"I got it. But it's not dead. It's wounded!" Jane shouted. "I think that's a good thing. Right? The blood is fresher maybe?"

Frank heard indistinct shuffling noises and a wet snap.

"Don't come over here," Jane added.

"We won't," Frank assured her. He turned to Emily. "Well, let's sort some of this stuff and get it out to the car." He lit up a cigarette as a preemptive measure in case the smell started to waft over the shelves.

"I'll go get some more perfume," Emily said.

"Right."

Frank tried not to hear but couldn't help it. Squishy sounds were coming from the direction Jane had gone.

She was definitely eating the skunk.

He wondered about the fur—was she peeling it first or just tearing in like some barbarian? He cringed at the thought and busied himself with the contents of the shopping carts.

The things he thought they needed were folded and laid flat in the cart. The bikinis and things went in a pile on the floor. High heels, bracelets and jewelry, lacy bras and oversized hats joined the pile, though for reasons he didn't want to admit to himself, he opted to keep the fishnet thigh highs.

Once he got two of the carts consolidated into one, he angled it toward the door, tossing his suitcase on top.

"Emily! Let's go," he called just as she rounded an aisle, her arms full of deodorants, car fresheners and perfume.

"Better safe," she said.

They headed for the door leaving Jane to her stink feast.

It took some doing, but Frank managed to clear a path through the mountain of shopping carts at the exit. It was just at the moment he was thinking how lucky it was that they hadn't run into any trouble when he heard the echoing report of a gunshot.

It was a different sound than before, inside the Target—not as concussive and big.

It was the sound of a gun being fired outside.

Then came a muffled shout.

"Rrrah rrrr rreeuhhnns!"

Frank and Emily abandoned their carts and ducked behind one of the few nearby cars for cover, carefully peeking out to scan the parking lot and surrounding woods. There was no movement, but it had sounded like the voice was fairly close.

The voice shouted again, "Rrrah rrr rreeuhhnns!"

Franked looked at Emily. She shrugged. Frank was trying to make sense of the muffled nonsense but came up short. "What's he saying?" he asked Emily.

"I don't know. Something about ribbons?" she whispered.

"What?" Frank shouted back.

"RRAAHH RRR RRREEEBBUHHNS!"

Frank shook his head. "Look. I can't understand you," he shouted back to the seemingly empty parking lot.

The demand came one more time with the same results.

Frank was getting irritated. "I really have no idea what you're saying right now either come closer or leave us alone."

Emily pulled a Glock 9 mm from the back of her waistband and snapped off the safety.

"Where'd you get that?" Frank whispered to her.

"It was stashed under the seat of the Suburban."

"You've had it this whole time?"

"Well... self-preservation. I had to make sure you guys weren't fuckin' psychos."

Finally, they noticed some commotion from behind the burnt-out hulk of an old Nissan Sentra.

It looked like a kid in a gas mask holding a hunting rifle.

Then a few more emerged from their various hiding places all carrying weapons and formed a rank about thirty feet away.

A bunch of kids in gas masks with guns.

They talked amongst themselves for a few minutes as Frank and Emily waited.

"Should I start shooting?" Emily asked eagerly.

"What? No. They're just kids."

"They've got fucking guns."

Frank peered around the side of the car. Apart from their arsenal, there was nothing threatening about the kids. They appeared to be having some kind of low-stakes school-yard debate. They didn't seem agitated or ready to fight. Their guns were either slung over their shoulders or dangling in limp hands by their sides. They were so blissfully naïve—not even considering the possibility that Frank and Emily might harm them.

They seemed to decide something and three of their rank stepped forward, guns pointed at the asphalt. There were six kids in all.

Once they were about fifteen feet away, they stopped.

The tallest one said, "Can you understand me now," though his voice was still a bit garbled and hollow behind his mask.

"Yeah, now I can," Frank said.

"Okay," the tall kid said. "What I said before was 'drop your weapons' but I guess now... it doesn't matter. You know... unless you have some... and you want to drop them."

