Story code: ST-001728
Part 3: The Weapon
Malik’s total loss of motor control saved him from the immediate shock of the taser. Instead of lunging forward, his knees simply dissolved. He collapsed straight down, a dead weight dropping toward the heavy rubber anti-fatigue mat. Miller, startled by the sudden plunge, instinctively took a hurried step backward to maintain his tactical distance, shouting a final, frantic warning that was entirely lost on Malik’s ringing ears.
Malik’s shoulder slammed into the edge of the cash wrap on his way down, sending a localized shockwave of pain radiating up his neck. He hit the floor hard, his cheek bouncing once against the unforgiving linoleum. Above him, a small display rack of impulse-buy holiday mints tipped over, raining tiny plastic tins onto his back. He lay curled on his side, his body shuddering with violent, involuntary tremors. He could see the twin red dots of the taser dancing wildly across the floor tiles inches from his nose, painting the scattered mint tins with jagged streaks of crimson light.
He was suffocating. The crushing weight on his chest had intensified from a block of iron into a tightening steel band, actively crushing his ribs inward. Every desperate attempt to pull air into his lungs yielded nothing but a shallow, wet rasp. The edges of his vision began to swarm with thick black static. The deafening roar of the mega-store, the overlapping shouts of the crowd, the crackle of Miller’s radio-all of it faded into a distant, muffled underwater drone.
Through the terrifying, suffocating fog, a single, lucid thought pierced Malik’s panicking brain.
*The right pocket.*
He had his prescription rescue inhaler. He always carried it on shift, shoved deep into the reinforced right pocket of his canvas store apron. It was there. It was only inches away.
Malik forced his right arm to move. The limb felt entirely disconnected from his body, heavy and unresponsive, as if he were trying to drag it through wet cement. He dragged his elbow backward across the floor, scraping his knuckles against the edge of the rubber mat. He curled his trembling fingers toward his waist, feeling blindly for the rough canvas opening of the apron pocket.
“Watch his hands!” Miller’s voice boomed above him, sharp and terrified. “He’s reaching for his waistband! Do not move!”
Malik couldn’t stop. He didn’t care about the shouting. He didn’t care about the red lasers now tracking frantically back up his shoulder toward his neck. His lungs were burning with a toxic, fiery heat, his body screaming for oxygen. He jammed his fingers into the pocket, pushing past a crumpled receipt and a set of register keys, until his thumb brushed the familiar, hard plastic casing of the inhaler.
“He’s digging for something!” the woman in the beige coat shrieked, her voice shrill and echoing off the steel rafters. She had retreated behind Miller but was leaning out, pointing frantically. “He’s pulling something out!”
Malik’s numb, sweating fingers closed tightly around the L-shaped device. He gripped it with the last remaining ounce of his strength and pulled his hand free of the pocket. He dragged his arm upward, fighting against gravity, trying desperately to bring the medication to his mouth. His hand shook so violently that the plastic casing rapped sharply against his own chin. He opened his mouth, gasping like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water, preparing to press the canister down.
The woman in the beige coat didn’t wait.
“He’s got a weapon!” she screamed, her voice tearing through the ambient noise in a pitch of pure hysteria.
She lunged forward, stepping entirely past the security guard. Before Malik could align the mouthpiece, she swung her arm in a wide, panicked arc. Her manicured hand connected violently with Malik’s knuckles.
The sharp, stinging slap shattered Malik’s weak grip.
The inhaler flew from his fingers. It hit the linoleum with a sharp, hollow *clack*, a small sound that somehow cut cleanly through the shouting. It bounced twice, spinning rapidly out from the shadow of the register and skittering into the open aisle directly under the harsh, glaring fluorescent lights.
It spun to a stop.
The bright blue plastic housing and the silver metal canister caught the overhead glare. The white mouthpiece cap had popped off on impact, rolling in a lazy half-circle before coming to rest lightly against the metal canister.
For a fraction of a second, the space around Register 4 went completely, terrifyingly silent.
The screaming stopped. The overlapping shouts of the two men in the crowd died in their throats. The red laser dots froze on the floor, suddenly stationary.
Malik lay on his side, his cheek pressed flat to the cold floor, his lips tinged a sickening shade of blue. He stared hopelessly at his only lifeline, sitting uselessly just out of reach on the polished white tile.
Through his fading, static-filled vision, he saw a pair of sensible orthopedic shoes step decisively past the woman in the beige coat. It was the older woman from the edge of the crowd, the one with the stethoscope peeking from her oversized tote bag. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch, and didn’t look at the taser. She dropped straight to her knees beside the blue plastic device and scooped it up.
She turned her head, looking from the inhaler in her palm down to Malik’s sweat-drenched, oxygen-starved face, and then up at the security guard.
“It’s Albuterol!” her voice cracked like a whip over the frozen crowd, ringing with absolute, furious authority. She shoved Miller’s taser arm violently downward, forcing the muzzle toward the floor. “It’s a rescue inhaler! Put that damn thing away, he’s having a severe asthma attack!”
Malik forced his heavy eyelids to stay open, his gaze drifting upward. He saw the woman in the beige coat standing frozen over him. Her hand was still suspended in the air from where she had slapped him. The tight, self-righteous aggression had instantly collapsed from her features. Her jaw hung slightly open, her face draining of color as she stared at the little blue plastic device in the nurse’s hand. Beside her, Miller’s grip faltered, the loud, aggressive crackle of the taser suddenly shutting off, leaving a suffocating, horrifying silence as the reality of what they had just done finally set in.