The memories of generations burn within me
The Beast is starving. It's made its way to a grocery store, which now less resembles a grocery store than a tidal flow of boxes and cans awash through reefs of broken shelves. Several cops, moving in at the sound of screaming, lay bleeding on the ground. One of them tries to keep her bowels tucked into a rip across her belly. Another grips the remains of his arm and tries to stop the blood.
The Beast ignores them, dead and living, and smashes the glass of the meat displays, hooking hams, slabs of fresh-cut steak. It empties the fish section and wedges itself into the service area so it can thrust its head into the unbroken cases and eat, uninterrupted and undisturbed.
The Beast ignores them, dead and living, and smashes the glass of the meat displays, hooking hams, slabs of fresh-cut steak. It empties the fish section and wedges itself into the service area so it can thrust its head into the unbroken cases and eat, uninterrupted and undisturbed.