Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

the youngest of the cashiers. She just turned 16 two weeks ago; she landed the job on her birthday. She was nice, cute, bubbly, and the kind of cashier that made his job easier. She showed up on time and actually did her job, unlike a lot of the high schoolers who either acted like they were too good to work at the store or had attitude about having to work at all.  
    He walked up to her register, looked back and saw she had only one other person in line, a young woman with a small basket of stuff. He clicked off her lane light and said, “Take your 15 minute after our next guest, okay?”
    “OK, Mr. Olsen,” she said, smiling.
    Ryan glanced up and down the front end. Three other cashiers on: Gladys, who was as old as the hills and twice as slow; Billy, a 25 year old drama queen who’d not dream of stopping a robbery; and Ellen, a 28 year old woman who was just kinda there most days and was far too self-concerned and lazy to get involved in anything that didn’t immediately involve her.
    That left the stock guys, who he had unloading pallets in the back; produce, who was likely hanging out shooting the shit; the bakery and deli departments, who never left their sections in the back of the store; the pharmacy, which was already closed; and of course, the customer service desk. That was where his real problem could emerge. There were two cashiers on duty, both older women who had been there longer than him. One of them wanted his job so bad, he sometimes felt he should check to make sure his lunch wasn’t tampered with.
    Customer service was trained to hit the silent panic button the minute they sensed anything. After that, they’d be cooperative, but they might also try to trick the robbers. Tell them they didn’t have access to the safe when they did, had less money on hand than they did, or anything else that might make the robbers pissy.
    Of course, the robbers were the biggest variable in the robbery. Ryan’s only instructions were to cooperate and make the entire thing quick, easy, and painless. If someone did something stupid, surprised the robbers, or tried to play hero, then this could all get scary. Ryan didn’t know who would be staging the robbery. He figured that it wouldn’t be too bad if it were only Pete and one other person. Though he didn’t like Pete, he knew Pete wasn’t likely to turn a bad situation worse. But if Viktor got some fucking meth heads to pull a robbery, all bets were off.
    Ryan glanced back to Clarissa’s lane to see that she had allowed a fat family with a cart full of at least $400 worth of stuff to get in line behind her last customer. And, of course, the woman had a purse stuffed with so many coupons, they threatened to spill out in a sea of paper when she opened the purse.  
    What the fuck?  
    That order would take five minutes, easily, assuming the coupon queen didn’t want to sit and argue about half the coupons that would likely be expired or for different items. Coupon people could be nearly religious in their fervor and rage when they felt entitled to something not stated in the coupon.
    Ryan hated customers who took advantage of his cashiers. Whether it was the assholes who crowded the “10 items or less” lane with a cart full of shit, or the ones who jumped into a closed lane, the customer knew the cashiers wouldn’t give them a problem. That whole “customer is always right thing” gave assholes license to treat cashiers, and the customers behind them, like shit. Finding people who wanted to work for the shit pay the store offered was hard enough. Expecting them to take mounds of abuse from the customers was another hurdle altogether.  
    Ryan raced over to the lane before the woman took the first item out of her cart, and said, “I’m sorry ma’am, this lane is closed.”
    “Excuse me; I’m already in this line, and I’m not getting into another. Your cashier should’ve told me that when I got in line.” The woman hoisted a case of soda from her cart and slammed it on the conveyor belt in a silent fuck you.
    Clarissa glanced at Ryan, eyes wide, not sure what to do.  
    “Ma’am, there are three other lanes open, and nobody in line on lane four, let me help you...”
    “What’s the problem?” the woman’s fat husband said, pushing his way towards Ryan.   The guy was big, bald, and mean looking. The two made a lovely couple. Their obese son with an unfortunate haircut and a face smeared with chocolate cookie from the bakery watched