Chapter 2: Unexpected Guests

Morgan had one hour and twenty-nine minutes left in her shift.

Morgan hung up the phone; well, to be more specific, she slammed the phone down so hard that it missed the receiver twice. She grumbled, rubbing her temples with her hands.

Lady, there was literally no reason to yell at me. You could have bought it when you were here, but you decided not to. You didn't tell us to hold it for you, so we sold it. That's your fault, not mine. You go ahead and leave us a shitty Yelp review. Be my guest.

Morgan gazed across the room, her finger tapping on her chin. She swore she saw that damned angel upstairs the last time she did inventory. Another one of Morgan's odd jobs was inventory, also known as roaming about, counting things, organizing them, and then doing it all over again the next week because someone (aka her coworkers) liked to move things around and not put them back.

She pushed the chair out from the desk and stood up. If she found it, She wasn't going to call that lady back and tell her that she had it. She was going to take that overpriced piece of stone out of its box put it back out on display. The woman who called thought she was friends with the shop's owner and came in all the time. She'd be back. Morgan would display it out of spite.

Despite the falsely cheerful and patient tone she used on the phone, Morgan hated customer service with a fiery passion. She had just graduated college, and needed a way to make some money before she found herself a better paying job. She had been hunting for a job for some time, but turns out, finding a good job with a salary, benefits, and paid time off was about as easy as winning the lottery. She ended up at the flower shop because she saw the Help Wanted sign on their door when she drove by one day. Her loan payments had kicked in that week, along with her rent being due, and desperate times called for desperate measures. She chose working for single digit dollars an hour, getting bossed around by her coworkers and yelled at by customers than continuing to live at home with her suffocating, overbearing parents. They called constantly, nagging her about money and payments and applying for new things. She gushed about her job to them, convincing them that she loved it and was learning a lot and was very happy. The truth is that she despised everything about the place and was the opposite of happy, but she was way too stubborn to let her parents know that.

Morgan walked around the desk, past the tables in the center of the room. She rounded the corner by the cooler door, her feet touching the bottom step on the staircase. Everything they couldn't fit downstairs was put upstairs, meaning the upstairs was a mess of the silk flowers, holiday storage, all of the miscellaneous gifts and things that they sold, and unmarked boxes full of unidentified objects that were covered in dust and smelled like an attic. Morgan paused for a moment, making sure she didn't hear anyone calling or coming in. Her coworkers liked to joke about the Stairs Curse; every time you went up the stairs, the phone would ring, a customer would come in, or something ridiculous would happen and you would have to run back down them. Morgan ascended slowly, hoping the Stairs Curse wouldn't hit her this time. She walked up the thirteen stairs (she knew this because she had tried to keep count how many she did during Valentine's Day, but lost track after she reached a few hundred) and opened the door, which had the tendency to creak loudly. She flicked the light on and left the door ajar behind her.

Morgan first turned left, walking past the gift inventory and into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, noticing that her newly-dyed black hair was coming undone from its braid. She quickly fixed it, making sure that the teal pieces, added in a rare moment of spontaneity, could be seen. She rubbed her eyes, their redness making her green irises stand out more than usual.

Of course, I found find out that I have a pollen allergy three weeks after getting this job, she thought to herself, annoyed, blowing her nose on a piece of toilet paper. This is totally unfair.

Morgan tossed the soiled paper into the garbage can. She turned on the sink and washed her hands thoroughly with soap that smelled like a mix of roses and plastic. She turned off the water and grunted, annoyed, noticing there was no towel. She wiped her hands off on her shirt, a pale green that made her skin look ghostly, embroidered with Rush Creek Florals in magenta thread.

I hate this stupid shirt, she thought, already irritated and deciding to be irritated about everything else. I hate this stupid job and these stupid people and these stupid customers and this stupid everything, but especially this stupid shirt. Seriously, who thought pink went well with green?

She clicked off the light, the nightlight casting a blue glow over the sink. She returned to the storage room, roaming up and down the shelving units, searching for the ridiculously large stone angel with emerald green wings. She had spotted it on the top shelf and was reaching up for it when she heard the doorbell ring.

Ding.

Morgan had jumped slightly at the sound, smacking her elbow off of the shelf. She let out a small hiss of pain, her right hand rubbing the sore spot.

Shit. Stairs curse strikes again.

