Miller's Hardware was a relic. It smelled of sawdust and old oil, a scent that I found infinitely preferable to the perfume of the department stores downtown.
Mr Miller was behind the counter. He was a man shaped like a barrel with a moustache that looked like a sleeping cat. He blinked as I marched in, the fire axe resting casually on my shoulder.
"Miss?" he said, his eyes widening. "You can't bring that in here."
"I'm buying it," I lied. "And a few other things. I need a cart. A flatbed."
I didn't wait for his permission. I grabbed a heavy-duty flatbed cart near the entrance and began my sweep. I moved with the manic energy of a contestant on a supermarket sweepstakes show.
Aisle 4. Concrete mix. Fifty-pound bags. I hoisted four of them onto the cart. My back protested, but my adrenaline silenced it.
Aisle 6. Nails. Screws. Industrial adhesive. I swept entire shelves into the cart with a clatter that made Mr Miller jump.
"Miss!" he shouted, coming around the counter. "What on earth are you doing?"
I checked my watch. 11:07 AM.
"Mr Miller," I said, pausing to look him in the eye. "Do you have a basement?"
"What? Yes. For storage."
"Go there," I said. "Take a weapon. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone who doesn't know the password."
"The password?" He looked at me as if I were speaking Latin.
"The password doesn't matter," I said. "Just don't open the door."
Before he could respond, the air pressure in the room dropped. The lights flickered and died. The purple glow from outside intensified, pouring through the front windows like toxic sludge.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE.] [TUTORIAL WAVE 1: START.]
A sound ripped through the air. It was a high-pitched, chittering screech that sounded like styrofoam rubbing against glass.
A green rift tore open in the middle of Aisle 2.