Evergrand (Chapter 3 Extraction)

August 21th.

Shopper’s Mart, a small variety store in western Towne owned by Mr. and Mrs. Eli, an African couple who came down in their early twenties and still remained even in their late sixties. For years it has been the aid to anyone who rather did their last minute shopping in the midst of a blackout. It gave without need of sale or price or even owner supervision, and was given nothing in return. To spite its many after hour visits and use as a canvas for the neighborhood youths' many graffiti projects it was a thriving business. It was always being repainted, the windows were regularly changed and after all that it still raked in a hefty sum cash in the end. The doors were always left open during business hours; there were two strips of masking-tape which intersected into the shape of an X in the large front window near the cash-in-counter where Mr. Eli sat selling perishable items from the storage room at its back. There were seven aisles which provided easy access to goods and a line of seven cold- cases at their back. It was 8:13pm; Mr. Eli was having on of his customary chats with Deputy Austin Myers who dropped by on a regular on his many donut-runs for the local police department.  

“They finally gave me my gun” he boasted, “Yep, they told me I could do anything I wanted with my old Taser, they gave it to me as a gift, so I sold it to this security guard who lives in my neighborhood”

“Bet you made some quick cash out of it, didn’t ya?” laughed Mr. Eli.

“Yeah, a hundred bucks too” Austin replied.

“Well, where is it?” asked Mr. Eli.

“Where’s what?” 

“Your gun! You got it with you?”

“Oh yeah! I got it with me, check it out!” said Austin talking the gun out of his gun-belt. It was a Glock 19 with an ashy black, smooth polymer frame which felt more like plastic than what you would expect a gun to be made of. He held it by the grip in his left hand, placed his fingers in the grooves on the front strap and with his thumb resting perfectly on the thumb rest, he used his right index finger and thumb to pull down on the floor plate and show the magazine to Mr. Eli.

“Cool isn’t it?” he smiled and slid the magazine back into the tube.

“That no way to handle a gun” Mr. Eli said sternly.

Austin paused.

“You have to strike a pose. Look like a badass” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, now we’re talking” Austin laughed. He struck a pose: stood with his legs far apart and aimed down the sight, pointing the gun out the door making Mr. Eli laugh heartily and somewhat proudly. Mr. and Mrs. Eli didn’t have any children, so having twenty year old Austin Myers as someone to share a laugh with every now and again almost filled the gap . He took pride in his achievements.

“If I had did that pose on camera” he laughed, “I would totally end up on Southland”

In walked a man in a brown, velvet trench coat and a brown, wide brimed, cotton felt hat. He approached the counter, pulled his hat over his eyes and snarled at Austin; who shrugged it off and went on to get the donuts in the second aisle. The man ordered the strangest combination; three slabs of beef, a bottle of white rum and a box of Betty Crocker cheese-cake mix. He then limped down to the back of the store where the cold-cases were, grunting every step of the way, and took out a carton of chocolate milk. Through this entire time Austin looked at him with awkwardness, he took up the box of donuts and decided to wait out the man’s presence before talking it to the counter.  

“Here we are, now” said Mr. Eli, placing the large brown, paper bag of goods that the man had ordered on the counter top, “Is that all?” but the man just groaned, clenched over in pain, and held his stomach in his right hand.

“Are you okay?” asked Mr. Eli.

“Sure” the man grunted, “Get me a couple of antacids too, will ya?”

“Sure” answered Mr. Eli looking at him in concern. He pulled out a couple of antacid sachets and gave it to the man, helped him get the milk carton into his bag and tried to lighten the mood by chuckling, “Hmm, indigestion can be a real bother, can’t it?”, but to spite his considerate attitude the man just snarled, snatched the bag and started off.

“Hey!” snapped Mr. Eli, “Your pocket-book on lockdown or something!”

But the man just kept on going. Austin raced up to the counter, set his donuts down gently and asked "What happened?"

“He took everything without paying!” he complained.

“Well, we aught to do something?” gasped Austin, “You should call the police!”

Mr. Eli paused, “Austin” he said, “you forgetting something?”

Austin raced outside and, grabbing the man by his shoulder, yelled “Hold it right there!” but in an instant was thrown off his feet. He groaned in pain on his back for a moment before staggering back to his feat. The man was now making as much haste as he could on his limping leg. Instead of another frontal approach Austin raced over to his patrol-car (printed ‘TPD’ on the bonnet in bold blue and ‘Towne Police Department’ on each side, followed by a picture of a silver badge) opened the door to the driver’s seat and reached in straight for the bullhorn sitting in the passenger seat. He clicked it on using the switch at its side and, after the reverberation of its settling speaker had subsided (a sound which appeared to pertain great irritation to the man), he ordered him to “Hold it!”, “Stop!” and “Halt!” but it was to no avail. The man was now fading into the darkness of the distance and nearing the Westside O’Neal building. Austin threw the bullhorn back into the passenger seat and reached in for his radio and spoke into it with his finger on the button, “This is deputy Meyers reporting a two-one-one at the Shopper’s Mart – over!”, but there was only radio-silence. He tried again and again, only to be discouraged by utter silence. He knew that if he were to catch this felon, the time to act was now. He pulled his flashlight from the nifty little carrying case on his left side and advanced in the man’s direction. The man had already disappeared into the O’Neal Building’s front entrance, leaving the door wide opened as a trepidation invitation. Austin entered cautiously into the darkness of the building and switched on his flashlight and, in the dimming apparition of light which it provided, skulked through its depressing environment. It was damp and cold, there were a few pieces of wet moldy furniture with tattered cushioning and what appeared to be animal droppings all over the floor. The foulest and most sickening odor lingered throughout the atmosphere, seeping through the peeling drywall and stains of excrement which grew and flourished on the ceiling. He moved on through. Every now and again, a creature would scurry frantically across the floor; Austin would shine his light in a fright, but see nothing. He ascended up the rickety wooden stairs to the second floor, his hand avoiding the touch of the wet splintery rail. This floor was in much better condition: the flooring was only wet in certain spaces, the furniture was held together properly (except for a television with a broken screen) and the stench only met halfway. To his left was a hallway in which there were three doors; one at its end, another on its right side and the last (the only of which was left open) at its left. He pulled his gun and continued on warily down the hall, for there were no other paths for both him nor his objective to follow. He peeked into the open door and saw nothing but an old table and two chairs. While tugging on the locked door his attention was caught by a faint yet menacing snarl. Suddenly, out leapt the strange and ominous creature; it prowled on all fours with toes tipped in talons, its gnarled and contorted body covered in spiny bristles, its face was in a distortion of appearances and its sinewy tail ended in a barbed spine. It clamped is jaws onto his right leg on the spot, twisting its head left and right with no concern of his screams. He kicked with his free leg and pounded with the butt of his gun. Its claws dug into his waist and in his endeavor for survival emptied three bullets into it. It yelped and withdrew. He scrambled through the open door kicking it shut with his left leg. His flashlight lying on the ground outside the door allowed glimpses of the creature’s movement to be seen through the shadows it provided. The room was dully lit by the peering moon through the window. He crawled to its end, as far as he could get from the door, and as the heated pain moved up his leg he took deep breaths. It clawed at the door in anger and the pain of the residing led in its shoulder and back. Insisted on his survival he his gun up; aiming at the door and firing again and again until the slide locked back. It was silent now, the neighborhood, Mr. Eli feared the worst. The creature had subsided in its failed attempt and was now waiting patiently for its master to conclude…