I don't want to die

••••••

Autumn could see her through a break in the shelf. The devil in charge, the one with blood on her jacket, the demanding voice that came closer and closer.

She couldn't believe how normal this monster appeared. She could have been in the store the entire time, and Autumn would never have noticed. Her dirty blonde waves had been collected into a ponytail and her cobalt eyes were dull. None of her physical features stood out enough for her to appear as anything but average.

"The pigs cleared out pretty fast," her companion commented. The two were marching down the hall, their steps in-synch. The woman came to a standstill a few feet away from her, her partner following her lead.

"Jake . . . You know I hate excuses," she growled.

"Kyra-" He began to protest, but he was silenced by a hand gripping his throat.

"You were given an order," she paused, almost savoring the sounds of him choking. "If you can't find those two and bring them to me," Kyra paused, leaning in to whisper the rest. "I'll find someone who can."

She let him go. He coughed up a storm, hands on his knees.

"Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." He hurried off, rubbing his throat, leaving Kyra alone.

The stranger moaned loudly.

"Shit!" Autumn whispered, clamping her hand over his mouth in a second. She'd never reacted to something so quickly in her life.

Kyra whirled around, facing them, her ears pricked.

Autumn had never felt pure terror. Every part of her body was quaking. She wasn't sure if her heart was still beating, and she refused even to breathe, terrified of making a sound.

Kyra cautiously glided toward them.

The stranger stirred; soon, he'd be awake. And they'd be dead.

Autumn sat on top of his chest, using both of her hands to muffle any sounds he made. Kyra loitered in front of the shelf. Autumn could reach out and touch her shoes she was so close.

She felt sick to her stomach and used what little energy she had left to hold down her breakfast.

You should have headed for the front door you idiot; she shouldn't have chased after Mark.

Autumn had never been much of a religious person, but at that moment, she found herself praying: Please God, save me. Please please I don't want to die.

As if the big-man-upstairs wanted to send her a message that he approved her request, something shattered in the front of the store, and Kyra took off after it.

Autumn didn't realize how desperately her body needed air until she took a long deep breath. After that, she huffed and puffed as if she'd just run a marathon.

She slid her hands off of the stranger the same instant his eyes fluttered open.

"You have to be quiet," Autumn warned in a hushed tone. She gazed into his eyes, which sent a warm and comforting sense of safety through her body. She prayed he'd be able to free them; to keep them alive.

And then he attacked. The man leaped at her, throwing her onto her back and pinning down her wrists.

The space was tight, and Autumn banged her head against the shelf.

"Who are you!?" He necessitated.

"Shh! They'll hear us-"

"Who'll hear us?!" He speculated noisily. Autumn thrashed around under his embrace in an effort to break free, but he was too strong, and his grip was tight.

"I . . . I don't know," Autumn whimpered, "Some people came in and started shooting. You were knocked out, and I-I-I didn't want you to get hurt, so I dragged you under here."

Autumn struggled to see his reaction. Her tears blinded her.

He lingered over her, deep in thought. It was evident in his expression, the little of it she could see, that he was wholly stunned. Releasing Autumn, she slid out from under him and kicked herself as far back as the small space would allow - which wasn't much.

"You . . . you saved me?" He probed. Autumn rubbed her wrist, tilting her head to give a slight nod. His response was delayed, his eyes wide; confusion clear in them.

It was a minute or so before he spoke. "Tate."

". . . What?"

"My name . . . its Tate."

"Autumn," she replied, curious why his name made her heart skip a beat. And confused at how inappropriately formal this moment felt. Tate went to move, hissing as his fingers traced over the wound on his head. "Careful."

"How bad is it?" Tate wondered.

"I think it'll need stitches." Tate wiped the blood coating his fingers onto his pants.

"Let's get out of here." Tate set a supportive hand on top of hers, and she ceased her shaking all at once, her eyes shooting down to her hand. His touch sent sparks flying through her skin, and, for a small moment, she felt like she was going to be okay.