"I'll be with you in a minute!" she called down the steps, hoping the customer had heard her. She stood up on her tiptoes, her fingers just grazing the box the angel came in. She reached higher, tugging on the box with her fingertips, nudging it until it came tumbling down into her arms. She muttered a little "Yes!" at her good catch.

Morgan sat the angel down, ready to head down the stairs, when she heard the door go off again.

Ding

Ding

"Okay, okay, Jesus Christ, I'm coming."

Ding

Ding

Morgan went silent. Something was off.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Morgan paused, counting. Eleven. The door had gone off eleven times.

How strange, she thought. Eleven people? What in the world could eleven people be doing here, and at this hour?

A giant gust of wind rustled through the old building, causing Morgan to startle. She heard a skidding sound coming from outside, and then a few thumps.

What in the world was that?

Morgan turned, temporarily forgetting the probably crowd of people downstairs, walked quickly through the inventory room into the hallway, coming up to a door that led to the deck. She opened the door, stepping out onto the deck. The deck wasn't used much, only to store things that didn't fit upstairs and weren't valuable enough to need protection from the elements. Morgan walked onto the porch, surveying, looking for the source of the sound. She stopped, head tilted, listening. She heard nothing; she turned her head, her eyes now cast upward to the sky. The sun was going down; the sunset had taken over the sky, overriding the blue with large streaks of orange, pink, and purple. Morgan smiled slightly, taking in the sight that almost looked like it had been painted there. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a few steps forward, her feet grazing the staircase that lead down to the road, steadying to take a photo. When she saw them, she almost dropped her phone down the steps.

There were men outside the shop, standing in two precise, straight lines. They wore a type of military uniform, although it wasn't from any branch Morgan recognized. Their jackets and pants were a bright saturated green, detailed in metallic gold that shown under the fading sunlight. Two symbols, almost looking like a Z and a zero, were embroidered in the center of their backs. Morgan felt her heart begin to race when she noticed that each one of them was carrying a rifle, brown and old fashioned looking, that was long enough to almost touch the ground. The shop sat off of a busy street that was usually bustling, but now it was silent and empty. It was as if everyone else in town had vanished, nobody else there to witness these odd soldiers standing outside the door that led into the workroom.

A man, tall, red haired, with a square jaw, stood in front of the lines of men. He wore the same green jacket, gold patches creating a V-shape in the front, four gold chords extending from the center of his jacket and draping over his shoulder. The tall man saluted; the men, in one sharp, instantaneous motion, saluted back. Morgan leaned in, listening to what as being said.

"Soldiers, the shelter has been searched and deemed safe. We will bunk here until further orders. Batallion A is taking first watch and first guard in the shelter. We will accompany the Wizard, find our location and map our next route. We will return in two hours for shift rotation. Be on the look out. This is not our world, and things may not be as they appear to be. Stay vigilant, soldiers! On ward!"

"SIR YES SIR!"

The men spun on their heels, turning an about face. The marched the entire block behind the shop, heading up a hill. The taller man, probably someone of rank, followed behind. Morgan ducked back behind the mountain of boxes, watching until the men marched out of sight. Heart racing, breathing quick, knees shaking, Morgan bolted back into the storage room, slamming the door behind her.

What the hell was that? Who the hell was that?

Fear had taken over her, her mind flooded with questions.

What was with those uniforms? Who are they supposed to be? Are they ROTC? Some other group I don't know of? Why are they in the middle of the street? And they're coming back in two hours? What in the—

Morgan was cut off from her own thoughts by the noise coming from the downstairs.

Oh shit.

She just remembered that the doorbell had rung eleven consecutive times. She was confused by that, and confused by the soldiers. Something really strange was happening, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

Then the realization hit her like a thunderbolt.

Oh my god, Battalion A. They're in the store. There are soldiers in the store. And holy shit they have GUNS. They're in the store and they have guns and I'm alone… Oh hell no, I'm out of here!

Morgan darted towards the door to the deck, ready to make her escape. She only got a few feet before a male face passed by the window. She skidded to a stop, feet frozen in place. Another face passed by, two deep voices heard murmuring unintelligibly. There were now two soldiers were on the porch.

Two on the porch. Eleven downstairs. There was no other way out of the shop.

Morgan backed up, leaning against the wall, her heart feeling like it was going to break her rib cage and beat out of her chest.

I'm trapped.