The Thicket

by Noelle W. Ihli

And when the first scream does tear through his throat, he knows it’s loud enough that everyone will hear it. But no one will come.

The dim outline of a tiny white “Staff Only” sign. It’s almost invisible, unless you know what you’re looking for.

He understands the technique. It’s all about building anticipation.

Norah tries to find the sadness. The grief. Even the anger she felt when she was looking at the Facebook event earlier. But it’s like trying to pull a too-big anchor aboard a too-small boat. It will capsize her, where the ocean will swallow her whole. So all she feels are the few bites of spaghetti she took roiling in her stomach. And a whisper that reminds her at every turn: Your fault.

That’s how all of it had worked five years ago, anyway. He knew things might have changed. Especially with the new “security” protocols. But he’d gambled on human nature operating like normal.

Three. This is more than he’s ever had. Tim was the first, of course. The next time he’d done it, there were two. He’d taken a part-time job at a landfill the year after the temp gig at the Thicket. They’d made him a supervisor when he produced a resume he found online, citing managerial experience at a retail chain that had closed the year before. He always offered to take the night shifts, knowing that the right target would come along eventually.

It doesn’t matter. This is the end, she tells herself, biting down on her lip to keep it from shaking too. Everything is going to be okay. She saved them. She did what she couldn’t do for Brandon.