Tim took his time in the store, walking up and down a few aisles before grabbing the flour and eggs and heading for the checkout.

Hopefully she was gone now. Or maybe he'd leave to find an ambulance down there, carting her off. Her and her bag of groceries.

If they were groceries.

"Tag, you're it!" A hand smacked his shoulder and he about jumped out of his skin. "Sheesh, nervous much?"

Skeet, aka Jeffrey Skeeter stood in line behind him grinning. Tim didn't bother to remind him how old the "tag" line was. Yes, his name was Timothy Allen Green, the initials for which spelled out the word tag, and yes when they had been little kids it was funny to use his name in the line for playing chase, but they were Juniors in high school now, not second graders. Skeet looked like he'd been out in the sun all day. His pale skin was a dark pink and looked crispy around the edges. Even his freckles looked burnt.

"You need some serious sunscreen, dude."

Skeet laughed.

"It's almost summer, man. I gotta work on the tan."

"That's not a tan, it's a third-degree burn." He tried to roll his eyes, but Skeet's smile was contagious. He shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Crazy good-looking."

"Yeah, I'm sure the ladies will be knocking down your door any day now."

Skeet nodded sagely. "Indeed - hence the need for sustenance."

He held up a basket loaded with a six pack of soda, two bags of chips and an enormous pack of beef jerky.

"Yeah, the ladies really go for that beefy smell."

"Don't you know it, brah. They drool for my tool."

He gave Skeet a good-natured shove, but the word drool reminded him of the lady outside and his eyes were drawn back to the windows.

"What's up, Tag-O? You seem a bit on edge, my man."

He couldn't see here, but the glare of the sun on the windows was making it hard to tell. "Yeah, weird morning."

"Oh? Do tell."

The lady in front of Tim finished, and Tim moved his stuff up closer to the scanner.

"It's probably nothing."

Skeet raised one eyebrow. "Then it will do no harm for you to share with your best brah."

"Dude, you do slang like my mother."

Skeet grabbed his chest. "Mortal wound, dude."

He laughed again. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell Skeet. Just standing here laughing made the whole morning feel more normal. Still, he wasn't sure that Skeet would take him seriously. It wasn't enough to hear it. He had to see it.

"Come outside with me," Tim said, feeling a little embarrassed by how relieved the idea of going out there with someone else made him feel. "If she's still there, I'll show you."

Of course, she wouldn't be there. Not now that someone else would see. They'd go out and she'd be gone like smoke, leaving Tim feeling like a complete idiot and Skeet with ammunition enough to last all the way through Senior year. They rang up and headed out, leaving the air conditioning behind and stepping into the oppressive heat outside. Tim stayed in the shade and tried to look casual as he scanned the plaza.

His heart skipped a beat.

Not only was crazy bag lady still there, but just to Tim's right, standing right next to his bike, there was a guy standing frozen, his face turned up at the sky. The skin around his groin tightened and his stomach did a slow flip. Skeet met his eyes, confused, then followed his gaze over to the man. He frowned as he realized the man was standing unmoving.

"What's up with that?"

Tim nudged him. "There's another one down there. The lady. At the end of the plaza."

Skeet turned and spotted her.

"Holy... that's creepy. What are they, like high or something?"

"I don't know, man. I saw her when I came by. I thought I scared her on the bike so I asked if she was okay, and she totally ignored me. She didn't even blink."

Skeet turned back to the man, walking over until he was right in front of him.

"Skeet!" Tim whispered harshly, but Skeet ignored him.

He waved a hand in front of the man's face. The guy didn't even flinch.

"What are you doing?" Tim moved closer to Skeet, keeping an eye on the other people going in and out of the store, but nobody seemed to notice them.

"He's like totally out of it, dude. Look."

Skeet snapped his fingers two inches from the guy's nose. Nothing. Not a flinch.

"Yo, dude!" Skeet yelled.

The man didn't react at all. A woman walked by, glancing at them with a disapproving frown on her face, but she didn't stop.

"What's he looking at?"

Skeet turned to look, inching closer to the parking lot to get a better view. Fear gripped Tim like an icy fist. Without thinking, he grabbed Skeet's arm and hauled him back into the shade.

"Dude," Skeet complained with a frown.

"Don't, man." Tim found his voice squeaky and three keys too high. He sounded like he had back in middle school.

"Don't what? He's staring at something. I was just trying to see what."

