The lines moved slowly, but eventually Shelley made it to a register.
The cashier associate was young, probably just eighteen, and she had a smug look on her face. Shelley figured she would be smug too, if being a Cashier for Food-Mart was the best she could ever do. Shelley felt thankful to have the opportunity to be more than a Mart employee, and then it struck her that her mother’s income was what made it possible for both her and her brother to receive their requisite education
s
.
“What can I get you?” the cashier associate asked.
Shelley double-checked her list, and then cleared her throat, afraid that her voice might crack when she spoke. She had never done the actual ordering before. In some strange, egocentric way, she felt on the spot. “Um, I need one dish
soap
and a large shampoo, please.”
“Moisturizing or tearless?” the cashier associate asked.
Shelley looked back at the shelves and realized that she had a small selection from which to choose. “Oh . . . moisturizing.”
The associate plucked the two items from their shelves and brought them to her register. Both items had the same grey packaging with the word “Quality” stretched across the top at an angle. The moisturizing shampoo had a picture of a smiling woman sporting a shampoo hair-do. The dish
soap
had a picture of white dishes and lemon slices. The associate rang up both items using a scanning gun.
Shelley slid George’s card through a machine, and then offered the associate one of her grocery bags. Pleased that she had finished her first transaction, she looked for the battery booth. Kurt had been abusing the bathroom click-light for weeks. He threw
tantrum
s when
anyone
would try to turn it off, and he became hysterical when the light began to grow dimmer by the hour. He began waking in fearful, crying fits, and as much as Shelley loved her little brother, she was just about ready to lose her mind. Batteries were expensive, but right now, they were very necessary for everyone’s sake.
The battery line was much shorter than the soap line, but
it moved slowly
. Shelley saw that they were short a couple of cashier associates, and a manager was busy arguing with a customer over a denied refund. The customer refused to walk away, and the
c
ashier
associate
standing before him stared quietly with her jaw agape.
Shelley took another deep breath, still struggling to abate her anxiety. Through the corner of her eye, she saw a woman who looked remarkably like Virginia. She turned with a gasp, only to realize that her mind had played a
cruel
trick on her. No one among the crowd looked even remotely like her. She jumped as the loud speaker clicked on.
“Attention
,
Food-Mart customers: for the next thirty minutes the plastics booth will be discounting all recyclable food containers by ten percent,” the voice announced. “And remember, it’s the team player who ultimately gets ahead. Food-Mart values your customer loyalty.”
Shelley turned and saw Charlotte standing in the cereal line with her mother. Both were wearing what appeared to be designer surgical facemasks, imprinted with pretty designs and a brand logo. Relieved to see
her friend
, Shelley waved.
Charlotte skipped over to her. “Hey,
I
thought it was you!”
Shelley nodded, unsure what to say.
“I haven’t seen you around, but I heard what happened,” Charlotte said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
The irate customer stormed off and the line began to move a little.
Charlotte’s mother called to her and she turned away for a moment. “I gotta go. Sorry about . . . everything.” She hurried off.
The line moved
forward
a little more, and Shelley moved a few paces toward the booth. When she finally got to the front of the line, she was met by another smug associate. She frowned as she noticed that the batteries were each sold separately. The click-light only used one AA at a time, but Shelley knew that Kurt would go through them quickly. She thought to buy several, but reconsidered when she saw that they were almost fifteen dollars each.
It was n
o wonder her parents had always been so stingy about that light. “I’ll take two AA,” she said.
“That’s it?” the associate asked.
Shelley nodded. She finished the transaction, putting the batteries in the same bag as the soaps.
“Attention
,
Food-Mart customers: a news associate in Area Three will be beginning broadcast in less than one minute,” the loud speaker voice said. “Don’t forget to buy this week’s featured item: Quality freeze-dried mashed potato product, a family favorite, on sale all this week for only seven fifty-nine (limit three sale items, total). Thank you for shopping at Food-Mart.”
Shelley stopped as she found the news associate over by the canned vegetables booth. There was already a small crowd gathering around him, and Shelley had to push past a few people to get a decent spot. A cashier associate quietly approached her with a wireless scan gun, and she held out her father’s debit card for the associate to scan. The short man, who stood on a small platform holding an uncanny resemblance to a soapbox, had just started spouting the tidings for the day.
Shelley listened intently as the associate worked his way from the weather to the more important news: “Another wave of solar panel thefts has swept through the quadroplex, with Districts 89174 and 89148 being hit the hardest. This will be the third series of thefts like it just this month. No suspects have been identified, but authorities believe that organized crime is likely to blame. Any questions?” He looked through the crowd. A young woman raised her hand, and he pointed to her.
