The Apocalypse Contract

CHAPTER 11 - SYDNEY

"Ma'am, you're not supposed to remove grocery carts from store property."

Sydney stood silently. She was still recovering from the nerve shattering chirp of the siren that had sounded as the police car pulled up next to her. The siren was now off, but the red and blue lights still strobed hypnotically.

"You realize that it's basically theft, right?" The cop glared at her like she had just been busted robbing a jewelry store.

"I was going to bring it back," she finally squeaked.

"You say that now, but that store has had a number of carts go missing lately."

Sydney tried to imagine what the officer must be thinking. That she was hoarding shopping carts in her bedroom? Selling them for scrap? Maybe there was some shopping cart black market she didn't know about. Gangs of cart thieves would whisk them away to chop shops where they could be broken down and sold for parts. "I... I only live a couple blocks from here. I don't have a car. I'll bring it right back."

The officer sighed. It lacked the fluency of someone more versed in the language. "Technically, I should haul you down to the station."

"Please don't. Please... I..." This was a disaster. She might be hours at the police station. The aliens would move on to a new candidate, and she would be left here, on Earth, dying of cancer. She looked at the cart through blurring vision, absorbing the enormity of her mistake. Would thirty years of hot pockets and soup really have been that bad?

"Ma'am, are you OK?"

"I'm sorry... it's just... since the chemotherapy I can't really..." Words evaporated. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

"It's OK, ma'am. You just need to take the cart back to the store. Here, load your bags into the back seat of my cruiser. I'll drop you home."

Sydney lifted bags from the cart as the police officer opened the back door of his car. They moved all the bags, and she began pushing the cart back as he drove ahead. Briefly, she considered ditching the cart to run back to her apartment but quickly discarded the idea. She hurried and was out of breath by the time she arrived at the cart return.

"Where do you live?" the officer asked as she climbed into the back seat next to her groceries.

"Just up the road. The big red brick apartment on Clifford."

"I know the one." They drove on in silence.

A block from her apartment, he cleared his throat, then said, "I was just thinking, that hardware store on Meyer Avenue... they sell these nice little two wheel carts with a long handle. Sort like one of those wheeled suitcases, but with a metal cage. That would work pretty well for hauling groceries around."

"Um, thanks. I'll look into that."

More silence. They pulled up to her apartment building.

"This is it," she confirmed. She began dragging her bags from the police cruiser.

"Let me help with that."

"It's OK, really. There's an elevator. I'll be fine."

"It's no trouble. I want to make sure you get to your door OK."

Sydney felt a sliver of panic stabbing at her. She took a calming breath and forced a smile. "Sure. Thanks."

They rode the elevator in silence, her with the backpack and two grocery bags, him with four bags, cloth handles doubled up in each hand. She led the way to her apartment, hoping he would put down the bags and leave as soon as they reached the door. He didn't. She took her time unlocking the door. He lingered. Finally, she swung the door open.