"Yeah, I know, and I don't think it's such a good idea."

Skeet looked at him like he'd lost half a bag of marbles. "Why not?"

"Look."

Out in the parking lot, a woman had exited her car, and somewhere in the process of closing it she'd looked up. She stood there now, car door hanging open, staring unblinking into the sky. People moved around her, oblivious.

"That's just wrong," Skeet said, but now his voice was funny too.

"Something freaky is going on."

Skeet nodded without looking at him. "Yeah, man. Something is definitely off the green."

"It's off the whole freaking course."

As they stood there, they watched two more people stop mid-action, eyes locked on something overhead. There were now five frozen people standing in this plaza. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Shouldn't someone besides them be freaking out? Calling nine-one-one or something?

"Someone should call the cops." Skeet echoed his thinking.

A moment later, a black and white cruiser pulled into the far end of the lot. A wave of relief washed over Tim.

"Finally," he breathed.

Someone had noticed and called the cops. They watched as the cruiser pulled in, slowing next to the bag woman at the far end of the lot. After a few seconds, his door opened and he got out, walking around to her.

"You think it's something in the food?" Skeet asked.

"What?" He looked over, but Skeet's eyes were locked on officer friendly and the woman.

"The food. You know, from the store. Maybe they ate something."

Tim frowned. He looked back at the man near his bike. "That guy doesn't have anything. Besides the people in the lot were coming in, not leaving. How could they have food?"

"I don't know, man. Maybe someone put something in the water. Like a terrorist act or something."

Tim looked across the street at the hill leading up to Westwood Reservoir where all the kids sledded in the winter. Could someone have dumped something into the Reservoir? There was a fence all the way around it that they kept lock so no one could get inside (although some still did). It wasn't totally impossible, but what would dumping poison in a rural area like Westwood accomplish? Wouldn't terrorists want some place bigger, like New York City or Chicago or something?

The officer waved a hand in front of the woman like Skeet had with the man. There was no response. Turning, the cop tried to see what she was staring at.

No!

"Not a good idea," Skeet whispered.

But of course the cop was nowhere near close enough to hear them. He backed up, craning his neck to see, even stepping off the curb until he was right next to his car... and then his eyes locked and his body went still.

"He's toast!" Skeet's exclamation set Tim's heart pounding.

This was bad.

Six people now, including a cop. Whatever it was, it wasn't in any food or drink.

"It's in the air," Tim whispered, feeling the truth of it all the way to his core.

There was a sudden screech of tires and a scream, and then a thud. Tim felt something bounce against his leg.

"Holy crap, dude!"

In front of the store, a car sat in place, smoke coming from the tires. On the ground in front of them, a man in a business suit was on the pavement, his arm bent at an impossible angle. A woman jumped out of the car.

"He just stopped!" She screamed, looking around frantically. "Oh my God, somebody help him! He just stopped right there!"

All around her, people had stopped to stare. A few whipped out cell phones and started dialing. Tim heard their voices like an undercurrent in a horror movie.

"...accident..."

"...lady in a car..."

"...someone got hit..."

"...need an ambulance..."

"...she just slammed right into him!"

"...like he wasn't even looking..."

Tim felt acid build in the back of his throat. The man on the ground looked dead, but he wasn't. His chest was rising and falling. Under his head, a bit of blood was leaking out, but not enough that he would die from it. The part that worried Tim wasn't his head, it was his eyes. Laying there on the pavement, the man's eyes were wide and stared up into the sky. One of his shoes had come off and was on the sidewalk. It had flown off the man's foot and hit Tim's shin.

Somewhere off in the distance, Tim heard a horn blast, followed by another screech and then the distinct sound of crunching metal and glass breaking.

Something in the air, all right. Something bad. Something deadly. And it was spreading.

Time to go.

"We need to get out of here," Tim whispered.

Skeet turned to look at him, his face slack with shock. "What?"

"Dude! We need to go. Now!"

He moved to his bike, trying to ignore the frozen man standing there, and unlocked the chain.

"Come on."

He rolled the bike back to where Skeet still stood.

"We need to go, man. Get on."

Skeet nodded, looking dazed. Tim got on the bike, leaving room on the banana seat for Skeet, who swung on behind him.

"Don't look up, man," he said as he moved the bike down into the lot, giving the accident a wide berth. "Whatever you do, don't look up."