Broken hands clutched the side of the wall so hard their knuckles turned white through the blood and the bruising. She couldn't see the rest of the person but she could hear them. Each breath was a forced, staggered inhale and a rattled exhale that made it sound like they were on death's door.
She hated closing the store for exactly this reason - the lingering things that usually kept to the quieter corners f the warehouse that then came out after hours, terrified and starving and more than happy to clear up after the mess they inevitably make if they catch anyone.
It wasn't supposed to be her shift, she generally did everything she possibly could to avoid closing and especially avoid closing alone. Having one of the new recruits was her preferred option - meat to throw at them while she cashed up and closed up for the night.
Was it cruel to use new workers as bait? Sure, but they all sign the same contract with the same waiver on page nine just in case they survive being caught. She once met a former employee who'd survived and every day their heavily scarred face comes into her mind as the afternoon rolls by.
If she was lucky she'd survive but with each passing minute another pair of hands came out to clutch the wall.
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