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2845 Redefining Americadrinks and the winning ticket sold here signs that paper the wall behind the register. Does he think he can just cut the line? she thinks at first, but then she sees the small, black gun raised above his head.The hoodie screams something and then the cashier screams something back and then the hoodie fires two shots into the ceiling. Plaster rains onto the floor. A choking white dust gusts down the aisles.After that, the air around her begins to shimmer; every sound is amplified, overwhelming, an immense wave rearing up from the ocean and arcing overhead. The man in the coveralls lunges in the direction of the counter; he hurls himself at the hoodie and attempts to wrestle away the gun, but the hoodie gets free, skitters backward, and fires. The man in the coveralls collapses. The woman screams and drops the pretzels. She sinks to the floor, rocks on her heels, arms lashed around her knees. She looks to be around fifty, with a long face and feline-green eyes.Kayla crouches beside the woman, taps her knee, points to the end of the aisle. Together they crawl to the humming refrigerators, take shelter behind a pyramid of Bud Light cases. The woman presses her hands over her ears. Kayla faces the refrigerators and watches the reflections, something she has seen action heroes do in movies. Up front, she can hear the hoodie screaming at the cashier to keep his hands up, to lay down on the ground. She scans the reflections for the man in the coveralls, but he is nowhere in sight.Finally, she hears the entry chime; she pictures the hoodie bursting into the parking lot. Running and running.Kayla stands, slowly, and peers down the aisle. The cashier is still behind the counter, alive; he is talking on the phone. She feels as though she has been huddled behind the beer cases for hours. The woman uncurls her body 20and looks around like she%u2019s not quite sure how she ended up here.%u201cI feel sick.%u201d She clutches her stomach. She has a slender build, one that Kayla guesses is deceptively strong, from the ribbons of muscle on her forearms. The kind of person who can hit harder than you think.Kayla bends down and grabs the woman by a pointy elbow. Helps her up. %u201cWhat%u2019s your name?%u201d she asks her, and the woman says, %u201cMary.%u201dTogether they rush over to the man in the coveralls. He is conscious. He has been shot in the shoulder. Blood is pooling under his left side. Kayla kneels by his head. His hair is thinning; she can see straight through to his scalp, glistening with sweat. He%u2019s wearing a gold wedding ring. His name%u2014Julian%u2014is stitched onto the chest of his coveralls with light-blue thread. She has never seen a shot person before; she has no idea what to do. %u201cI%u2019m so sorry,%u201d she keeps saying to him. Useless, useless. The cashier has called 911. The woman crouches beside the man; she places a thin, pale hand to his forehead.%u201cImagine you are in a warm cave,%u201d she tells him. %u201cA safe and quiet place.%u201d%u201cMy wife,%u201d he says. %u201cCan someone call my wife?%u201d%u201cWe%u2019ll call whoever you want.%u201d She speaks in a soft and soothing voice. Kayla wonders if she has a lot of experience talking to the injured or the critically ill.A police car skids into the parking lot, followed by an ambulance. Sirens, flashing lights. The man is put on a stretcher and taken away.No one can leave until they give a statement. Kayla, the woman, and the cashier all go outside, away from the wing-shaped bloodstain on the linoleum and the gaping hole in the ceiling. The cashier, a middle-aged man in glasses and a white T-shirt, gives his statement first. He keeps his hands crossed over his round stomach, 25Copyright %u00a9 Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. Distributed by Bedford, Freeman & Worth Publishers. For review purposes only. Not for redistribution.