Page 5 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

If this was still the Traveler I knew, after she got over the fear, she was going to be fuckingfuriousabout the damage.

This was a woman who recycled everything and hated waste.

Trying to do my part in this capitalist hellscape to reduce, reuse, and recycle.

She’d actually said that to me once when I’d questioned why she was bagging up her spent coffee grounds to give away for free to anyone who wanted them for their garden.

So much waste, that’s what she was going to say.

But if it was her planters or her bones being crushed to dust, I was pretty sure we could both agree that the plants’ sacrifice was the better option.

I moved swiftly, but carefully through the store, checking under the counters and any nooks and crannies big enough to hide a human. Traveler was slim, but long-legged. It wouldn’t be easy for her to fold herself into most of the small areas in the front of the store.

But I knew that she had a bathroom and a back room.

I moved into the bathroom first, but there was nowhere to hide. Just one big room. The ceiling didn’t even drop, so she wasn’t perched up there.

Back room it was.

If she didn’t already get herself free and out of here, that is. The call was almost an hour ago, after all.

I pushed open the swinging door to the back, pulse skittering, some part of me thinking I might confront someone there, despite the almost eerie silence in the place.

But there was nothing.

A kitchen space, a work table, a desk to the side.

Confident I wasn’t at risk by any madmen who’d broken in, I flicked on the light, then tucked my phone away as I moved through the space.

There was a big metal door to the side of the room. A refrigerator walk-in. Unlikely hiding space, but I made my way in that direction, pulling it open, and looking around.

The metal racks were lined with acrylic bins, displaying everything inside.

No hiding spaces.

“Traveler?” I called as I moved back out. “It’s August,” I added, just in case she didn’t recognize my voice. “You can come out,” I added, checking under her desk. Nothing.

Maybe she was gone.

But one look toward the back door showed me her purse and her keys still waiting for her. If she ran, wouldn’t she have grabbed at least one of those on her way out of the door?

I mean, not everyone had their wits about them in life-or-death situations, though, so it was possible she just… ran for her life.

Still, I wasn’t leaving until I was sure that was the case.

“Traveler, come on. Where are you?” I called, moving back toward the kitchen area.

Double ovens, countertops, big glass canisters full of various items. Sugar, flour, oatmeal, some sort of tiny black seeds.

There were upper and lower cabinets.

But all there was in the base cabinets were various pots, pans, and cookie trays.

Standing, I was about to go into the alley in the back when I remembered something. A video I’d scrolled past on social media where a woman evaded home invaders by folding herself into the minuscule corner bread box.

She’d been long-legged too.

So if she could do it, Traveler probably could have as well.

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