Jacks Magic Beans Read Free

relief vanished as the cop aimed the pistol at him.
    “No!” Marcel held his hands up in surrender. “What are you—”
    A neon-green Volkswagen slammed into the cop. The policeman flipped up over the hood, smashing against the windshield. His shoes remained on the pavement—his feet still inside them. The blacktop turned red. Inside the car, four teenage girls laughed. Then they turned on each other, clawing and gouging. The Volkswagen crashed into a parked car.
    Marcel fought the urge to puke. There were angry cries behind him. He ran for the Save-A-Lot, aware that people were suddenly chasing him, shouting things—threats, curses, promises. He focused on counting his steps.
    One . . . two . . . three . . .
    His heart pounded. His mouth went dry. His lungs burned with the exertion. More feet echoed behind him as others joined in the chase.
    Thirteen . . . fourteen . . . oh God . . . fifteen . . .
    He burst through the doors of Save-A-Lot and skidded to a halt. Normally, Marcel would have spent the next five minutes trying to select the right shopping cart. But today, his disorder was all but forgotten. He felt the urge to call his doctor and tell him he’d found a cure. After all the frustration and the constant experimenting with different medicines, he’d found a way to beat it.
    He didn’t need meds. He just needed chaos. Chaos and disorder.
    Marcel stood staring at the scene inside the store.
    If the parking lot had been a battleground, this was the frontline.
    And then the war really started.
    ***
    Sammi Barberra had just closed out her register, and was getting ready to turn in her cash drawer and clock out, when everybody in the store went insane. It started with one scream, then six, then a dozen. Fights broke out across the store. There was a lot of savagery, and a lot of blood. An explosion in the parking lot rocked the building on its foundation, and for one moment, Sammi feared the ceiling might collapse. The overhead lights flickered, swaying violently back and forth, but stayed on. One of the big panel windows at the front of the store shattered, spraying shards of glass all over the floor—and all over the customers who had been fighting in front of it. Sammi ducked down behind the register, huddling into a ball and trying to remain out of sight while all around her, people slaughtered each other. She put her hands over her ears, attempting to block the screams, the cries, the impact of flesh on flesh—and the wet, tearing sounds. Another explosion rumbled from farther away. Somebody shrieked for God to come save them.
    Sammi stayed where she was, hidden from view. The only problem was, she couldn’t see what was happening now. Sammi peeked around the corner of the counter and immediately wished she hadn’t.
    Mr. Brubaker’s burned head rolled slowly across the floor. Sammi resisted the urge to scream. The manager’s eyes and mouth were still open. A customer was bowling with it, using plastic milk jugs as pins and Mr. Brubaker’s head as the ball. Even though his flesh was burned, Sammi still recognized her supervisor’s severed head. It came to rest at the foot of the candy rack in her aisle. His head was upside down and she could see into the ragged stump, straight down his windpipe. Mr. Brubaker’s eyes stared at her. He looked angry, even in death. Sammi ducked back beneath the register and bit her lip to keep from crying out.
    “Damn,” she heard the bowler mutter. “I need more balls.”
    There was a brief moment of silence. The crazy person had apparently moved on.
    She needed to pee. She squeezed her thighs together and wept silent tears. She bit her lip harder.
    Footsteps drew towards her.
    “Oh God . . .”
    Sammi jumped to her feet, preparing to flee. Before she could get out from behind the register, somebody grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward over the counter. It was Jerry Sadler, the retarded guy who collected shopping carts in the parking lot and sometimes bagged