Chapter 5

The stillness hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rapid thumping of George's heart against his ribcage. He leaned against the cold, rough concrete behind him, his hand instinctively rising to his carotid artery to feel the frantic pulsing beneath his fingers. Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence like a knife, commanding their attention. George and the group of men around him slowly rose from the ground, lending a hand to those who needed help standing. His son Billy was already on his feet, eager to assist his father. The voice explained that an earthquake had caused a power outage and urged them to move carefully toward the front of the store. As they made their way through the darkness, a beam of light suddenly burst forth from above, revealing the source of the voice. "If anyone has a flashlight or phone, please use it to light your way," the voice called out, its light creating a localized spotlight as it swept over the store.

The group stumbled forward, like a pack of drunken teenagers on their first outing. Billy's father carelessly rolled his foot over a discarded can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup, which had unsuccessfully made it into George's cart earlier.

"God dammit," he yelped as he tumbled to the ground, desperately grasping onto his son's flannel in an attempt to steady himself, but only managing to pull Billy down with him.

Terry, renowned at the bar for his agility since his famous fall in '82 where he miraculously didn't spill a drop, deftly rolled over Billy's body as his foot connected with the fallen man's father. "Jesus," he screamed, reaching out to grab hold of a nearby shelf for balance his fingertips finding only the cold metal shelf before plummeting to the floor.

A quiet chuckle escaped the lips of an elder gentleman who was just one year away from needing a cane to walk. As he placed his hands on his hips, a deep guttural laugh erupted from his mouth, causing his long white beard to sway like a natural broom.

"Gather up please," A portly man with balding hair dressed in a blue dress shirt that was partly untucked into his light tan cargo pants. His gut strained the buttons on the vest trying to contain a belly that had stored a few too many nights of beer. His black stained dress shoes pressed against the conveyor belt of the register that was only meant to hold a few items.

"Everyone here," the manager asked rhetorically, the conveyor groaning in protest as he shifted weight from one side to the other. The slight pause of his question was only a second short of inviting an answer before he continued. "Now, seeing that all the registers are down, y'all won't be purchasing anything, so if you could all leave your cart and items where they are that would be great." The manager ordered, as sweat began to drip down his now almost completely untucked shirt as he turned his body trying to make eye contact with everyone. His chest slightly puffed up, as he was sure that the townspeople would follow his orders.

"Fuck that," Stanley spoke out, shattering the manager's belief that this would be an easy affair. "I'm taking my toilet paper," Stanley continued as his hands gripped his cart tight, his eyes darting side to side afraid that anyone would object. "I'll come to give you your money after you pay your light bill, thought Walmart was suppose to end ma and pa stores not become one." Stanley continued while the manager's face became red with indignation.

"The only ma and pa place that this right here fine establishment took out was Martha's home store. No one wanted to go into your home to browse and purchase items from inside your pantry." The manager retorted.

"She coulda been the next Marta Stewart if this place didn't crush our dreams, she already had half the name brand." Stanley angrily yelled back, his knuckles turning stark white from gripping the handle of the cart as his frustration pushed through his fingers.

"Stop your blubbering Stanley," Terry yelled through the crowd, his hand rubbing his thigh as he tried to nurse it back to health. "Besides, this here ain't no power outage. This is from them sinkholes," Terry continued his voice in a slow drawl, his denim jacket ruffled against Georges's shoulder as Terry animated his speech with his one free hand. "Tell em George," Terry spoke, slapping Georges's shoulder looking for a close by reinforcement he could drag into the conversation.

"He ain't lying," George explained in a clear voice, "we were watching in on the news, the sinkholes exploded in this purple energy, and then well this happened," George remarked using his hands to display all the chaos that happened the last few minutes.

"How the hell can a sinkhole a thousand miles away cause this," Martha's high-pitched voice struck through the air in challenge.

"How the hell should I know, I ain't got a pit doctorate," George retorted while his eyes searched for Martha until he saw her trying to push her way through the back of the crowd, trying like always to be the center of attention. 'Probably half the reason she married Stanley,' as the thought fluttered through Georges's surface thoughts a voice interrupted his thought process.