The tall one looked to be around Emily's age, maybe a few years younger. Sixteen or so.

"I've got a gun and there's no fucking way I'm dropping it," Emily said.

"Oh. Okay. Well... uh... just... just don't shoot at us, okay. Maybe just, you know... put it away or something."

"Why is this kid their spokesman," Emily asked Frank.

"We're not going to shoot anything," Frank said over the hood of the car. "We're going to step out now, alright. And we're all going to be calm."

"Uh... yeah. Sure. Okay," the kid said.

Frank and Emily stood from behind the car and walked around the front. Emily was still holding the gun but put it away once she was able to size up this ramshackle group of survivor kids.

"So... uh. What are you guys doing?" the kid asked, looking to break the awkward silence.

"Well, we were just grabbing some supplies," Frank said.

"Oh... okay. Well... guess you managed to get through our barricade."

"The shopping carts?" Frank returned.

"Yeah. It was uh..." He turned to his cohorts who looked confused by the whole situation. "Well... you... uh... get anything good?"

"What's the fucking deal with the gas masks?" Emily asked. Her tone startled the tall kid. "You guys fucking Star Wars freaks or something?"

"No... no. We... uh... we have to wear them. For our asthma." This seemed to be all the explanation he was prepared to give. The group stood there awkwardly for a few moments, looking at the ground, the sky, the trees. "Star Wars is great though," the kid said.

"It is," Frank agreed. Emily roller her eyes.

"Well... I'm pretty sure you guys didn't find any food in there. We took most of it early on. So... you guys hungry?"

"Absolutely," Frank said.

"We got plenty of stuff back at the Center."

"Okay, the Center. Great."

Again, an awkward silence.

The tall kid put his hands in his pockets.

Jane came out then, navigating through the cleared path between stacked carts. She was toting the heavy-duty machine gun, her face smeared with blood. When she saw the bizarre scene, she stopped short.

"What's going on?" she asked.

The tall kid fumbled to get his hands out of his pockets and ready his hunting rifle but only managed to hit himself in the chin with the barrel. Frank let out an empathetic chuckle. The two other kids got in low ninja-like crouches: their weapons ready.

Emily stepped forward. "Whoa, whoa..." she said, as she trotted to the group of kids. She grabbed the barrels of two of the guns, pushing them toward the ground. "Slow down turbo, she's with us."

"How many more of you are there?" the tall kid asked.

"This is it," Frank said as Jane cautiously approached the group pushing her squeaky cart. "It's just the three of us."

"Okay... because... we don't have a ton of food, you know."

"It's just us, Rambo," Emily said getting closer to him. He backed off.

As Jane walked up, Frank got slapped in the face with skunk smell. He choked a little and handed Jane a folded tee-shirt from the cart and pointed to his mouth. "You got some stuff..."

"Oh." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth and then rubbed at it vigorously. "You know—craziest thing—it didn't smell at all," she said smiling.

"Oh, it smells."

"It does?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Oh shit." She checked her clothes as though she might see some green haze of stench floating around her. "Sorry." She looked up and noticed everyone had given her a wide berth.

"What's your name, cowboy?" Emily said, obviously having fun invading the tall kid's personal space.

"Tri... Tristen." He stepped back. "This is Sam and Johnny." The two others lowered their guns and nodded, chirping out little "hi's."

"Well, how about letting us load up our truck and we'll follow you guys." Frank was getting tired of the banal banter.

"Okay... just... well, we've got Razors so..." Tristen was clearly trying to impress them.

"So? We've got guns." Emily said.

"No, razors. R-Z-Rs. They're ATVs made by Polaris... and um... they're pretty powerful so..." he trailed off waiting for a reaction.

"So?" Emily smirked.

"So... so, nothing. Okay. Well then... uh... follow us." He turned around and began walking back to their whispering group. Sam and Johnny waved.

"Nice to meet you," one of them said but with the masks, it was hard to tell which.

"That kid is a total dipshit," Emily said as they pushed their carts to the Suburban.