He knocks out a big enough hole that we’re able to kick the rest in with our boots. The glass doesn’t shatter. It spiderwebs and gradually crumbles, which is a good thing; this time I won’t have to worry about Emmaline lacerating her paws.

My neck prickles as I climb after Trey through the hole, certain that something watches our backs. The air inside dampens my skin and smells worse than it did in Hazel Jenkins’s house. I hope it’s just the produce section.

Light streams through the enormous storefront windows. While Emmaline trots around sniffing floor displays, Trey and I stand side by side near the shopping carts, taking everything in. The aisles are neat and straight, everything perfect in its place. The only noticeable disorder is a single red apple, toppled from its pile onto the floor. Except for the smell, you’d think the store was merely closed for a holiday.

“So much food,” I murmur.

“They locked the place down before the looting started,” Trey says.

“Let’s grab our carts and get to work.” Before the thing I saw comes after us, is what I don’t say.

He pulls out a cart, steps one foot on the back, and shoves off with the other. “Momma never let me do this!” he yells as he rattles away.

My answering chuckle dies quickly. I stare after him, wondering at myself. It’s so easy to smile back, even to laugh, with another person around. Laughing at anything makes me twinge with guilt, like I don’t have a right to laughter. Things are too awful. But maybe it’s human nature, to cling to goodness even when it doesn’t make sense.

I grab a cart and wheel off in the opposite direction. Trey will focus on food, but my job is to find everything else.

In the pet supplies aisle, I grab the biggest, most expensive bag of dry dog food, along with several cans of wet food, a box of treats, and a few bones. I heft a round squeaky toy and give it a test squeeze. Emmaline wags furiously, but it’s loud enough to be worrisome, not to mention irritating. I return it to the shelf.

At the end of the aisle is a display of spring picnic items in cheerful colors: picnic baskets, tumblers, plastic food containers, paper napkins. Before I can stop her, Emmaline raises a leg and pees on it.

I glance around for something to help me mop up. . . . It doesn’t matter. It certainly doesn’t make the store smell any worse. “C’mon, Em,” I say, without even bothering to scold her.