“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Robert muttered as he jogged down the back of the store. His hands were shaking from adrenaline and his heart was thudding in his chest. With each aisle he passed his anxiety grew. It seemed most of the chaos was near the front of the store judging by the noise, but he stayed vigilant. What he really needed was a weapon.<br/><br/>Robert slowed to a stop near the cleaning supply aisle and carefully peeked around the corner. Near the far end a person was sprawled across the tile floor. Whether dead or unconscious or merely waiting, he wasn’t about to find out. Creeping as quietly as he could, he stepped into the aisle and took down a broom with a solid wooden handle. A quick twist separated the bristles from the handle and left him with a long, solid piece of wood to use as a quarterstaff.<br/><br/>Feeling, if not safer at least more prepared, Robert continued down the back of the store at a slower pace. A few steps later though he saw a face just at the edge of the aisle, and he stopped again, holding the broom handle out in front of him, ready to defend himself if he needed to.