The cart was a disaster.
By the time we reached the checkout, Freya had filled it to the brim with every piece of junk food the mall had to offer. Bright plastic bags of gummies, chocolate bars stacked like bricks, fizzy sodas threatening to explode if they so much as jostled, and, because apparently her definition of restraint didn't exist, three family-sized bags of chips.
Lucian trailed behind us with the quiet dignity of a man marching toward execution.
"I think this is enough," I muttered, eyeing the tower of sweets wobbling in the basket.
"Enough?" Freya gasped, clutching her chest like I'd just insulted her ancestors. "Maeve, we're going to need supplies. You never know when a sugar rush could save our lives. You never know."
I snorted. "From what? A zombie ambush? You'll throw Skittles at their heads and hope they die?"
"Exactly." She gave me a triumphant grin before tossing in a bag of marshmallows. "Weapons and snacks."
