Jadine pressed her fingers to her mouth attempting to keep the contents of her stomach where it belonged and averted her eyes away from the scene of slaughter. While she regained her composure, she took in the parts of the store she could see.
It was much colder on this side of the wall. The wind blew snow in through the broken glass door on the far side of the room. The door closest to her was wedged open, allowing the snow to billow in, creating drifts on the tiled floor. The wind whistled and moaned through the building adding yet another haunting melody to the night.
Blood, long cooled, hung in icicles from the table edges. Pools of it created crimson ice puddles like a scene in some demented take on the Nutcracker. All that was missing were the skaters. A vision of the three of them skating their way across the store pursued by psychotic, acrobatic jesters burst into her mind. She shook it away.
Shading her eyes, she stepped out as far as she dared and peered into the office window. It may have been bullet proof, but it wasn’t clown proof. A large, jagged hole took up half the glass, with points resembling fangs, and shreds of brightly colored material stuck here and there like chunks of skin stuck between teeth. Little could be seen even with the partial illumination from the car outside, but she could make out several human like forms moving about inside the office. Terrified of being spotted, she backed soundlessly away.
“We need light,” she whispered to her friends when she’d made her way back to them. Quickly she explained the situation. “The headlights help but only this corner of the store. Trevin, can you make your way to the kitchen from here?”
“I don’t know. The light won’t reach back there,” he said blowing on his fingers. The wind was icy. He resisted the urge to stomp his feet; doing so might warm his toes but it would also call unwanted attention to their location. “Near dark is one thing, total darkness is another.”
“Alright, never mind for now. Stick with me to the registers. I’ll grab the emergency lighting system and we’ll go together to the kitchen.”
Trevin glanced at the glowing exit signs above the doors.
“I thought the ELS was already on,” he said.
“Sh-she means the fl-flashlight,” Stacy said around her chattering teeth.
“Oh. Sure.”
Jadine rolled her eyes and asked, “Over this glacier or the long way? There might be less snow on the far side.”
“Short way,” Trevin said. “Definitely the short way.”
Jadine didn’t wait for Stacy’s vote. Skirting the edge of the drifted snow, she made a beeline for the cashier platform. One headlight from the cop car shone it at a blinding angle that required her to cup her hands around her eyes and focus on the toes of her shoes. Weaving around overturned chairs and tables, she stayed out of the snow until there was no choice but to wade into it. Halfway through the drift she pulled up short, the implication of the open door dawning on her. It seemed to hit the others at the same time.
“Why is the door open?” Stacy asked.
“Wasn’t that door locked?” Trevin asked at the same time.
Jadine shook her head. “We’ll need to solve that mystery later.” She pressed on, her companions at her heels.
The wind had built an efficient, calf deep barrier that grew deeper the closer they got to the door. Snow filled her shoes, soaking into her socks and the legs of her jeans freezing her toes and numbing her shins. Behind her, she could hear Stacy’s teeth chattering and Trevin blowing on his cold fingers. Easily enough noise to bring the clowns down on them. Why they hadn’t swarmed the trio already was a unclear; she was thankful, but expected the reprieve to end at any moment. The seconds ticked into minutes without a single accosting clown.
The single step from the floor to the platform was a small one, buried beneath the drifted snow. Had they gone to the other side of the store, they would have walked up a short inclining ramp. Having stepped on and off it countless times a day for the last eighteen months, Jadine was well practiced at its location. She stumbled over it anyway, barking her shin on the edge of it as she face-planted on the floor, barely getting her hands out in front of her in time save her from bouncing her face off the tiles. The air left her lungs with a whoosh, her body making a splat sound when she hit the floor like a character out of an old Warner Bros cartoon. That tickled her funny bone and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from barking out hysterical laughter. The pain in her shin brought tears to her eyes, causing her mind to swim in a moment of confusion. Should I laugh or should I cry?