . . . immobile. I sprinted right at
him, grabbed his hand and yanked. I yanked so hard he nearly fell
over. The alion knocked over a shelf, starting a chain reaction,
like dominos all lined up, tumbling over. I could hear them:
CLUNG—CLUNG—CLUNG. How many were there between us, I didn’t know,
but we didn’t stop. We passed the end of the aisle; I felt the air
pushed toward me as the shelf toppled over behind us. We still
didn’t stop.
    The alion roared, throwing laundry detergent
jugs off its body, toward us. They smacked the floor a meter away.
I didn’t take a moment to turn back to see if it pursued us. We
cleared the sliding doors and bolted under the overcast sky,
heading for the sporting goods store.
    “Darrel! Jacob!” Tortilla bellowed.
    “Back here,” Jelly replied. “By the guns.” A
sign in the back hanging from two chains pointed us in the right
direction. When we found them, Jacob was loading an old handgun.
Jelly held a shotgun. “I forgot this is a used sports store. Most
of this stuff is from the last century.”
    “Alions!” I stammered. “In the
grocery—chasing—escaped . . .”
    “What?” Jacob said, straightening up. “You
saw aliens?”
    “Yeah, alions .”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll shoot it,” Jacob
reassured us. “Grab a gun, figure it out. We have nine of them, and
enough ammo to last a while.” I picked up a pistol. “Nice choice, a
Heckler and Koch USP. Should be easy enough for you.”
    Tortilla picked up a pistol too, but
different than mine. Glass broke at the storefront. “We gotta
move!” Tortilla said. “Head on, or out the back?”
    “Are you crazy? Out the back,” Jelly
answered. “I’m not going head-to-head with those monsters if I
don’t have to.”
    “Let’s go,” I whispered, heading for