As it turned out, they didn't have to open the front door, after all. ​​It opened all by itself as someone left with a submarine sandwich under their arm. It was busy in there, which, to Trevor, was no surprise. It was lunch time. They stayed in the aisles that were relatively empty as they made their way over to where the prepared sandwiches were wrapped in cellophane and displayed in an open, refrigerated case. Two young ladies were already there, looking over the salads. Trevor figured they were, maybe, twenty, twenty-one years old, and man they were gorgeous. They wore heavy winter coats and woolen scarves, but the jeans they wore were tight, and their slim, muscular legs rose to meet round, firm thighs and butt cheeks. Their faces were rosy red from being outside. They laughed over a private joke, and their laughter had a light, musical quality to it. Young women having fun on their lunch break. 

     "I'm going to have to touch one of them," Adam said. "I need to feel that young blonde's ass."

     "What? Are you crazy? You can' just..."

​     A TV was on in the deli, it hung near the ceiling behind the owner's head, and on that TV was yet more coverage of Trevor's, so far, successful escape from the police, only now there was more...

     Now there was footage of Trevor's home from when the police arrived. One second, Gramps' van was there, plain as day. The next second, poof!, it was gone as if it'd never been. They put the footage on a loop that played over and over as Trevor heard Seatrailia's Chief of Police say, "We believe, based on the evidence, that we're dealing with an Adam Forwarder-level situation here," which meant at a level beyond present day technology.

     "Ooo, what's that smell?" said the blonde, wrinkling her nose. 

     It was Adam. Trevor smelled it, too. Adam had a stink about him as intense as a chili fart. 

​     The young woman waved her hand to make the stench go away. Without meaning to, she batted Trevor right in the face. 

     "Ouch!"

​     She screamed. 

​     "They're here!" she wailed. "Those killers are right in this room with us!"

     There were, maybe, two dozen shoppers in that deli along with the owner, his wife, and a third employee. Everyone went for the exit at the same time. A couple of them couldn't help by jostle against either Adam or Trevor as they stampeded for the door.

     More screams. 

     "Gramps was right," Adam said. "This was a terrible idea." 

     "We'd better get out of here, huh?"

​     "We'll be the next ones out the door."

CONTINUE