At first, people hesitated because alarms in grocery stores were rarely real emergencies. Someone joked about burnt popcorn in the breakroom. A stock clerk shouted something about a broken electrical panel. But when smoke began pouring through the fluorescent-lit aisles like a thick gray river pushing its way toward the entrance, the mood shifted instantly.
Employees started shouting for customers to leave their carts.
A mother grabbed two children by their sleeves.
A man dropped a gallon of milk that burst against the floor, sending white liquid spreading across the tiles as he ran.
Within less than two minutes the building that had felt so ordinary moments before had turned into a confused stream of people spilling out onto the hot asphalt of the parking lot.
Sirens had not yet arrived.
Firefighters had not yet reached the scene.
All anyone could do was stand there watching the smoke thicken behind shattered glass windows.
Among the scattered crowd stood a thin stray dog.