Squeezing her hand, the two's eyes met once again.

"It's going to be okay."

Tate peeked his head out from under the shelf to check if the coast was clear. When he saw it was, he slid out from under the aisle, Autumn close behind.

No one was in sight.

She felt an odd sense of peace that she was no longer in charge of her own safety.

"Where are you, Clarke?" Tate mumbled to himself, running a frustrated hand roughly through his sandy blonde hair.

Tate rose to his feet and took his first step forward, his legs giving out. He gripped the nearest shelf, indenting his nails into the wood.

"Are you alright?" Autumn whispered, setting a gentle hand on his arm. He responded with a vacant stare, his eyes glazed over.

"I-" He took a moment to piece everything together. "I'm fine." Tate attempted to move on his own again, the same wobbling occurring. To save time, Autumn gripped his wrist and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

He offered her a slight grin as a sign of thanks.

The duo weaved in and out of each section, passing overturned racks and pools of blood.

As they snuck into the next area, Autumn was hit with something she wasn't prepared for; a body. A man laid in the men's dressing room exit. His dead eyes stared directly at Autumn. His hand was outstretched to her, as if to beg for the help that never came.

Blood blanketed his back, face, and the carpet underneath him.

Autumn froze. She conjectured over who he'd left behind. Was he a boyfriend? Husband? Father? Would he have a family to weep over his casket? Would he leave someone alone in this world?

"Autumn." Tate pulled her from her thoughts. She hadn't even realized she'd started crying again until she felt the intense sting in her eyes. "Don't look."

A wave of nausea accompanied her dominant thought: could she have saved him?

If she would have done something, anything, different; would this man be alive?

"Let me go!" Someone snarled. The pair ran for cover, finding safety in the children's clothing section. Crouching down behind a t-shirt display, the two observed someone come around the corner. The girl who had jerked Tate away, whom Autumn guessed was Clarke, had her hands tightly bound behind her back with duct tape.

Jake was escorting her; his fingers latched onto her arm. The close encounter with death must have been a pretty strong motivation to complete his task.

Autumn glanced at Tate. His hand was balled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. His lip was snarled, and he was so tense, Autumn was waiting for him to spring like a Jack in the Box.

"Don't . . ." Autumn gestured to the gun on Jake's belt. "He'll shoot you before you even get the chance ." Tate glowered at Autumn.

He assessed his options as they came closer.

Tate crawled over to the shoe rack, not far from where they hid. He ripped a shoe off of the wall and chucked it. The sound caught Jake's attention, and his instinct was to tear out his weapon. He rested the barrel of his gun against Clarke's chin, shoving her body against his as if to gain more control.

"Put that down before you hurt yourself," Clarke mocked.

"Shut up."

"Hand me that," Tate muttered as he returned to Autumn's side, pointing to the garment hook hiding in the corner. Autumn did as she was asked. The second her fingers touched the cold metal, Jake yelped. Her head whipped around, and Jake was on the ground; lying near him was Clarke.

Tate had ditched his hiding spot and had stumbled to his sister. He was kneeling in front of her, wheezing.

What had he done to save Clarke? How had he done it?

Autumn went to join them, but she saw something, more like someone, stalking down the hall.

"Tate," she susurrated, but he was too far to hear her.

"You almost made it," Kyra's final assistant chuckled, gun out and aimed at Clarke. Their eyes bore at the barrel of the gun in horror, and Tate put his hands up. "Get up."

Tate struggled at first, but the adrenaline that probably accompanied a gun in the face was enough to assist him in standing. He helped Clarke, who's hands were still bound, to her feet.

"Finally. We had to kill almost a hundred humans trying to find you two." The third attacker had slowly sauntered forward as he spoke.

"You don't have to do this," Tate tried to reason. Autumn couldn't watch someone die; she knew she had to do something. Hunched over, she jogged to the other side of the Children's area, gripping one of the baseball bats in the toy section.

