Man of the Mountain

It had been so long since he’d been to this grocery store; the luxury of having such a place to buy your food instead of scavenging for it was one that was easily missed but he was very surprised at how much he missed the beer aisle. Not that he was picky. At this point he would have been okay with drinking a Domestic Light but still, to be able to rummage through a selection of what had to be 87 different beers was wonderful though a little overwhelming. So much so that he didn’t know which ones to take back. But it was nice to have such a miniscule type of problem again instead of wondering where he was going to find food. Once he found out that the necromancer had given him the ability to talk to the animals (at least the animals that used the mountains as a habitat, he’d tried communicating with a dog who was tied to a tree in the front yard before he got inside the store but the pooch said nothing.) finding food became much easier but the fear of starvation never quite dissipated.

He wondered what his parents would think as he returned with a pack of beer as it would show that he first chose to stop and buy beer before even seeing them but the stress of coming back from the dead (he assumed they thought he was dead. It had been months, so many that he’d lost track, since he had last seen everyone.) Coming up with what to say as he entered the front door would likely prove to be a challenge. He couldn’t wait to take a shower, instead of bathing in a lake and even more so, he couldn’t wait to get a haircut and cut this stupid beard. He wondered if his parents would even recognize who he was.

“Look, asshole; I don’t have my ID. They sell me cigarettes every fucking day, here’s my money.” Down the end of the beer aisle sat the express lane and within the express lane were cigarettes that were guarded by a cashier. It was an early afternoon so the store, which wasn’t that big to begin with, was mostly empty. The voice, coming from a man who wore a dirty, tan jacket and faded, stained jeans, echoed down the aisle. He was young but hadn’t shaved for a few days at the very least. Back when he worked at the gas station across the street from his high school, Jake would have carded a guy who walked in looking as young as this person.

The search for the perfect “return from home” beer ended with the confrontation. The guys overreaction to being carded by the older woman who ran the register, Jake guessed she was at least sixty judging by the way her wrinkles accentuated her face and by the whiteness of her hair, so white and curly it looked like a cloud. She scolded him with the firmness of a traditional grandmother, seeming as if she was going to put him over her knee and spank him for not only forgetting his ID but for talking to her in the tone in which he did. Jake smiled as the confrontation was mostly entertaining and he wondered how they were going to resolve the dispute.

“I’m sorry. I can’t sell you cigarettes without ID.”

“This is bullshit. Let me talk to a fucking supervisor.” Moments later another younger man walked over. This time he was wearing the white shirt, black pants, black necktie that was clearly forced due to store dress code. Every other person who worked at the grocer wore the same outfit (his nametag was red instead of white to designate his managerial position.)

“How can I help you sir?” He addressed him. He looked younger than Jake and wore an awkward van dyke that didn’t quite connect chin beard to mustache on one end.

“Every day I come in here and buy cigarettes and this dumbass bitch won’t let me buy any because I forgot my ID at home.”

“I apologize. Unfortunately, it is up to the discretion of our cashiers to request an ID for purchase of cigarettes and alcohol. If she requests an ID I can’t override her decision. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

“C’mon man. This is horseshit. I’ve seen you in here before. I know you know I buy cigarettes.”

“I’m sorry sir. If you come back with an ID we would be more than happy to serve you however I will say that if you continue with the swearing you will be asked to leave.”

“Fuck you. I ain’t leavin’ until you give me my goddamn cigarettes.” Jake couldn’t help but enjoy watching a manager threaten to remove the customer from the store. He had a manager at the gas station he worked at during the one year he attended the community college (the only time he’d worked customer service) not be so supportive when a customer got abusive.

“Sir, it’s time to go now.” The manager grabbed his arm as he tried to guide him out of the store. The hostile customer slapped his arm away though with his own, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a small hand gun. He started pointing it at the manager then switched it back to the cashier. She handed him a pack of cigarettes instantly. He grabbed them with his free hand and stuck them in his front pocket but kept the gun going back and forth between the two.

Jake’s first response was to run to the back of the store, as the few other patrons were already doing but he knew as a cop (or at least a former cop. He still had to attempt to get his job back, considering he probably didn’t have one at the moment due to the whole “everyone thinks he’s dead thing) he had to do something. But what could he do? The guy was armed and he had no weapon. He had this new found strength (he had thought about how awesome it was that he knocked out the grizzly bear with one punch every single day and smiled when he did so) but the guy still had a gun. But there were more and more powers he was discovering every single day. The strength, the animals thing, the way an avalanche started as he was mumbling to himself (having no one to talk to, he did this frequently.) , “Man, I really hope there isn’t an avalanche”, mostly expressing general anxiety, and right when he said the word, it seemed like half of the mountain collapsed on him. And he had only scratches and bruises to show for it.

The look on the face of the man was one that he’d seen before. His pupils were thin and his face was red. He didn’t look that human any longer at this point. The last time he’d seen that look on a person was when a man beat his wife to a bloody mess after she asked him to wash the dishes. It took every ounce of will power to not do the same to the man. This guy was pass the point of reason and Jake knew that him using the gun was a possibility.

“Hey man. Why don’t you put the gun down?” he yelled at the guy and started walking slowly toward the counter. The guy pointed it at Jake now. His eyes were bulging now and his arm was shaking. It wasn’t clear if he was doing it because of fear or anger.

“You better fuckin’ stop, dude. I’ll shoot you.”, Jake looked at the hand. The finger was putting small amounts of pressure on the trigger. Jake felt fear but he kept thinking of the bear. He left it to faith that the amount of strength it took to floor a bear would be enough to stop a bullet.

“Put the gun down now. One last chance.” He still walked slowly towards the guy. Nothing was said instead the sound of a loud bang echoed through the store but before the sound finished he felt a slight sting against his pectoral. It was a little stronger than that of a shot, not a gun-shot but like one that would be given at the doctor. He looked at his shoulder and saw no blood. The angry, cigarette needing man thought he missed and shot again. This time he did miss. Jake took off on a full sprint, he ran so fast he felt like he was flying, and tackled the man. Quickly realizing that his new found strength might be strong enough to actually kill the guy, he turned around as fast as possible to put his body between the ground and the would-be killer’s.

When they hit the ground the guy was breathing faintly but he felt a rib or two crack against his own. He stood up, feeling no pain except for the slight stinging sensation in his shoulder. He felt it and there was an already healed scab that was no tinier than that of a pin prick. He picked up the gun and crushed it like a clump of sand. The old lady thanked him and many of the guests of the store came up to watch in astonishment and then gave their applause (no one seemed to notice the black dust on the ground that used to be the metal of a handgun.) The manager told Jake that he would talk to his boss and see what they could give him as far as an award. He didn’t head straight home, instead he sat around and shook hands and gave interviews to numerous new organizations, including one national outlet. His parents weren’t surprised when he got home since they had already seen him on TV, but he was met with hugs and tears. His mom scolded him for not coming home first but was then told that Late Night with Jerry Allen had called him and asked if he could be on tomorrow. Jake said absolutely though it would have to be two days from today. He sure as hell wasn’t going to take a plane again, not after the accident (even if it did lead to all of this.)