The store wasn’t huge by outsider standards, like one of those fancy Hannaford supermarkets, but it was large for Refuge. Four aisles separated the interior, each neatly stocked with canned foods, snacks and assorted beverages. The lone checkout stand sat off to the left, its counter lined with candy guaranteed to make kids whine enough to force mom or dad pay for it. The wall behind the counter had been reserved for more adult vices, with just about every form of tobacco one could imagine. The front of the market was floor to ceiling glass, each pane holding a single carefully placed poster listing the current specials. We have Twinkies Again! Get them before they’re gone! read one of them. Sam had never quite understood the appeal of Twinkies, until he’d had one deep-fried up at the Scarborough Fair in Maine one summer. He could only think of one word to describe the dessert treat: dangerous. He made his way toward the back, where he could hear the dull murmur of people talking.
