It was safe to say that Trudy kept her eyes down and her demeanour meek as she walked through the sliding doors of the shop. She couldn't bear to acknowledge the turning of the gang's heads as she breezed inside, having parked right by the entrance to the car park in order to make this a quick in-then-out. Her eyes were trained on the floor, which was not at all a problem in the shop. Trudy knew this supermarket like she knew the tale of Hell, or the story of the last stand, or one of the many obscure tales of the Themar she had spent her entire dissertation on. Left at the third aisle, down to the fourth fridge housing the ready meals. When she lifted her head, she saw her disheveled reflection, rain-whipped and hectic, but left little time to stare. Besides, it was hard to considering a couple of lights were flickering on-and-off erratically, plunging the ready-meal aisle into complete darkness every now and then. Her choice was already made; had been made the moment the pot boiled over at home. Black bean beef with rice. It wasn't as cold as she would have liked it to be, but if the fridge was broken she didn't have the energy to flag a worker and let them know. Not that there seemed to be may around, which gave her an even stronger excuse. Trudy hung her head once more and shuffled the rest of the way down the aisle, left a few, then down, seeking a share bag of crisps. Might as well, now I'm here. Her favourite bag of spicy crisps sat typically on the top shelf, forcing her to tiptoe, just managing to grab it by the bottom. She nearly broke her neck slipping on a cranberry juice spillage, but the crisps were secured, and the risk had been worth it. Now just the trek to the cashier, and she could be out of there. She finished the aisle, emerging right of the doors. There were two checkouts, and a bunch of out-of-order self-checkouts. But not a single cashier was at either. She sighed and placed her items on the desk. There wasn't a bell; this was a corporate chain, not an independent store, they typically didn't have them because the cashiers were supposed to be diligent. She resisted a scowl, deciding to be the calm and understanding customer. "Hello?" She called out into the shop. The lights were headache inducing, even more so thanks to the few that continued to flicker. A quiet rustling, followed by soft footsteps sounded near those lights. Come to think of it, they were probably down the spillage aisle. Trudy decided to make herself known and ask the worker to turn up at the desk. It wasn't as if the store was busy, she muttered as she walked, it wasn't hard to remain at...

Down the aisles. Left. Cranberry juice and flashing lights.

Blood and culprits.

It was seeping from the cashier's grotesquely torn body. Where there should have been guts and gore, was nothing more than flaps of skin and blood, so much blood, crawling cranberry down aisle six.

And over the uniformed victim, loomed two cloaked figures. One crouched beside the human, sucking its fingers noisily. Trudy wondered how she hadn't paid it mind before, except that the flicker and buzz of the lights could have drowned it out. The other figure was staring right at her. Or could have been, should Trudy have been able to see its eyes. There was no doubt about it. These were aggressive Themars, likely members of the TNM. She should have never come in after seeing the bikers. These two would probably deal her the same fate as the man on the floor, God, had he been alive...

She stumbled back a few steps, hand over her mouth. A gag escaped her, another bubbling round in her throat. The staring creature didn't move, but the figure gorging on the dead snapped its head up. Nothing was underneath the cloak again. All she saw of this one was a pale hand, smears of blood and saliva on its fingers. Trudy couldn't move as it rose. Nor as it was joined by its friend. But she sure as Hell moved when they stepped forth once, twice. Affected by the most overwhelming rush of adrenaline she knew she would ever experience, Trudy ran straight for the sliding doors.

To no avail. They had become panes of immovable glass. Beyond them, the gang remained. But not a member turned a head. Cursing, she whipped around to see the cloaked creatures moving slowly still her way. She made for the checkouts, grabbed just her crisps – because, God help her, if she survived, she refused to go hungry – and darted down the first aisle. Unfortunately for her, those daunting footsteps seemed to be hurrying up, and by the time she had slammed into the shelves at the end of the aisle, she could make out two cloaks flying at her in her peripheral vision. With a yelp, Trudy stumbled to get going, but soon was off down the back of the shop. She slipped on her bloody boot, that blood nearly snapping her neck once more, just gripping the handle leading to the storeroom and hurling herself inside. Boxes upon boxes crammed the disappointingly small space, but a door at the back of the room beckoned her forth to safety. She ran to it, letting it swing shut. Trudy had let herself into a slightly bigger room, with better hiding spaces thanks to a fair share of metal shelves. Still, she thought, for a supermarket, it was annoyingly small. But time was of the essence, and fussing about the storeroom's size certainly was not. Desperation drove her to the back of the room again. To her luck, a ladder leading up to a trapdoor hid snug in the corner. Trudy nearly wept with relief – would have done, if not for the sheer amount of adrenaline soaring through her brain and numbing every sense that wasn't the need to SURVIVE. She tucked her crisps up her shirt and set her foot firmly on the first metal rung of the painter's ladder, then the second, then – then, the room's door swished open. She climbed faster, heart panting, exhales mixed with sobs, and punched the trapdoor clean open. A whoosh of fabric sounded below, just as she hauled her arms onto the roof, pulled herself up...

A freezing cold hand grabbed her ankle. Through her thin, tartan pyjama trousers, she felt more than she would have liked to. Pudgy flesh, for the most part. Bone peeking through otherwise. As she kicked and shook her leg, she thought she could feel parts of the flesh peeling off or crumbling like dust. Panic seized her when the hand tugged, pulling her down to her armpits. Her bag of crisps popped and spilled down her stomach as the doorway slammed into her. She grunted, gripping the flat roof with her fingertips. But the cloaked figure was strong, stronger yet when its friend took her by the other leg. They had full grasp of her and were yanking her down. Her fingertips tore open as they scraped for grasp against harsh, slippy stone. Trudy stared at the grey sky as she was pulled down, cursing the clouds for rain, for obscuring the stars. Those, she couldn't die without seeing once more, surely...

The storeroom door banged open, and the creatures' grips released. Trudy let herself fall behind them and watched as they moved away from her. They left a rancid smell in their wake, one that nearly had Trudy fall from consciousness. But she rose shakily to her feet, grasping the ladder for support, still desperate to flee. Gunshots fired, sending waves of vibration through Trudy. She winced. Staying in the shop, no matter what, was entirely unappealing. She yanked up her hood. Crisps crunched beneath her boots as she launched onto the ladder once more and climbed determinedly, despite the shouts below of "HALT! STOP RIGHT THERE!". But Trudy was on the roof, across it, then haphazardly off it into an open bin. Something squished and squirted on the underside of her chin as she landed, and was paid little mind, for she jumped straight out and was barrelling down unfamiliar roads until she was certain she was far enough – and lost. Trudy spent an uncertain amount of time stumbling through the city, her head pounding, her stomach turning. Once or twice she stopped to retch, a process that made her feel as if she was being rung out. Down streets with names all-new to her, past tall buildings that let her know she was definitely too far from home to find her way back in any short amount of time. Bin juice and saliva dripped from her chin, sweat stuck the crisp crumbs to her chest, and something foul was ringed around her ankles. It hadn't been the in-and-out trip she had hoped for. She was still hungry.

It was 4:38 when she finally tripped over the doorframe into her house. She let herself cry and cry all the while she stripped out of her filthy clothes. Her pyjama trousers were put immediately into a black bag, though Trudy would have preferred to launch them into the fireplace and set it. A bath was ran, and her body was scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until every remnant, every trace of the night had left her. She took her flat phone from her coat pocket and set it to charge at her bedside, then, once she was certain every door was locked and every window sealed tight, she let herself life under the covers and weep, until sleep stole her just as the first hints of light suggested themselves through the curtains.