[color=7bcdc8]"…Grant?"[/color] she whispered, peering slowly around the corner of the candy rack near the checkout lanes, flashlight off and machete at the ready.

Her basket stashed near the back of the pharmacy, Briana had taken every precaution she could think of as soon as the '[i]crash-clang[/i]' rang out through the deserted store. Supplies hidden, weapon out, mental pictures of exactly where to hit the dead so they couldn't get back up flashing through her mind, the panic that gripped her form day and night released her as her focus narrowed and adrenaline kicked into overdrive.

Grant would never make that kind of noise unless something was wrong, and she wouldn't face the end of the world without him.
She'd gone quietly aisle by aisle, fully prepared, but nothing seemed amiss and there were no other noises. That had her worried. A careful sniff of the air told her there were no rotters, and even the shamblers made some kind of noise. 

That meant either Grant had injured himself or knocked something over by accident (highly unlikely, and he'd have called out to her if he had)…or there was someone else inside the store. The living were just as dangerous as the dead.

[color=7bcdc8]"..Grant!"[/color] she hissed again. Hesitantly, Bri turned her flashlight on as she neared the checkout area. It was risky, but she couldn’t see a damn thing. When she saw the bakeware scattered down the aisle, her grip on the machete tightened. Her beam bounced from lane to lane as she paused in the open. 

| [@deegee] |