Coleman, Christopher - They Came With The Snow 02 - The Melting by Coleman Christopher

Author:Coleman, Christopher [Coleman, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Christopher Coleman
Published: 2018-07-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The receiving area at the back of Gray’s Grocery is cold and sterile, with skids of wrapped grocery items—mostly paper products like paper towels and toilet paper—lined up along the concrete walls. At the very back of the large room is a giant door that opens ground to ceiling. This is where the truckers back their trailers in so their cargo can be unloaded directly into the store.

“Don’t you need power to open that thing?” Smalley asks. “Looks like a giant garage door.”

“That is what it is,” Jones replies. “And it would certainly be easier that way. But in case you hadn’t heard...anyway, it’s got a manual option.” He nods to some type of metal pulley system that runs vertically along the side of the door.

“Okay then,” Smalley says, “let’s get to it.”

Jones makes his way to the pulleys and wraps his hands around the chain. “We’re only going to open it as far as we need to. I have a feeling this door is going to be loud, and I’d rather those things not make their way around to the back. Obviously.”

Jones looks toward the door that leads from the shopping area to the back room where we stand currently. Abramowitz is standing guard.

“Any signs of a breach?”

Abramowitz frowns and shakes his head. “No. Haven’t heard from our visitor in a while either.”

“What’s the plan once we make it out?” Smalley asks.

“There’s three trucks out back. I doubt any of them have the keys inside, but we can at least hide there until morning if we have to.”

“And what if they’re still there in the morning?”

“I don’t know, Smalley. Then I guess were screwed. But we definitely don’t want to spend another minute in here, so once I pull this door up, who’s gonna be the first one out?”

“I’ll go,” I say, not hesitating. “Are you sure you can raise that thing by yourself?”

“I can raise it. Don’t know how long I can keep it up though.”

“Bet your girlfriend gets tired of hearing that,” Smalley says without a smile, as if the joke was obligatory, even if she didn’t have the heart behind it.

Jones snickers. “Here goes, Professor. Make sure you have your flashlight. And keep that shovel handy. Just in case.”

I pat the space in my pants where the flashlight is stashed and hold up the snow shovel. I’m ready.

Jones unlatches the large, crescent-shaped door lock and then grabs the chain and pulls down, straining as he leans backwards, his back nearly horizontal with the ground. At first there is barely a squeak from the rusty gears, but then, with one last Herculean pull, the bottom of the door cracks open, just enough to allow in a thin ray of moonlight and a gust of cool air.

“Give me a hand here, Smalley.” Jones’ says, barely able to grunt out the sentence.

“Damn it. Sorry Jones. Hang on.”

Smalley moves in and places her hands on the chain above Jones,’ and then pulls down in unison with him. I’m waiting

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