"My son ain't no liar," Sally Banks fumed, defending her son like any good mother would do.

"Was it Anderson Copper on the news," a mature woman asked, a slight blush told the world about her secret crush louder than any megaphone would.

"You ain't got a chance in hell even if you were twenty years younger, an fifty pounds lighter," Martha snapped back, speaking quicker than her slow mind could tell her not to.

"A woman's gotta dream," Sally scolded back her mother instincts were in full drive.

"This is probably the Oakley boys playing with them dam electrical outlets again, they were never right in the head after trying to juggle those hammers at the school talent show." Stanley insisted, trying to make sense of all of this.

"Maybe we should try calling Sheriff Bobby," Stephanie spoke up for the first time breaking up the town meeting vibe that began to gather from this conversation. "I tried earlier, but it wouldn't go through, has anyone else given it a try?" Stephanie questioned while scanning the crowd, lifting her phone high above her head. The phone was displaying 'Call Failed,' in bright red letters in front of a black background. The crowd looked upon the bright light that was displayed from Stephanie's phone as some pulled their own phone from their jean pockets, while others already had them in hand.

"Mine ain't working either," Billy spoke finally adding to the conversation, "let me try yours pa," Billy inquired to his father, as he reached out grabbing the phone clutched in his father's meaty fingers.

Numerous phone calls tried to reach the Sheriff, and cries of frustration and anxiety gushed out of the crowd, as they began to realize that it wasn't just the lights that were down.

"Fuck Bob, and fuck Walmart," Terry yelled, as Bob the manager of Walmart belted out an unintelligible response from on top of the conveyor belt. "Let's grab all our shit, plus some flashlights, batteries, candles, all that shit, then make our way to Bobby. Let's see what he has to say about this," Terry continued, as the crowd became intoxicated with chaos.

"Yeah fuck Walmart," Stanley said, reiterating whatever he needed to in order to leave with his toilet paper, his cart already being pushed through the group, trying to make a hasty exit outside.

"Shouldn't we, uh, leave the store after an earthquake, or am I the only one afraid of the ceiling falling on us." Stephanie wondered out loud peering up to look at the ceiling, as the whole group quietly stared upwards as one. Only the squeaking of wheels attached to Stanley's cart and a few pairs of feet were heard. Stanley's feet sped up showing his worry and his priorities, never once looking back for his wife as he tried leaving the store.

A loud bang rang through the air, ripping everyone's eyes from the ceiling to Terry standing by a wall. The palm of his hand glowed red as he winded his hand back and smacked the wall once more. With all eyes on Terry's movement even Stanley in his rush to get out. Stanley lost track of where he was going, his cart crashing into a display stand of motor oil near the sliding glass doors of Walmart. The noise burst through the almost quiet store, causing Terry to yelp, wrapping his arms around his head believing the noise was the roof caving in from his almighty palm.

The group seeing Terry trying to protect his head quickly followed as Terry's belief spread throughout the gathered people. People hollered, as they ducked to the ground fearing the worst. Billy was once more tackled by his father, as Bob began muttering a prayer to Jesus. With almost everyone but Bob on the ground still alive, the cries and murmurs dwindled to silence. Eyes began to peak through their arms as they stared back up to the ceiling still intact.

"You dumb sonna bitch," Martha yelled her words flowing together in agitation already rising to her feet, anger pumping through her veins as her finger was pointing towards Terry still lying on the ground huddled against the same wall he tried to break down moments ago. Terry finally poked his head out from his protective stance, only to see Martha's finger pointing directly towards him.

"Well if it wasn't the ceiling, what was that racket," Terry asked, struggling to get up to his feet, his already injured thigh was pumping in pain. Only for a groan to escape out of Stanley's mouth, only a few feet away from Terry, cans of motor oil surrounded him, his cart still overturned with heaps of toilet paper flowing out from it. Terry looking away from the mess that Stanley currently was, looked towards the group. His face trying its hardest to form an apologetic and sincere smile, spoke softly but loud enough to reach the group, "I reckon the ceiling is fine, no thanks needed."