"Oh, believe me, I want to. A resistance can't grow with you around." Autumn slipped to them, unsure if she could gather the courage to attack a man with a gun.

She looked inside herself. She thought of Mark, of all the people this monster had hurt.

And then the decision became easy.

Autumn emerged from behind the clothing and whistled. The man spun around with a raised brow, and Autumn swung, the bat connecting his face. His gun slipped from his hand, and both he and it crumbled to the ground. She hit him a few more times while he was down for assurance.

"Damn," Tate exclaimed. Autumn panted, moving a strand of her mocha hair from her face; a victorious smile overcame her.

"Who's this?" Clarke queried, studying her. Tate removed a pocket knife from his pant pocket, cutting the tape off her hands.

"Saving my life twice, you're making me feel useless," Tate and Autumn exchanged horribly-timed grins.

"This isn't the time to try and get into her pants . . . Let's get out of here." The three of them sprinted towards the front door, waiting every so often to make sure Kyra wasn't lurking around the corner before they ventured into a new section of the store.

Tate would periodically fall into his sister due to a severe draining of his strength. His adrenaline was fading.

As they revolved around the final corner, Autumn could see it; the exit. Excitement bubbled inside of her; she was going to make it.

They were feet away from independence when a woman who had been unconscious lifted her head. Autumn had to go to her; she couldn't let another person die. Autumn knelled down next to her, making sure she was alright.

Tate waited for a second; for Autumn.

"Come on!" Clarke yelled. Autumn rose to her feet, wanting a chance to thank Tate, but his back was turned, and he was almost to the door.

And that's when she saw Kyra, gun out, storming towards them.

"Tate!" Autumn cautioned, her body reacting faster than her mind could. Before she could register where her feet were leading her, Autumn was rushing to Tate.

"Goodbye," Kyra laughed, pulling the trigger.

Autumn heaved Tate out of the way. He fell into Clarke, knocking her off her feet.

A grunt escaped her lips, and her body jerked as she doubled over. Everything seemed to stop, her whole world pausing as she tried to figure out what went wrong.

Because she knew something wasn't right.

"Autumn!" She looked to Tate, whose eyes were filled with terror. She followed his gaze, looking down at the red stain, slowly growing on her t-shirt.

Blood.

Kyra smiled maliciously, cackling. She might not have hit her target, but at least she hit someone.

Autumn's legs called it quits as her body finally realized it was in trouble. Tate hurried forward to catch her. Lowering her to the ground, he held her in his arms.

That's when it all clicked.

"Oh my god," she wept.

Clarke extended her palm out towards Kyra. The gun in Kyra's hand flew across the room and into Clarke's. Tate screamed, thrusting his palm at Kyra, who was thrown off her feet and into a mountain of pop cans.

"What . . . What just happened!?" Autumn shrieked. Her mind was crumbling. Was she hallucinating already?

Tate grabbed her shirt to see the severity of her wound but was jostled away.

"Get away from me," she blubbered, chocking on the lump in her throat.

"It's okay," Tate reassured, trying again. She was too weak to fight him off and had no choice but to allow him.

"Tate! Come on! The cops will be here soon, and you know we can't take them all!" Clarke roared. Autumn began panicking sweat dripping down her forehead.

"We can't leave her here!"

"They'll be here, and they'll take care of her!" Clarke shot back.

"They might not make it in time," Tate glimpsed over his shoulder and to Clarke. "We're . . . taking her with us!"

"Are you crazy!? The council will kill you! And then kill me for allowing it to happen!"

"Put your arm around me," he instructed. Autumn did as he said. He scooped Autumn up in his arms; she screeched in anguish. Tate rose from the ground and headed out the door, trying not to cause her any more pain.

Clarke had no choice but to shadow them.

Autumn bit her lip, groaning. She cried loudly, her screams seeming to echo through the silent and almost empty parking lot.

"You're okay," Tate cooed.

"I don't want to die," Autumn whimpered.

"I won't let you."