CHAPTER 49
Robinson ran. It was more of a blunder. He stumbled and charged like a drunk tackling Shelly and Dallas with his shoulders. His arms scooped around the two of them. He had one on either side. With all his strength and focus he shoved them towards the commissary's front entrance. The double glass doors were automatic and slid apart as they fumbled into them. They made it through the entrance and just beyond the checkout counter before all three of them tumbled to the floor.
Robinson noticed now that Dallas was screaming. He was twisting around, watching in horror through the closing double doors as more and more compsognathus piled on top of his father. Dallas clawed his fingers at the smooth tile floor of the commissary, crawling his way back toward his dad.
Robinson snatched his arm and pulled him to his knees. "Don't watch, kid. For God's sake." Robinson caught a glimpse of two comps playing tug-of-war over an eyeball by the optic nerve. He hoped Dallas hadn't seen it.
Shelly shrieked in protest. "We can't just leave him out there!"
"He's already dead." Robinson said flatly.
"But-"
"There's two velociraptors out there!"
Shelly went quiet. Dallas was still screaming, but Robinson had cupped a hand over his mouth.
"Back of the store. Now." Robinson nodded toward the rear and started dragging Dallas.
Shelly followed.
The market was small. There were only a handful of aisles. They cut down the nearest middle aisle and headed straight for the back. Robinson moved quickly but his feet were still clumsy. He stumbled into the shelves, knocking over boxes of pasta, macaroni and cheese, and glass jars of spaghetti sauce. The jars shattered at his feet. He propped himself against the shelf, regained his balance, and kept going.
When they reached the end of the aisle they crouched behind the ends of the racks. Robinson set Dallas down next to Shelly. He had stopped screaming but was hyperventilating.
Robinson whispered, "keep him quiet." He stood.
"Where are you going?" Shelly spoke in a panic.
"I'm not going anywhere." He hushed her with a hand motion.
Shelly gripped Dallas and pulled him across her knees. Her eyes looked up at Robinson with an expression that said, "you'd better not leave us."
Robinson whispered, "I promise."
He turned around with a wobble. His balance was still off. Waves of drowsiness were hitting strong. He scanned the back of the commissary. There was a breakfast bar along the wall. In his head Robinson checked off the items as he saw them: mini boxes of cereal, stale donuts, a bowl of assorted fruit, and a full pot of cold coffee. There it was. Before anything else, that's what he needed.
He stumbled over to the counter and looked at the pot. He didn't drink coffee to begin with, and he dreaded black coffee. Robinson knocked the lid off a sugar shaker and dumped it in. White knuckled, he squeezed in two fistfuls of plastic creamer cups at once. With the glass pot cradled between both palms he quaffed down the mixture in seconds and stifled the immediate spell of nausea that followed with a swallow. He had drunk it too fast. Coffee dribbled all over his face and throat as he put the empty pot aside. He took a breath, swallowed down a second wave of nausea, and breathed again.
Next to the breakfast bar there was a short hallway that led to a back exit. Robinson saw the door and the soft sunlight that shined in through the window above the door handle. He knew the raptors were coming. He wondered how many were really out there. Were they watching both exits? He drew his pistol. Already he could feel his coordination returning. The sugar and caffeine from the coffee was helping.
Robinson turned to the front of the commissary. There was a shadow across the glass double doors. Another joined it. He looked at the window in the rear door again. It was still clear. If he was going to sneak Shelly and Dallas out the back unnoticed, now was the time.