I finally make my way to the supermarket’s parking lot as the sun finally goes under the horizon. Every space between cars was a place where one of them could hide—even the spaces UNDER the cars if they were clever enough. I try not to think about this as I walk, despite sweeping my head left and right constantly, always staying right in the middle of the path to give myself time to react if I get ambushed again. I think I’m starting to go paranoid, but I can’t really dismiss it as unjustified. The tension makes a minute feel like an hour, but eventually I find myself at the entrance, nice and crowded with people entering and leaving.

I step through a set of sliding doors and I find myself greeted by an almost painfully bright interior with high ceilings and shelves crowded with all sorts of goods used to facilitate commerce. I look up at the signs hanging from the ceiling and think about where to find a good weapon. My spine chills rise, but for now it’s manageable.

The construction section seemed the most obvious place to start, since I had prior experience with the items here. I stare at the shelf, looking over an array of potential weapons.

The sledgehammer screamed power to me, so I grabbed it off the shelf… And immediately put it back after sensing its weight, its mass, its lack of handling. These guys are fast, and one miss with that thing would end me. The shovel was actually an intriguing choice, with a blade-like edge that could probably chop into limbs with great savagery, but ultimately I don’t think I could even remotely fit that into my bag.

The crowbar in particular pulled my attention to it. Not too short, not exceptionally long, reasonable balance. This is probably one of the best weapons here to fight them… But I’d look like a criminal and not be able to holster it effectively, either. I think I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.

I went to the camping and outdoors section next, spying a heavy splitting axe and immediately walking past it. It had the same problems as a sledgehammer, except I get to look like an actual psycho carrying it around. I looked at the multi-tools and specialized pocket knives, shaking my head. The reach on these would not do, as much of an upgrade as they may be to my current knife.

Ultimately, I decided that the machetes would be my best choice. I reach for the most expensive one and stare at its glory in the packaging, between the finish and the rubber textured grip and the sheer beefiness of the spine, but then I stare at the price tag. I should save this money for actual food.

With a sigh, I place the machete back on its rack, turning my sights on the cheapest option available: a $8 stamped sheet of steel adorned with a solid plastic handle and bundled with a tacky fabric sheath finished with a generic form of woodland camo on it. The blade has a very conspicuous ‘MADE IN CHINA’ label on the flat, and the blade is just shiny, unfinished metal.

I can’t believe I’m actually buying this trash. I pull it off its shelf, looking it over dubiously. It says it’s “pre-sharpened”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I also decide to buy one of the cheapest multitools around as an afterthought.

I check out using the self-checkout lane (I didn’t want to risk encountering another one of those bastards) and take 15 minutes to open the packaging before threading the belt loop of the sheath, now having the hilt at my waist. I check my phone and it’s 7 PM.

I walk down the road, crossing my fingers every time I see a stranger walk by, hoping I wouldn’t have to bloody my new machete so soon.