“Do authorities have any idea what thieves would want with solar panels?” the woman asked.
“They do not,” the news associate answered. He glanced up and looked around for a moment in thought, then looked back at the woman. “Some say they might be finding a way to sell them through the Black Market, though.”
There was a small clatter through the crowd as people nodded and murmured to one another over the associate’s assessment.
No one else raised their hand, so the news associate continued: “A man was arrested for attempting to bribe his wife’s doctor for antibiotics yesterday. His wife, who suffered from Lyme disease, killed herself earlier this morning.
”
He paused for a moment, as if offering the woman a moment for her passing.
“
Any questions?” he finally asked. He panned the audience with his eyes, searching for hands.
“A deadly virus has killed dozens of residents throughout the quadroplex in just the past two weeks,” the news associate continued. “Believed to be a biological weapon in powder form, authorities don’t know who is behind its making, but they do know that a deviant resistance group is randomly infecting humans. Concerned citizens should wear a facemask and plastic gloves while out in public. Any questions?”
Another young woman shot her arm into the air, and the news associate immediately pointed to her.
“What makes authorities suspect deviants?” the woman asked.
“That information is still undisclosed, but Corporate is advising that people avoid second-hand items and wear gloves and facemasks while out in public,” the news associate replied.
Shelley raised her hand. Her heart sped up as the news associate pointed to her and the crowd stared at her. She took a deep breath. “If deviants are responsible, does anyone know how they got a hold of a biological weapon?” she asked.
“Well. . . .” The news associate took a quick glance over the crowd, and Shelley turned to see if perhaps he was looking over at a teleprompter. Strangely, he seemed to be looking at nothing.
She wondered w
hat was over there that he could see and no one else could
.
“Police-Corp has a few leads, but they’re not disclosing any of them at this time,” the associate finally said.
A young man had his hand raised, and the associate pointed to him.
“Can the virus be transferred between people?” he asked.
“They think not, but if you know someone who is sick
,
make sure you take precautions just in case.” The news associate looked over the crowd for more hands, and then continued on to tell them about the ever-rising price of electricity, a possible vegetable shortage by the end of the season, and
a building collapse in District 89147
, causing no injuries and only minimal
personal
property damage.
It took Shelley over two hours to purchase the rest of the items on her list, and her hands were full by the time she got onto the shuttle back to Housing. The rain picked up, but luckily, transportation services continued to move. Shelley’s bags grew heavier the longer she held them, but she dared not set them down in fear of someone else quickly claiming them. Luckily, the Line 250 Shuttle gave her a direct shot back to Housing and she had only a short walk from the garage. She
remov
ed her mask and gloves as she entered her building.
As she approached her apartment, she noticed that William and Judith stood in the hallway, talking to George. William and Judith were both wearing facemasks and gloves, as if George might somehow be contagious. They had apparently given him a bottle of tequila, and he held it close to his
body with a protective grip
. The group saw Shelley and moved so she could get all of her bags through the door. Tired and cranky, she dropped the bags just past the kitchen door and sat down beside the wall heater.
“Would you like to come in and help me drink this?” George asked William and Judith through the door, scratching at the week-old stubble on his face.
The couple exchanged glances, and then William very politely answered, “No.” Neither had the heart to tell George they couldn’t take the chance that his apartment might still be infected with the new virus everyone was talking about. They wished George and his family well, but they also felt it best to keep some precautionary distance from them for the time being. One could never be too careful.
“Come by if there’s anything you need,” Judith said.
George nodded gratefully. “Thanks.”
William shrugged as the couple moved to their side of the hall. “What are neighbors for, right?” William opened the door, and they rushed inside, looking terrified that the virus might seek them out if they
linger
ed in the hall any longer.
George closed and locked the door, and then took the bottle of tequila into the kitchen. He pulled a tumbler from the cupboard, poured himself a generous serving of the potent, amber liquid, and then sat down at the table. He took a swig of the drink, cough
ing
lightly as it burned its way down to his stomach.
Shelley watched, curious. “It can’t taste that bad.”
“Well, you’re not going to find out tonight, so don’t ask.” George took another swig, swallowing hard.
“I wasn’t going to,” Shelley lied. She got up and began putting away the groceries.
George looked terrible. He hadn’t slept since he got the news about Virginia, and his hygiene had
diminished considerably
over the week.